Where Immortals Once Walked

They were moving fast, crossing the wooden bridge in a flash, crossing it too quickly for anyone to take a closer look.

Almost no one noticed that the man beneath the overturned boat had crouched down and left the cover of the boat, curling perfectly into the bridge’s shadow.

He Lingchuan stayed there, holding his breath, not daring to so much as make a ripple that might draw unwanted attention.

A dozen breaths later, he cautiously poked his head above the surface, glanced left and right, then jabbed the spear into the canal bank. Using it for leverage, he vaulted himself up onto dry land.

The riders were already galloping away, their figures shrinking into the distance.

Only two children, who appeared to be five or six years old, stood by the bank, staring at him in curiosity, but their mother’s face was tight with wariness as she yanked them back.

The locals here really aren’t friendly...

He Lingchuan wiped the water from his face and quickly ducked behind two tall haystacks.

Ahead lay a warehouse, and beyond that a jumble of taller and shorter houses. Fortunately, there were not many people around. One look at his soaking wet clothes and fine materials told him any local would peg him for an outsider at a glance.

The only solution was to change.

He scanned his surroundings and finally allowed himself a small smile.

Not far away, on an open space before a farmhouse, clothes were hanging out to dry.

He crept over silently, not disturbing the woman cooking in the kitchen, and quietly took a few pieces of men’s clothing. Then, he slipped into a shady spot to change.

Even though it was quiet, before peeling off his wet clothes, he still checked his surroundings carefully.

Good. There’s no one here.

He stripped off the soaked trousers and pulled on the dry pair in quick, practiced movements.

Just as he was tying the waistband, a whistle sounded off to his side.

He Lingchuan’s head snapped up just in time to see a white object streak through the air like lightning, too fast for the eye to follow.

It was too fast to dodge.

Tchk!

With a sharp, an arrow slammed into his throat, punching through and out the back, the arrowhead embedding itself into the wooden boards behind him.

What did it feel like to take an arrow through the neck?

He wanted to curse, but no sound came. He felt only a searing, soul-deep pain.

Before him, the white fletching trembled. Following its line forward, he thought he saw movement by the haystack.

He tried to focus, but his vision was already blurring.

* * *

He Lingchuan shot upright with a shout, clutching his throat.

The window lattice, low table, and porcelain vase were the familiar furnishings of his own room.

On the branch outside the window, a lark fluttered away in fright at his cry, leaving a single feather drifting down to the ground.

He Lingchuan’s eyes locked on the feather, recalling the white fletching of that killing arrow.

His hand flew to his neck. It was perfectly fine; there was not even a scratch on it. Still, his whole body was drenched in sweat. It was as if he really had just hauled himself out of the canal.

“Scared me half to death!” He was alive. It had all been a nightmare.

A shadow crossed the doorway, and Uncle Hao slipped inside. “Young Master, what happened?”

“Nothing.” He Lingchuan rubbed his face weakly. “A bad dream.”

“Still Mount Hulu?”

“No.” After his great adventure in Panlong City, the former He Lingchuan’s memories of the attack on Mount Hulu had faded to the point of feeling like a past life. He had almost forgotten them entirely.

He Lingchuan waved Uncle Hao away, got to his feet, and poured himself a cold cup of tea.

It was still daylight. He had been asleep for no more than two hours.

Since returning from the desert, I’ve been sleeping like a baby. What’s going on with me lately?

His gaze drifted to the head of the bed and naturally fell upon the broken saber.

“Was that your doing?” It was the only new variable, so it was impossible not to suspect it.

He took the saber down and slowly drew it from the scabbard.

The air around him dropped by at least two degrees, but He Lingchuan felt no chill. If anything, it sat more comfortably in his grip than before.

He thought back to the dream. Apart from the locals who treated outsiders as sworn enemies, Chipa Plateau had been spectacular—fertile waterways and pastoral charm, crisscrossed canals, and a varied landscape. From the look of it, there were even mines further afield. It was no wonder Panlong City could hold out for years despite being surrounded by powerful foes. Its natural advantages were a decisive factor.

The last time he entered the Generous Pot’s secret realm, he had barely made it into Panlong City before nearly losing his life. Of course, there had been no chance to walk too far beyond the city and see the Chipa Plateau of old.

However, the dream that he had just now allowed him to witness just that.

He was certain, deep down, that what he saw in the dream was a faithful depiction of the historical Chipa Plateau.

The soldiers’ answers told him that he had dropped in sometime after the Red General’s rise. In other words, it was in the city’s final, desperate years.

For a time, West Luo had reestablished contact with Panlong City, but it was too feeble to withstand the coalition’s pressure. Hence, it quickly abandoned the city once again.

Zhong Shengguang was only human. After twelve years of loyal service, such betrayal nearly broke him. That was when he turned to the god Mitian.

And from then on, the Red General appeared.

This period in Panlong City’s history was the most shrouded in mystery. Sun Fuping had scoured the histories of many states and never found a complete record. It was as if some unseen power had forcibly erased it from the annals of time.

He Lingchuan’s own curiosity was keen, but the memory of that arrow—its uncanny swiftness and lethal precision—made his skin crawl all over again.

Counting this incident, he had “died” twice now.

It was an extraordinary and rare experience, but one that anyone would shy away from.

The arrow seemed to have been shot by the same person both times. Where was that archer hiding? I managed to fool even the wolfish Gale Army cavalry, so how did they manage to follow me so well?

He remembered the sharp, piercing whistle. He remembered his half-fastened waistband. He remembered the black dragon’s last words, deliberately pointing out that this saber was a gift to him.

There had been something of a trust, almost a charge, in that gesture.

The saber’s last owner was Zhong Shengguang. What kind of bond had he hoped would form between the saber and He Lingchuan?

The young man stroked the saber in silence, a new worry taking root in his head.

Should I really keep hanging it by the bed?

He shook his head. Oddly, the nightmare had not left him with a splitting headache. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He felt clear-headed and loose-limbed, as if refreshed, not drained.

Truth be told, the dream’s adventure had been fun, at least until the abrupt ending.

Most importantly, he could wake up from it.

If there was basically no loss or consequence, then what was there to fear?

Pressing his palm lightly against the saber, he said, “Let’s make a deal. You stop sending me nightmares, and I’ll keep you hanging right here by the bed. How about it?”

The saber, of course, remained quiet.

So, He Lingchuan hung it back in its place.

* * *

Even before night fell, Xiangsi Tower was already lively.

The restaurant here had been open for three years now, thriving in Heishui City. It was one of the rare establishments equally loved by locals and travelers alike. Rumor had it that its backer was a retired official based further into the state, and the dishes of his home province had become an instant hit on the frontier.

Xiangsi Tower had made its name with duck.

Yes, duck, the kind that swims in the water, plain and simple.

The head chef, brought in specially from Longhua City, was a master in cooking duck. Whether one wanted it stewed, roasted, braised, baked, casseroled, pan-fried, cured, or smoked, the head chef was an expert in all of them when it came to duck. They even selected ducks based on their fatness, age, and tenderness to suit each cooking style, truly selecting only the best for every dish.