Volume Two: Mortal Realm Chapter 85: Ashen Snow

“Aru will kill them.”

The voice, ethereal and distant as an ancient wind chime, echoed softly through the snowstorm, lingering gently in the air.

The land was silent, yet it felt as if something invisible had suddenly fallen into the whole field, rippling through the calm.

The snow and wind grew dim; the falling flakes spun violently and accelerated, silently transforming into grey powder that settled on the pristine snow, like wingless grey butterflies.

The soldiers, standing menacingly with their blades, suddenly froze in place.

The serenity of the wilds shifted into absolute stillness.

Aru lowered her head, leaning feebly on Li Han’s shoulder. The fierce blue light drifting in her pupils gradually faded to a dull grey.

Fresh snow fell upon them; Aru shrank slightly.

“Father, Aru is so cold,” she whispered, closing her grey eyes in exhaustion.

“Don’t worry, Father will take you somewhere warm and safe.”

Li Han, teetering on the edge of oblivion, seemed to grasp onto something. Despite his grave injuries, he struggled to his feet with Aru in his arms, stepping forward through the snow, leaving a trail of bloody footprints.

Each footprint formed two winding lines stretching into the unknown.

No one knew what kind of power sustained this mortally wounded man, enabling him to keep walking, keep moving forward.

The soldiers, blades in hand, remained frozen, offering no resistance.

Another gust of wind swept down from the mountain, colliding with the narrow pass, swirling and wailing.

With a thud, one soldier’s body, swayed gently by the wind, suddenly toppled onto the snow, remaining motionless, his once murderous face now a lifeless shade of blue-grey.

…

Ye Mingke felt as though he were trapped in an endless nightmare.

In the dream, there was gushing blood, searing flames, and endless snow and cold, overwhelming everything with blizzards and bone-chilling frost.

Yet, at some unknown moment, it seemed a bonfire ignited nearby, warmth flowing through his body, driving away the icy torment.

His consciousness slowly returned, and he gradually opened his eyes.

He saw a flickering campfire and a shallow cave; glancing sideways, he noticed two vague figures at the deepest part of the cave.

Having just escaped pursuit, Ye Mingke immediately sat up, wary, watching the two figures.

Both wore tattered, filthy, heavy cotton clothing, resting against the inner walls of the shallow cave.

One, seemingly younger, sat sideways with his face obscured by messy hair.

The other was a gaunt, aged beggar, idly picking his feet by the firelight. Sensing Ye Mingke’s gaze, he glanced up indifferently, then looked away.

No one acknowledged Ye Mingke’s awakening.

He couldn’t fathom what had happened while he was unconscious, nor what connection these strangers had to him. They seemed merely to be seeking shelter from the snow in the same cave.

Ye Mingke checked his body and surroundings.

Aside from the three of them, there was nothing else in the cave, except a deer carcass, stripped clean but still stained with fresh blood, beside him.

His injuries were much improved compared to when he had tumbled down the slope and passed out, nearly healed.

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“It seems that after fainting, driven by an intense hunger for flesh and blood, I hunted on my own, and my wounds healed after eating the venison.”

“This time, I didn’t gorge myself until I could eat no more—was it luck, or is there some other reason?”

Ye Mingke pondered, confused, glancing at the two figures deeper in the cave. He hesitated, then asked tentatively,

“Did you two save me?”

His words echoed in the cave, met only by silence.

The young figure, resting against the wall with closed eyes, remained unmoving, while the old man merely shifted his position, scratching his back with a look of impatience, as if annoyed by Ye Mingke’s chatter.

Receiving no response, Ye Mingke awkwardly rubbed his nose. These two seemed not to want anything to do with him.

He refrained from disturbing them further, falling silent.

He suddenly remembered Li Han, possibly still being hunted in the mountains, and anxiety surged within him.

The situation was dire. He had to find them quickly.

He stood, clasped his hands to the two figures by the fire, and said,

“If it was you who helped me, I thank you here and now. If ever the chance arises, I will repay you with my life.”

“My friends are still in danger, and time is critical. Please forgive me for leaving now.”

After his farewell, the two figures still gave no reply.

