Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter Seventy-One: Song of Wind and Snow in the Mountains

Midwinter. Snow covered the mountains, and a dilapidated wooden cabin, its roof white with age and frost, stood silent amid the swirling blizzard.

Nestled in his quilt, Ye Mingke lay on his side against the window, his complexion pale, reaching a slender, frail hand out into the cold world beyond. When he last drifted to sleep, it was late autumn; upon waking, winter had come in full force. This illness had lingered for months.

Fluffy snowflakes, soft and fragile, landed on his hand, bringing a gentle chill as they gradually melted away. He had only ever read descriptions of snow in books of natural philosophy, and once, together with Qiao Qiao, he had complained about the damp wind that chilled their bones in the little town’s winters, dreaming instead of the beautiful, lively snow of the north.

Now, at last, he beheld true winter snow.

It was as lovely as he had imagined—only the companion with whom he had once shared those dreams was gone.

Ye Mingke gazed out the wooden window at the boundless world of white, his thoughts wandering far from the present.

Suddenly—“crack!”—a small wooden stick struck his outstretched hand. Instinctively he recoiled, the pain pulling his drifting mind back to the moment. A pretty, small face, puffed with indignation, appeared outside the window.

A young girl stood there in the snow, dressed in a thin white dress, her hair tied into two ponytails, her expression fierce as she gestured with her stick, warning Ye Mingke not to reach into the icy snow again.

Ye Mingke, rubbing his sore hand, looked at the hot-tempered girl and made a playful face, sticking out his tongue.

Her face darkened; seeing his impish smile, she raised the stick again, and with a sudden swing—“crack!”—she knocked away the bamboo pole propping the window. The shutters slammed shut with a bang, nearly hitting Ye Mingke’s nose and startling him.

With the window closed, the beautiful snowy scene was shut outside, along with the piercing cold. Inside, the warmth from the stove was kept in, and the once chilly cabin quickly grew cozy.

Ye Mingke, still greedy for the snowy view, sniffled and tucked his red, chilled hand back under the quilt, feeling the warmth seep in.

Outside, the girl’s light, skipping footsteps drifted away, along with her off-key humming.

She was quite pretty, he mused, but her temper was fierce.

Ye Mingke shook his head with a smile, remembering how, on their first meeting, he had mistook this little girl for the quiet and gentle Qiao Qiao. He truly must have been feverish.

The girl looked about ten years old, just like Qiao Qiao, and favored white dresses—even in this deep winter snow. Her fiery temperament matched her constitution; she seemed immune to the cold, skipping about outdoors in her thin dress without a trace of discomfort.

The door creaked softly. A thin crack opened, letting wind and snow sneak in, swirling snowy curls across the floor.

A burly figure, covered in thick snow and carrying firewood, turned at the door, brushed off the snow from his coat and the wood, and finally entered.

“Brother Ye, are you feeling better today?” the man asked, shutting the door, placing the firewood down, and revealing his steady, square face. This was Li Han, who had returned with Ye Mingke from the Misty Sea.

“A bit better. At least I haven’t fainted again today, and I’m not so afraid of the cold,” Ye Mingke replied with a smile.

The illness had struck suddenly and fiercely. His body, as if in hibernation, would need a long time to recover.

“That’s good. I ran into Zhugan in the mountains today. He brought some nourishing herbs and said he’d visit you soon from the village.”

“That boy still feels guilty for supporting the decision to send you out of the village when you were gravely ill.”

Li Han removed his wet coat and laid it by the stove to dry, turning to Ye Mingke as he spoke.

“It’s not his fault,” Ye Mingke said, his pale face weak but sincere. “It’s my own failing. I fell ill so suddenly and caused you all too much trouble.”

“These days, I’m truly grateful to you, Brother Li. You and your daughter even moved up here to the mountains because of me.”

Ye Mingke still didn’t know exactly what had happened after he lost consciousness.

He only knew that, at first, people suspected he was possessed by an evil spirit from the Misty Sea. Then, strange phenomena began occurring around him—objects would ignite inexplicably, the ground would crack open, hot porridge left near him would freeze solid in the blink of an eye.

Rumors spread in the village that he was a harbinger of misfortune, a demon, a monster from the Misty Sea, and he was driven out.

