Chapter Thirty-Nine: Darkness and Lightning

What exactly is this little creature trying to do... Ye Xin’s mind was uncommonly quick, but after suffering such grievous injuries, he simply couldn’t concentrate. He only instinctively sensed that the little purple sable was calling for him, which was why he’d followed it here.

In a moment, the sable’s cries grew fainter and fainter, as though it had burrowed deep into the earth. Suddenly, the sound of a commotion rose from the foot of the mountain—dozens of warriors were hurrying this way.

Most of the dense forest had been leveled, and Ye Xin could clearly see their figures: they were the Dragon Soaring Martial Academy’s guards, responsible for watching over Twin Ridge Mountain.

“What happened up there?” The lead guard halted and called out loudly to Ye Xin.

“Go quickly—help them…” Ye Xin managed a grimace.

Seeing Ye Xin’s miserable state, yet still worried about those above, the leader guessed the others’ condition must be even worse. He drew a sharp breath, then waved his hand and led the guards rushing up the mountain.

As the guards disappeared into the distance, Ye Xin suddenly noticed a faint glow emanating from the hole the little purple sable had dug. He frowned and looked more closely. The glow drew nearer and nearer until, at last, something rolled out and landed at Ye Xin’s feet.

It was a sphere, about the size of half a fist. The sable had pushed it free and now hopped onto Ye Xin’s knee, crying out incessantly, its furry tail flicking, squinting at Ye Xin with an obvious air of seeking praise for its accomplishment.

This is… Ye Xin suddenly remembered: when he’d killed the sable’s previous owner, that man had said the creature was especially good at detecting treasures.

Ye Xin reached out and took the sphere in his hand, examining it closely.

In the sphere’s center was a silver pentagram, gleaming coldly. Ye Xin shook his wrist; the star showed no sign of change. Suddenly, a thought struck him, and he shifted his grip to view it from a different angle.

“Holographic projection? This world actually has holographic projection technology?!” Ye Xin was astonished. No matter the angle, the pentagram’s shape remained unchanged, reminding him of the technology from his previous life.

He soon noticed that the sphere had somehow turned a faint shade of red. Puzzled, Ye Xin lifted it up to his eyes and abruptly saw that it was absorbing the bloodstains on his palm. That was why its color was changing, and he even had the uncanny sensation of his bloodline merging with it, as if the sphere had become an inseparable part of his body.

Something’s wrong! Ye Xin immediately tried to throw the sphere away, but it clung stubbornly to his palm.

Panic surged within him. Twice in this life he’d learned harsh lessons: curiosity is a deadly thing. As the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat. Ye Xin had always resisted curiosity. When facing the unknown, his usual strategy was to entice others to investigate while he observed from the shadows, only acting himself once he understood enough to judge.

But the sphere wouldn’t come off. Ye Xin turned sideways and slammed it hard against a rock behind him.

Crack—a fissure appeared in the stone, but the sphere was shattered to pieces. Ye Xin gritted his teeth, rubbing his wrist—he’d hit it too hard, and his hand throbbed with pain.

He’d barely massaged it twice when he realized something was wrong. His hand seemed to be glowing. He quickly turned his palm over and saw that the strange pentagram was now imprinted on his skin.

Before Ye Xin could react, the pentagram abruptly melted, seeping into his flesh and blood.

His first instinct was to sever his own wrist. He whipped out his dagger—but then he noticed that the silver threads hadn’t harmed him at all. Hesitating, he watched as fine, shining silver filaments began to weave their way up into his shoulder.

It was too late for drastic measures now. The hand holding the dagger slowly fell to his side. Wherever the silver threads passed, he could distinctly feel his flesh becoming stronger and more robust. Oddly, though his arm was hidden beneath his sleeve, he could see those gleaming filaments as if nothing else were there.

Perhaps he hadn’t fully recovered from his concussion, or perhaps it was because he’d never encountered anything like this before, but Ye Xin’s mind was in turmoil. What now? What should he do?

The threads of silver light darted along his energy meridians, swiftly wrapping each one inside his body. Then they began to converge on his brain. Ye Xin’s body suddenly went rigid, and he slowly toppled backward.

Thud—as he hit the ground, the world before Ye Xin’s eyes was suddenly torn in two.

He saw a brilliant starry sky. His body floated in boundless darkness, drifting who knew where, yet at the same time he could still see the little purple sable and hear the distant shouts.

His consciousness seemed to dwell in two utterly different worlds at once.

The little sable was startled when Ye Xin collapsed. It leapt onto his chest, crying out anxiously, but Ye Xin showed no response.

He could see everything with perfect clarity, but his body no longer seemed his own.