Ye Mingke, pressed by urgency, turned to leave, then paused as another thought occurred to him. He looked back at them, speaking earnestly,

“There are fierce bandits in the mountains—it’s very dangerous. If you’re safe, it’s best to leave as soon as possible.”

The two gave no answer, as if they hadn’t heard him at all. Unable to discern their intentions and worried for Li Han, Ye Mingke nodded to them and hurried out of the cave.

Yet, after walking a short distance, he heard the snow crunching behind him. Turning, he saw the old man and the young figure quietly standing not far behind.

The younger was a woman; though her face was dirty and hidden behind messy hair, her feminine features were still discernible. She carried a large, black sword on her back.

“The mountains are truly unsafe. It’s best if you both leave immediately,” Ye Mingke said, relieved, thinking they were heeding his advice.

His gaze was drawn to the heavy sword on the woman’s back, and he recalled Li Han’s stories of wandering heroes, curiosity prompting him to ask,

“Are you two wandering knights?”

Neither answered; only the old beggar looked at Ye Mingke with a mocking, shrill laugh.

Realizing they had no intention of conversing, Ye Mingke spoke no further.

He activated his spiritual sight, taking in everything within forty meters. After orienting himself, he leaped onto a nearby tree, darting swiftly into the mountain shadows.

Some time later, resting atop a snow-laden tree, Ye Mingke’s senses were alerted. He glanced down in surprise.

The woman with the sword and the ragged old man stood quietly beneath a nearby tree.

The woman lifted her gaze, her gentle eyes meeting his on the branch.

“Are they following me?”

Ye Mingke was filled with doubt. These two were clearly extraordinary; keeping pace with his supernatural abilities in the forest was no easy feat, and they had almost entirely evaded his spiritual sight.

Yet he sensed no danger; their presence felt devoid of malice.

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If they meant him harm, they could have struck when he was unconscious in the cave; there was no need to wait until now.

Ye Mingke ignored the two strange figures, turning his attention back to the snowy ground below. He had found traces left by Li Han, and Li Han’s condition seemed dire.

He dared not delay, following the trail detected by his spiritual sight, swiftly pursuing it.

The two figures beneath the tree made no move to follow, remaining where they were, unhurried.

“The Emperor’s Sword still shows no response?”

The old beggar suddenly looked up, asking the woman beside him. His previously clouded eyes were now bright and sharply focused, his suppressed voice tinged with excitement and tension he himself might not have noticed.

“No.”

The woman with the heavy sword exhaled softly, watching Ye Mingke’s distant form, her clear voice trembling slightly.

“Let’s go. We’ll keep watching,” the old beggar said quietly.

The woman nodded.

A gust of wind shook the tree, and the two beneath it vanished without a trace.

Ye Mingke tracked Li Han’s trail to a mountain pass. Seeing the gap, joy flickered across his face; Li Han must have pressed on and escaped the snowy mountain.

But his delight was quickly replaced by shock and fear. He sped toward the pass, where he found seven or eight bodies half-buried in the snow.

He stepped through the snow to the site, brushing away the surface to reveal a patch of crimson. He picked up a snowflake stained with dried blood.

“Li Han’s aura is here. He was wounded, and gravely so.”

Ye Mingke’s heart sank, and he looked around at the bodies, his gaze cold.

“These corpses have no visible injuries and have been dead for some time. What happened here?”

He drew a deep breath, hurrying onward.

After he left, the old beggar and the young woman appeared at the spot.

The old beggar surveyed the dozen bodies with a puzzled expression.

“Witchcraft?”

He murmured, questioning.

…

How much blood can a person lose?

Ye Mingke followed the winding trail of blood and footprints, pressing forward. At some point, his eyes, fixed on the bloodstains ahead, were bright red, brimming with tears he struggled to hold back.

A growing heaviness of sorrow weighed on him, making each step harder than the last, until at last he reached the end of the trail.

A grey, dilapidated temple stood quietly in the snowstorm, its half-closed door faintly marked with blood.

Fear slowed Ye Mingke’s steps as he approached the ruined temple.

The wind and snow wailed between heaven and earth, as if singing someone’s requiem...

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