Li Han, the village chief, had defended him fiercely, and after they were expelled, it was Li Han—silent and steadfast—who carried him through the snow, leading his ten-year-old daughter to this mountain cabin, giving him shelter and caring for him ever since.

“It’s nothing, Brother Ye. Don’t speak as if we’re strangers. In the Misty Sea, you saved our lives more times than I can count. We couldn’t face those immortals, but as long as we can do something, anything, we owe it to you.”

Li Han, tall and strong, tended the stove as he spoke, his face lit by the flickering flames.

He still felt guilt over that first encounter with the immortals in the Misty Sea, where he could only watch Ye Mingke face the white-robed cultivators who threatened their lives. As the leader, he hadn’t been able to bear the terrifying pressure—or perhaps he’d never managed to overcome his fear.

But in the end, even he had managed to throw a stone at the retreating immortal, no longer quite so timid.

Suddenly—“bang!”—the door was pushed open, and a small figure, enveloped in snow, barreled into Li Han’s arms.

“Yee!” The little girl buried her head in Li Han’s broad chest, her ponytails trembling adorably.

Li Han hugged her, looking down gently at her snow-speckled face.

“Aru, out playing again today?”

“Yee!” She looked up with wide, sparkling eyes, replying with her usual syllable.

“Don’t leave the yard, especially not into the woods. It’s dangerous,” Li Han tapped her nose, his tone grave.

“Ya!” Unhappy, she pulled away, waving her stick furiously at the air. She turned to Li Han, uttering another defiant “ya,” insisting she was strong and fearless.

Li Han shook his head sternly, and the girl, discouraged, lowered her head, her high-pitched “ya” fading away.

“And…” Li Han, even more serious now, stood up and delivered three consecutive blows.

“Did you copy today’s passage?”

“Did you read your book?”

“Did you review yesterday’s lesson?”

With each question, the girl took a cautious step back.

“Yee…” This time her reply was soft and pitiful.

Having spent the day outside, fighting snowflakes and teasing a certain sick patient’s hand, the lively girl now eyed her stern father timidly.

Li Han looked at her mournful expression, knowing she was playing cute to get by, but his heart softened anyway.

“All right, just this once. There’s still time—come over, help me grind ink, and let’s read and write together.”

She nodded, immediately running to fetch her books and grinding the ink carefully in the water-filled inkstone.

Ye Mingke, watching the father and daughter interact, grinned. The girl was so obedient before her father, but she’d been quite different when Li Han was absent.

In the warm cabin, two figures crowded at a small desk; the girl stood on tiptoe to grind ink, while Li Han, a man roughened by hard labor, seemed suddenly calm and refined when seated before his books.

The room grew quiet. In the dim firelight, only the sound of Li Han turning pages and the barely audible grinding of ink could be heard.

Li Han, reluctant to waste candles, didn’t light another lamp, so the only illumination came from the flickering stove, forcing him to bend low over his book.

“Open the window, it’ll be brighter for reading,” Ye Mingke suggested with a smile, seizing the moment.

“Ya!” The girl, instantly realizing Ye Mingke’s intent, turned, puffing her cheeks and sounding a loud “ya.”

But Li Han reached out a large hand, gently patting her head, quieting her.

“It’s still early, and the wind isn’t too strong,” Ye Mingke said, grinning at the girl’s annoyance. “A bit of fresh air is good. We shouldn’t keep the room too sealed with the fire burning.”

“Just don’t sit too close to the window, Brother Ye. The outside is chilly,” Li Han replied, calm and steady.

The window was reopened, letting in the bright daylight reflected off the snow, illuminating the room and making it crisp and clear.

Outside, snow fell quietly, the world serene. Inside, a gentle, pure voice rang out, accompanied by the girl’s little head swaying gently, her ponytails dancing as she recited.

“No harm done, for this is the way of benevolence; seeing the cow, one does not see the sheep.”

“A gentleman, regarding birds and beasts: seeing them live, cannot bear to see them die; hearing their cries, cannot bear to eat their flesh. Therefore, a gentleman stays away from the kitchen.”

Ye Mingke listened to this unfamiliar passage, his thoughts drifting ever farther.