C5 Shock! Ten Souls Without a Soul!

"Ah! What's going on?" Nangong Xiaoyun stumbled, her voice tinged with panic.

"Shh... Keep it down, and get out of here," Ye Wuya whispered, urging Nangong Xiaoyun to be quiet as he gently pushed her towards the exit.

Without a second thought, she dashed to the door, swung it open, and was about to step out when she looked back and urged, "You need to get out fast, too!"

With a deep sigh of relief, Ye Wuya watched Nangong Xiaoyun leave. He then turned to his son, his eyes softening with affection.

Buzz...

Following the prolonged hum, incredibly, a tenth person emerged from Ye Mo's body! This unexpected development left Ye Wuya, merely an observer, completely taken aback. It was a sensation he'd experienced once before—eight years ago, when he witnessed a headless female corpse carrying the unborn Ye Mo.

The trembling of the ground subsided, and the Wraithsense Stone regained its stillness. Ye Wuya's gaze shifted from astonishment to a touch of sadness. His heart sank, knowing that for thousands of years, there had been no survivors among those lacking a soul. The worry for Ye Mo's fate weighed heavily on him. With these thoughts, Ye Wuya looked at Ye Mo with a tender expression.

Though the Wraithsense Stone had ceased its activity, Ye Mo, with his hand still resting upon it, remained motionless as if he were a statue. The ten souls had not yet returned to his body. At that moment, as if sensing something, the ten shadowy figures turned and gazed at Ye Wuya across the empty hall.

Ye Wuya's body shuddered without warning. He hadn't anticipated the ten souls turning to look at him simultaneously. Before becoming a Soul Cultivator, he understood that a soul, or spirit, was merely an unconscious state. Yet, the ten souls before him exuded a profound pressure, as if reaching out from the depths of his own spirit. Each pair of eyes glowed faintly, each imparting a unique sensation.

"These are clearly ten distinct individuals!" That was the first misconception that crossed Ye Wuya's mind as the ten souls stared at him. "But how can they have eyes?" he wondered immediately after. Indeed, the ten souls possessed eyes, but that was all; the rest of their features, including their bodies, were nothing more than shadows.

Ye Wuya snapped out of his reverie, eager to take a closer look, but the ten souls had vanished without a trace, having returned to Ye Mo's body. Ye Mo now lay collapsed on the ground, which left Ye Wuya with the surreal impression that the recent events had been nothing but a fleeting dream.

Crack!

The wooden door burst open with a jarring noise, and Nangong Xiaoyun peeked inside, scanning the room before her gaze landed on Ye Wuya, who stood motionless as if petrified.

"Is everything finished?" Nangong Xiaoyun's voice was uncharacteristically meek and subdued as she inquired.

"Yes," Ye Wuya responded absently. He stepped forward, scooped up his son Ye Mo in his arms, and began to make his way out of the hall.

"What's wrong with Ye Mo? Did he pass out from overexertion?" Nangong Xiaoyun asked, watching Ye Mo being carried past her by Ye Wuya.

"Yes," Ye Wuya replied offhandedly, continuing his stride, leaving Nangong Xiaoyun to stand bewildered in his wake.

"Can you keep what you've seen today a secret?" Ye Wuya suddenly halted, turning to face Nangong Xiaoyun with a solemn expression.

After a brief pause, Nangong Xiaoyun shook her head and said, "I can't, but I will inform my father about it."

Ye Wuya remained silent, then nodded and turned back, resuming his walk toward a building within the Ye family compound. "Very well, Miss, you should get some rest."

"Rest? I've only just gotten up..." Nangong Xiaoyun muttered to herself as she watched Ye Wuya's retreating figure.

The Wraithsense ritual had concluded, and Nangong Xiaoyun had missed witnessing Ye Mo's tenth soul. She had fled in terror during the appearance of the ninth soul, leading her to mistakenly believe that Ye Mo was left with only nine souls.

The tremors and tumultuous events, however, had not ceased. Many people emerged from the Ye family's expansive estate, engaged in animated discussions. The disturbance had not only been felt by the Ye family; it had sent ripples of unease throughout Strihgan City, leaving its inhabitants anxious and uncertain about what had transpired. Disinclined to offer any explanation, Nangong Xiaoyun pursed her lips and strode confidently back to her room.

Three days had swiftly passed since the Wraithsense incident, and life within the Ye family continued as usual. All the Soul Cultivators, along with the younger members, diligently worked to refine their souls and advance their cultivation. The noticeable change, however, was the absence of Ye Mo, who was once a lively presence, now nowhere to be seen. Without Ye Mo in sight, few missed him, though occasionally someone would remark, "Ever since that good-for-nothing fell unconscious, I've realized the Ye family's sky seems bluer. Seeing him just irks me, yet the Patriarch still treats him so well. Isn't that infuriating?"

