Where Immortals Once Walked

Is this the master of this cave abode? The supposed immortal?

At least in death, he looked no different from any ordinary man. His desiccated skin clung to his bones, and his face had long since become unrecognizable. There was not the slightest trace of celestial or immortal bearing left of him.

His robe, though cut in broad sleeves and flowing lines meant to appear ethereal, was neither silk nor satin, yet oddly smooth. When He Lingchuan gave it a tug, it tore apart at once.

Damn, why is everything here as flimsy as poorly-made paper?

He rose and circled the chamber, but it soon became clear that this immortal had died a pauper. It appeared that not a single valuable was left behind.

Returning to the meditation mat, he noticed that the corpse still sat upright in proper posture, right hand clenched in a fist, with only the forefinger pointing to the floor.

The floor?

Brushing aside thick layers of dust, he uncovered a patch of black stone tiles neatly inscribed with several hundred characters—carved painstakingly with a fingertip, it seemed.

Could it be some sort of final testament? Perhaps the immortal had known that no parchment or silk could withstand the ages, so he etched his words into the stone itself, hoping they would endure.

Sadly, though the calligraphy was graceful, most of it was beyond He Lingchuan’s ability to decipher.

After some thought, he laid a sheet of paper over the stone and brushed ink across it. Peeling it back, the rubbings captured the inscription perfectly. He tucked it away with care. He might not understand it, but somewhere in Xia Province or the capital, there might be scholars who could.

Just as he was about to rise, the divine bone amulet at his chest suddenly burned hot, searing him twice in quick succession.

What’s it trying to tell me? Is there still something hidden here?

He froze, scanning the room once more. Nothing had changed; the ruin remained a ruin.

But this time he noticed the corpse’s left little finger. A black ring still encircled it, concealed until now by the fallen sleeve.

“Forgive my offense, senior,” He Lingchuan murmured, bowing before he carefully slipped the ring free.

It was a simple band of black jade, unadorned by any carving. But when he probed it with his spiritual sense[1], he could not help exclaiming aloud.

It was a storage ring, and its inner space was massive. The storage ring appeared to have about seventeen to eighteen square meters of room.

The value of the ring alone was incalculable. In the present age, a spatial artifact of even one or two cubic meters was considered precious. The ring he wore now could barely fit two low tea tables before it was full; he usually only stored compact treasures, reluctant to waste space on food or water.

But this was like carrying an entire storeroom at all times.

Inside were scattered odds and ends, as well as a stack of jade slips. Each of the jade slips was no longer than a finger, like slender bookmarks. In the old tales of immortals, such things appeared almost as often as magical treasures.

Legends held that jade slips were the hard drives of a bygone era, capable of storing boundless knowledge.

Heart racing, he picked one up and tried to read it, only to find it... blank.

Naturally, without the nourishment of spirit qi, the records within had long since faded. He Lingchuan sighed, now feeling crestfallen. He had hoped for divine techniques or cultivation techniques left by the immortals themselves.

But no, like all things in this world, even immortals and their dwellings could not withstand the erosion of time.

He left the courtyard and wandered the grounds.

The “cave abode” covered some seven or eight hundred square meters, its stone ridges stark and imposing. With streams and greenery it might once have been picturesque. But now, it was nothing but a barren, lifeless hilltop.

Around the perimeter, gray mists surged, concealing whatever lay beyond.

He Lingchuan climbed over the ridge, approached the fog, and thrust a branch into it. At first, the branch slipped through with ease, but the deeper it went, the denser the resistance, until at last it could go no further. It was as if he were pressing into a thick quilt.

This was likely the boundary of the cave abode.

And so ended his visit.

It was a brief adventure, and he left sorely disappointed. Yet considering the spirit turtle had found this place first, followed by the crocodile monster, who knew how many seekers had come before him? That the dwelling now lay stripped bare was only to be expected.

Just as he was about to leave this so-called cave abode, the divine bone amulet flared hot again.

Huh? Is there still something of value here?

He Lingchuan had no choice but to turn back.

When he passed beyond the center, the amulet burned as though in agitation; the closer he drew to the heart of the cave, the calmer it became.

At last, he came to a dried-up pool. “Here?”

Only when he stood at this spot did the necklace finally fall quiet.

But what am I supposed to do now?

There was nothing here but stone and sandy soil. Not even the faintest breeze stirred where he stood. Aside from his own breath and movements, the world was utterly still.

He stabbed at the ground with his broken saber as a makeshift shovel. After a few strikes, he realized that the soil was as hard as rock, far beyond what ordinary swords and sabers could dig through. It hardly seemed like anything could be buried underneath.

Digging blind was a fool’s method. Thinking quickly, He Lingchuan took the necklace off and pressed it to the ground.

Since you’ve chosen this place, you find the way in yourself.

Irritation tinged his thoughts. To his surprise, the divine bone necklace sank into the earth at once, like a stone dropping into water.

Caught off guard, he failed to hold on. And so, it vanished beneath the surface.

“Hey!” He Lingchuan blurted, startled. If that thing did not come back on its own, he would be taking a disastrous loss.

He clawed at the soil, digging a meter down, but found no trace of the necklace. There was not even a pit where it had sunk into the ground.

Thankfully, after several dozen breaths, just as anxiety gnawed at him, the necklace surfaced again on its own, glowing red as if it had gone through some ordeal underground.

He snatched it up only to hear a muffled crack.

The sound was similar to a spine being wrenched apart, like vines snapping, but magnified a hundredfold.

Fissures split across the floor, spreading wider and deeper as chunks of stone tumbled from above.

By now, He Lingchuan knew beyond doubt that the upheaval was linked to the necklace. Without a second thought, he bolted for the exit.

The ground shook so violently that it was hard to stay upright.

At the threshold, he risked one last glance back. The immortal’s cave abode and the cliff around it collapsed together, swallowed by the endless gray mist below.

He dared not look longer. One stride carried him out.

Darkness closed in, and he was once more in the dark cavern.

A sharp crack rang out. At his feet, the coconut-sized shell shattered into fragments.

The noise startled two others. The Crocodile God and Wu Shaoyi turned toward him at once. “What happened?”

He Lingchuan pressed a hand to the stone wall behind him. Solid as could be.

The entrance that had been there moments ago was gone. Now, only bare rock remained.

“The cave abode seems to have vanished.”

Both of them looked taken aback. The Crocodile God asked, “What did you do?”

He Lingchuan lied without the slightest hesitation, “Nothing. I just looked around and came out.”

Then, he asked the crocodile monster, “What do you think caused it?”

“No idea.” The Crocodile God did not care. It had taken a look around the place itself and knew that it had been empty anyway.

Only He Lingchuan knew for certain that the divine bone necklace had stirred something within that cave abode.

Wu Shaoyi, hampered by his wounds, could only look at him eagerly. “So was it really an immortal’s cave abode?”

1. This term is also often translated as divine sense and spirit sense. The term will remain as it currently is unless a clear reason for a change appears. ☜