Sensing something amiss, the sable bounded off his body and ran toward the mountain summit.

Before long, Xie En, Ye Ling, and Vice Dean Zhang all hurried over. Even Wu Man, supported by Wen Rong and Shao Xue, managed to make her way over.

Ye Xin’s split consciousness brought him a sort of clarity. He found it odd: Xie En and Ye Ling rushing over made sense, but why had Vice Dean Zhang and Instructor Wu come as well?

“Brother…” Ye Ling cried out mournfully, about to throw herself at Ye Xin.

“Don’t move!” Vice Dean Zhang barked.

Ye Ling froze, turning toward him. He quickly approached Ye Xin, studied him for a moment, and sighed softly. “His breathing is steady—he’ll be all right. He’s only fainted from blood loss. Mmm… Instructor Xie, Instructor Wu is injured and can’t move, so I’ll have to trouble you with an errand.”

“Me? Vice Dean, where do you want me to go?” Xie En was taken aback.

“Go to Jiuding City and summon reinforcements,” said Vice Dean Zhang.

“I think I’m needed more here,” Xie En replied; at this moment, he wouldn’t leave Ye Xin’s side for anything.

“I’ll go!” Wen Rong suddenly spoke up.

“You? Very well…” Vice Dean Zhang nodded. “Remember, you must see the sovereign in person. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I do,” Wen Rong said quietly.

“There’s no rush yet. Rest for a while first,” Vice Dean Zhang told her. “You won’t have any chance to rest along the way.”

They had all been injured to some degree by the intense shock. Resting now would allow Wen Rong to recover her strength as quickly as possible—if she waited until she was exhausted on the road, it would only waste more time.

Then Vice Dean Zhang’s gaze returned to Ye Xin. “So, this is Ye Xin, the Wolf Commander’s own son? Truly, a tiger father breeds no dog son… If he hadn’t sounded the alarm in time, we’d all have died here.”

Now that calm had returned, they were keenly aware of the peril they’d faced in that critical moment.

If not for Ye Xin’s warning and his example, even a slight delay in their reaction would have had unimaginable consequences.

“He’s a good brother,” Shao Xue suddenly said. Just before the explosion, she’d last seen Ye Xin shielding Ye Ling with his own body.

Ye Ling’s turbulent emotions surged anew at Shao Xue’s words, and her eyes reddened once more.

Within the filaments of Ye Xin’s consciousness, the world was gradually changing. The silvery light steadily devoured everything, even the starry sky, until all was incandescent white. His thoughts ceased, and he truly fell unconscious.

****

Who knows how long had passed when Ye Xin was roused by a jolt. He found himself within the Yuan Palace, a sea forged of spirit. Extreme emotions could stir up vast storms in this ocean; if one could enter another’s spiritual sea, all their secrets would be laid bare.

But that only applied to ordinary people. Ye Xin had once fought desperately here with that other Ye Xin and had learned to control his spiritual sea. When the palace was later seized by Zhong Kui, Ye Xin’s mastery had only grown through prolonged struggle. Thus, his spiritual sea was now eerily calm, like a desolate expanse.

Above the sea, countless filaments gathered, forming a sphere of light—within which a human figure slowly emerged.

Ye Xin recognized it. The disaster at Twin Ridge Mountain had been triggered by this very figure. By rights, Ye Xin ought to have been terrified, but he remained utterly still.

The figure, woven of threads, seemed to sense Ye Xin’s presence. Slowly, it turned toward him, and a deep voice echoed above the spiritual sea: “I am…”

“Die!” Ye Xin’s will struck out, targeting the sphere of light.

His Yuan Palace had once been occupied by Zhong Kui, and after immense effort, Ye Xin had seized his chance to imprison Zhong Kui. He would never again allow himself to face the same threat.

Ye Xin used to say that battle was the last resort, but this time, he responded to the challenge with the most violent resolve.

After two years of endurance, he’d reached his psychological limit. He would bear it no longer—either destroy this danger or perish in a blaze of glory today.

“How dare you?!” the figure roared.

Ye Xin’s will erupted without reservation. The endless spiritual sea became a storm of black clouds, pressing in from all sides.

The figure exploded, scattering into countless bright silver threads that darted through the storm.

If Ye Xin’s will was darkness, then the other’s counterattack was like lightning splitting the night. Would darkness swallow the light, or would the lightning cleave the darkness apart? No one could say. All Ye Xin hoped was that Zhong Kui had not been boasting.

Zhong Kui’s divine power could absorb any soul force—Ye Xin’s sole reliance now.

(Requesting recommendations and support—my new book ranking just needs a little more to break through. Please, everyone, help me out.)