Ye Mo had somehow managed to become the object of everyone's displeasure. In a family of Soul Cultivators, where everyone was expected to have the aptitude for soul cultivation, those who lacked this talent were an anomaly. If a child born into the family didn't possess this ability, they were expected to leave upon turning sixteen. The Soul Cultivator clans never allowed ordinary individuals to diminish their esteemed status, not even their own kin. Thus, Ye Mo found himself in a precarious position, resented for lacking the talent yet receiving more attention than those who were gifted, simply because his father was the Patriarch. With grievances held close to their chests, people were biding their time, waiting for him to either perish or depart from the Ye family upon reaching sixteen.

Meanwhile, Ye Mo lay oblivious to the discontent surrounding him, his pale face resting in a tidy, modest room. Over these three days, his frame had noticeably thinned as he remained bedridden.

As evening approached, the door to Ye Mo's room creaked open, pushed by a gentle force. A young girl in a white dress tiptoed inside, carrying a bowl of soup. She set the bowl down and softly lit the half-burnt candle on the desk. Taking up the bowl again, she approached Ye Mo's bedside, gazing at his increasingly gaunt features with a look of concern. With a soft sigh, she said, "Xiao Mo, it's your sister Qing'er. Come on, let's drink this soup while it's still warm."

The young woman who had just pushed the door open was none other than Ye Qing'er, who years ago had seen Ye Mo cradled protectively in the arms of her father, his clothes tattered. Time had flown by, and Ye Qing'er had come to regard Ye Mo as true kin. Unaware of the events that had transpired that day, she now gently lifted Ye Mo's head onto her lap, carefully blowing on the soup before feeding it to him spoon by spoon.

As the evening set in, the wind within the Ye family mansion grew chillier, stirring the hair on Ye Qing'er's forehead. She frowned slightly, setting down the half-finished bowl of soup with the intention of closing the door, only to notice a figure approaching slowly.

"Qing'er, I'm so glad you're here to see Mo again," the figure said as he stepped inside, closed the door, and turned to see Ye Qing'er feeding Ye Mo with a look of relief. It was Ye Wuya, the patriarch of the Ye family and father to both Ye Mo and Ye Qing'er. After all, no one else would come to visit Ye Mo.

"Dad, if I didn't come to see this young man, he would have starved with you not being home today," Ye Qing'er said, her voice tinged with a hint of reproach as she continued to spoon-feed Ye Mo.

Ye Wuya gazed at Ye Mo's pallid face, a slight smile on his lips. He shook his head gently and then inquired, "Has Mo been unconscious this whole time?"

"Yes," Ye Qing'er responded softly, her mind racing as she suddenly asked, "What exactly happened after we left the Wraithsense that day? How did Mo end up fainting?"

"I performed the Wraithsense using the Wraithsense Stone on Mo," Ye Wuya replied, not concealing anything from his daughter.

Ye Qing'er was taken aback upon hearing this. At fourteen, she spoke with the authority of an adult, immediately chiding her father for his reckless actions. Ye Wuya simply shook his head, his smile tinged with sadness. In that moment, Ye Qing'er's resemblance to her mother was uncanny, bringing back memories of his wife who had passed away.

"Although Ye Mo lacks a soul, he possesses ten souls…" Ye Wuya listened intently to Ye Qing'er's account, his face shadowed by a touch of melancholy. A wry smile crossed his lips as he began to speak.

Clang!

The impact that the phrase 'ten souls' had on Ye Qing'er was immense. The bowl slipped from her grasp and crashed onto the floor, leaving her speechless and wide-eyed for a long while.

"It's a shame that Mo lacks a soul, and this Death Curse may not be something he can overcome. Yet, I've never heard of anyone with ten souls before. There's not even a mention in the annals of history. Nevertheless, we must keep the matter of Mo's ten souls a secret from everyone. Do you understand?" Ye Wuya's final words to the stunned Ye Qing'er were firm and left no room for doubt.

"Yes!" Ye Qing'er, now regaining her composure, gave a slight nod. She then shifted her gaze to Ye Mo, who was peacefully asleep on her lap, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. "But didn't Nangong Xiaoyun see it too?" she asked, suddenly remembering, and looked up at her father.

"Ah, it's no concern. She only saw that Mo has nine souls…" Ye Wuya explained calmly, trying to reassure her, though concern was evident on his face.

Cough, cough!

As the room fell into a hush, Ye Mo, resting on Ye Qing'er's lap, suddenly began to cough violently, slowly opening his weary eyes.

"Mo."

"Little Mo."

Both father and daughter turned their attention to him at the sound. Ye Wuya approached Ye Mo, his eyes unexpectedly moist.

"Dad, sister, I must look alright, huh?" Ye Mo's heart was filled with warmth, and despite his pallor, he managed to speak with a faint voice.