Darkness enveloped everything, the air thick with the sound of insects. The mountain path ahead was treacherous, and now The Drunkard had collapsed again, sprawled motionless on the ground. The Wraithlord kicked him several times, but he didn’t respond.
"Is there really no other way to wake him up?"
I asked, and The Wraithlord shook his head.
"In this world, everything in The Drunkard’s world is real—at least for him. That’s why they can’t see you: you haven’t used that ritual to forge a world within your own heart. But I, having mastered the countless self-worlds created by this spell, can perceive the deepest desires within these people and make those desires manifest. That’s why they can see me."
I nodded, half-understanding. The Drunkard was utterly still, snoring, his body limp and dragging against the earth like a pile of mud.
The Wraithlord crouched down, still trying, but after a while, we could only sit by the edge of the grass, waiting for The Drunkard to move.
"How are we supposed to find the entrance to the Illusory Realm? Didn’t you mark it somehow the last time you found it?"
I asked, and The Wraithlord shook his head again.
"Impossible. I have no physical form, and with the Blood Jade buried there, many of my abilities were restricted. Things are different now."
My confusion only deepened.
"Don’t I also lack a physical body?"
The Wraithlord shook his head.
"You’re still alive. There’s a huge difference between the living and the dead. Your body in the world of the living may lack consciousness, but it’s still alive. We, on the other hand, lost our bodies long ago."
After waiting a while, The Drunkard still hadn’t woken up. The Wraithlord began to speak.
The infinite, vast world constructed by this person’s inner self—there’s only one way to find a path: by distinguishing the constantly shifting vitality and death energy within these worlds. But that method changes as the worlds change, making it highly uncertain.
To accurately pinpoint a world here, you have to understand every person within each world. By observing all their habits and actions, you can find their corresponding inner world and thus know which self their inner world aligns with.
Achieving this is incredibly complex. The Wraithlord spent hundreds of years gradually distinguishing and finally figured out the inner worlds of over three thousand people, the roles they play in others’ inner worlds, and the routes into their self-worlds.
To unravel all this, you need to observe every person in every world with meticulous detail—learning what they like and want. Only then can you know their desires, gradually pulling those desires out and making them manifest. Once you grasp the root of their desires, The Wraithlord can mark each one, mapping countless worlds.
"That’s so complicated."
I muttered, and The Wraithlord laughed.
"Of course. But the Zodiac Twelve use methods entirely different from mine. The reason they know so many worlds—more than I do—is because..."
"Everyone is born with a zodiac sign, right?"
I caught on immediately, and The Wraithlord looked at me, smiling.
"You are indeed clever—much cleverer than Ethan Zhang. It’s just a shame you lack ambition."
I glared at The Wraithlord, his words hitting a sore spot. It was true—I never liked studying much, always preferred to play. Most of the knowledge about the supernatural world was forced on me by my father; otherwise, I’d never have bothered with those dull, tedious things.
"My words may sound harsh, Rachel Lan, but it’s the truth. Everyone is born equal. It’s only during growth that inequality emerges. Do you know why?"
"Some people are smarter, some are less so. It’s probably experience, and effort, and..."
The Wraithlord interrupted me, laughing.
"Effort and lack of effort only lead to two outcomes: sweet or bitter. But even with effort, some things can’t change. Knowing what you want—and not knowing—is the biggest reason for inequality. That’s what I’ve seen in so many people over the years."
I swallowed, and The Wraithlord smiled as he spoke.
"Let me tell you an interesting story. Maybe you’ll understand after you hear it."
I responded with a quiet "Mm," and The Wraithlord began his tale.
In a certain era, in a riverside village, there were two brothers—the sons of a boatman. Since childhood, their father often took them on the boat, ferrying people or transporting goods, teaching them everything about sailing.
The elder brother was gifted, learning everything quickly, while the younger lacked talent and was always distracted, struggling even more. The elder could swim freely at a young age, but when the younger reached that age, he still didn’t dare enter the water.
The boatman was a good man, so business flourished. Over time, he bought more boats, and the elder son, quick to learn, could already help with deliveries and orders. But the younger son still struggled, clumsy at every task.
One day, the younger son suddenly asked his father if he could quit, saying he wanted to do business on land. The father was furious, and the elder son had to smooth things over, promising to talk sense into his brother.
The truth was, the younger son didn’t want to keep working as a boatman because he simply didn’t like it. Even though they were now well-off and life was comfortable, they were still boatmen, just as their ancestors had been for generations.
Later, the elder brother tried to persuade his sibling, saying that now the family business was thriving and, if they worked together, things would only get better. But the younger replied that their success was their father’s—and their ancestors’—and had nothing to do with them.
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Seeing he couldn’t persuade his brother, the elder could only sigh. Truth be told, he didn’t really understand either—working hard from dawn to dusk, always tired and aching, he didn’t much like it. But he never forgot his father’s words.
Over time, the elder brother developed severe chronic pain, just like their father, while the younger suffered minor injuries. He remembered how their grandfather, when alive, was tormented nightly by illness and couldn’t sleep. The younger brother resolved not to continue living a life he didn’t enjoy.
As the brothers grew older, the younger finally couldn’t hold back and told their father again that he didn’t want to be a boatman—he wanted to do business on land.
Eventually, the father agreed. After all, the younger son was never good at boat work, and the other boatmen often criticized him behind his back. The father gave him some money, and at last the younger son could step onto land and begin his own path.
The elder brother kept helping his father, working tirelessly, but business on the water was unpredictable, and the boats were aging. Many boatmen suffered from illness and pain.
Market changes made things even harder. Despite all their effort, they earned little, and sometimes repairs cost more than they made. The ever-changing river brought more uncertainty to the business.
Both father and son suffered greatly. Meanwhile, the younger son’s business on land wasn’t going well either—he failed, and the money from his father was nearly gone. But he was happy, living joyfully each day despite the hardship. He kept learning from stories told by boat passengers, slowly gaining experience, because the world outside was truly vast.
The father and elder son learned of the younger’s situation. During a visit home, the father spoke earnestly to his son, urging him to return and be a boatman again—at least they’d have enough to eat.
The younger son refused, telling his father to let the old boatmen go and sell off the worn-out boats. He suggested buying a new, faster, larger boat. But neither father nor son agreed—those old boatmen had worked with the father for years, and firing them would ruin their livelihoods.
Yet year after year, the business struggled. The aging boats caused several accidents, dumping customers’ goods into the river.
Eventually, many boatmen gathered at the boatman’s house, demanding their wages—months had passed without pay. The situation grew dire, and father and son could only ask for more time, saying they needed to find money.
The boatman had to borrow money everywhere, living in misery. The elder son struggled alone, still transporting goods, but the old boats kept breaking down. When the father bought new boats years ago, he did so to help many people, choosing small boats for their livelihoods—but now, it was too late.
In the end, the boatman settled the debts and many boatmen left, leaving only a few old boats. It was a huge blow for the father, and the family owed a lot of money. The father was devastated, drowning his sorrows in alcohol. He often remembered the happy days when they had just one boat, but as the fleet grew, his happiness faded. The elder son felt the same—deep down, he never knew what he truly wanted, just followed in his father’s footsteps.
One day, the creditors finally came, threatening to take father and son to the authorities. Chaos erupted at home, but just then, the younger son returned with money, enough to send the creditors away—for now.