Where Immortals Once Walked

This time, his dream held no fresh encounters. Neither Hu Min nor A’Luo appeared. He merely wandered the streets of Panlong City for a while before returning to his little house to practice archery and the saber.

Meditation in the dream brought no benefit to his cultivation in the waking world, but the martial techniques he honed here—well, at least their skill and familiarity—remained with him when he awoke. When He Lingchuan confirmed this, he was overjoyed. It meant he had maybe double the training time of an ordinary person, his waking hours plus dreamtime.

He had heard the old tale of the “yellow millet dream,” where a man dozed while millet was cooking and dreamed an entire lifetime. He, too, hoped that one day the Panlong Dreamscape might stretch on without end, until every one of the techniques and skills he learned here had become second nature.

This was, however, probably mere wishful thinking. After all, no matter how much he longed for it, his stay in the dream lasted only a dozen hours or so.

He also noticed that his regular access to the Panlong dream seemed to begin only after he had trespassed into the immortal’s cave abode. Before that, in several months, he had only dreamed his way in twice.

And of course, the very start of it all had been the broken saber.

Yet it was the divine bone amulet that had reacted within the immortal’s cave abode. It had closed the cave abode at once and, instead, opened the Panlong Dreamscape to him again and again.

Oh, and the black talisman he had taken from Lu Yao, he had fed that to the divine bone as well.

So could it be that his entries to the dreamscape were but a reward?

Does this mean that every strange thing I find from now on has to be offered up to the divine bone for a taste?

* * *

The next morning, snow lay a hand’s breadth thick upon the ground. The cold was biting.

The Zhu Family sent an invitation, asking the Hes to attend Zhu Xiu’er’s cleansing banquet that evening.

“It should not have been arranged so hastily, but Lord Zhu knows Governor-General He will not remain long in Shihuan City. Time is short,” said the messenger, who stayed behind after delivering it.

The messenger’s surname was Liu, and he was a professional fixer. With Zhu Xiyan bringing his long-lost granddaughter home, he promptly sent this man to the He Family’s inn to serve them.

A “fixer” was exactly what the name implied: someone who got things done. They did not work exclusively for the Zhu Family, but were the city’s all-purpose go-betweens, connected with both the lofty and the lowly. Matters too inconvenient for noble houses to handle openly were often left in their hands.

For out-of-towners, their needs rarely went beyond eating, drinking, entertainment, trade, or introductions. A seasoned fixer could settle them all without trouble.

There had been the same sort of people in Heishui City, though there they were called runners.

The Zhu Family knew that He Chunhua was new here and without connections, so they thoughtfully sent a jack-of-all-trades to assist them.

He Chunhua had intended to go out himself, but before he could set a foot across the threshold, Old Mo delivered several calling cards.

Madame Ying was surprised. “Zhu Xiu’er only came home last night. How could anyone already know that we’re here in Shihuan City?”

He Chunhua waved it off. “It’s not strange at all. Yesterday, I had my arrival recorded with the authorities.”

He was now a high-ranking provincial official. Unless specifically summoned, he could not enter the capital without prior notice. Even in Shihuan City, he had to report himself at once, or risk severe punishment.

Fixer Liu laughed. “This is the emperor’s doorstep. News here flies faster than the wind. The first-tier families heard last night that the new Governor-General of Xia Province recovered Lord Zhu’s granddaughter. The second-tier families learned this morning. By tonight, word will have trickled down to the third tier and below.”

It seemed the hierarchy worked the same everywhere.

With He Chunhua and his wife tied up, He Lingchuan tossed Fixer Liu a silver ingot. “I’m new to Shihuan. Take me around for a look.”

Fixer Liu pocketed it with a thump to his chest. “With me here, Eldest Young Master, you can treat Shihuan as your own back garden!”

They had barely stepped out of the inn when Mao Tao popped up from who knew where, eager to trail along. “Young Master, where are we going to play today?”

The splendor of Shihuan City already had him itching to stretch his arms.

“Business first,” He Lingchuan told Fixer Liu. “I hear Shihuan is famed for its craftsmanship. My beloved saber is broken, and finding someone skilled enough to repair it will be no small task.”

Finding a smithy or forge in Shihuan was easy. Finding the most masterful craftsman, as a foreigner, was another matter entirely.

This was when a fixer proved his worth. Fixer Liu grinned and said, “No problem, Young Master. Come with me!”

A carriage was already waiting at the inn’s door.

The body of the carriage was made of redwood, and it was plain of carving, but the cushions inside were soft, and it was roomy enough that even with three men sitting facing each other with their legs stretched out, there would be no cramping at all.

As they rode, Fixer Liu began his introductions, “Shihuan City is one of the secondary capitals. There are famous craftsmen here everywhere, as well as sects of artisans all around. However, the finest of them all is Songyang Mansion.”

“Songyang Mansion?” The other two blinked, unfamiliar with the name.

“It’s a Daoist sect that was founded over fifty years ago. Its first master was a prince rewarded by Great Yuan’s founding emperor. He took his title and used it to establish a sect, and the sect’s disciples became renowned for their craftsmanship. Their wares sell especially well to officials and the sons of the upper class.”

So Songyang Mansion is for the elite, with half-official backing. No wonder it managed to thrive even in Shihuan City’s cutthroat market.

He Lingchuan nodded in realization, then chuckled. “I always thought Daoist sects hid away deep in the mountains, shrouded in mystery. I didn’t expect to find one right in the middle of a marketplace.”

“You’re thinking of immortal sects. Those exist only in legends,” Fixer Liu said breezily. “Nowadays, there are only Daoist sects. And unless they’re one of the truly ancient ones, most can’t afford to put on airs. Both immortal sects and Daoist sects teach divine techniques, but do you know the difference?”

“Oh? What’s the difference?” These fixers really were old hands; they could talk about anything under the sun.

“In the old days, immortals rode their swords through the sky, flew high above with bodies indestructible. They could take a head from a thousand kilometers away. Who wouldn’t bow down before that?” Fixer Liu gestured upward. “But look at today’s warriors and spellcasters. So they have some divine techniques, but cut them and they bleed, lop off their heads and they die. They still need horses to travel, can’t live forever, can’t even stand against the king’s armies, and they still scramble for royal appointments... Forgive the bluntness, but is there really such a gulf between them and us common folk?”

Mao Tao nodded furiously. “That’s exactly right.”

If you were not strong enough, the pedestal collapsed beneath your feet.

Suddenly, a thought flickered in He Lingchuan’s mind. What had killed the immortal I saw back in that cave abode?

They peered out the carriage windows. Shihuan City’s streets were far wider than those of Heishui City, and far cleaner, paved with neat blue flagstones. The main thoroughfare could fit ten carriages side by side.

Shihuan was a hub for both water and land. Half the supplies for the capital passed through here, so commerce was booming. Building after building rose in rows, some lavish mansions, some gleaming shops.

Beyond the usual restaurants, inns, brothels, and gambling halls found in every city, Shihuan had its own unique entertainments. One storefront bore a bold signboard: Bewildering Maze.

“What’s that?”

“A maze,” Fixer Liu explained to the two country bumpkins. “There are arrays set up by spellcasters or monsters inside for amusement. Some are filled with illusions of birds, flowers, insects, and fish. It’s very popular with young ladies.”

Fixer Liu chuckled before adding, “And then there are also special arrays known as soul-dissolving arrays. Inside those arrays, it’s all song and dance, made purely for us gentlemen’s pleasure. They’re so popular that you need to book ahead. I’ve seen patrons stay inside for two whole days, refusing to come out.”

Mao Tao was puzzled. “But the illusions are all fake. How can that compare to the courtesans at the Red Pavilion, where you can touch and hold for real?”

“You don’t understand. Sometimes, what you can’t touch is best.” Fixer Liu winked. “In the array, women can be however you want them. They can be breathtakingly beautiful, noble, innocent, sultry—anything at all, if you’re willing to pay. The Red Pavilion can’t match that, can it?”

Mao Tao listened and was immediately enraptured. He longed to leap out of the carriage that instant and go see for himself.

By then, the carriage had turned off the main thoroughfare into a side street.

Though called a side street, it was as broad as Heishui City’s main avenue, lined with shops boasting four-wide doors, their signboards polished to a gleam.

“This whole street belongs to artifact sects,” Fixer Liu said, swinging the carriage door open. “Here we are, the oldest shop of Songyang Mansion. They’ve been around the longest.”

He Lingchuan stepped down and nodded. Indeed, the place had presence. “How many shops does Songyang Manor have in Shihuan?”

“Two here, and three more in the capital.” Fixer Liu then led them inside.

The decor was elegant, and every wall was filled with weapons.

In the center of the hall stood a bronze cauldron, shoulder-high to Mao Tao. Customers often paused to gawk. He leaned in, peering down. The cauldron’s base held a miniature landscape with mountains, streams, cottages, and bridges.

What was marvelous was that a white mist hovered at the rim, and there appeared to be clouds within the vessel.

“Eh? There are fish in the river, and they’re moving!”

Mao Tao’s sharp eyes caught live fish swimming in the cauldron’s painted stream.

Fixer Liu explained, “That’s the treasure of this old shop, Mountains and Rivers Cauldron. It was forged forty years ago.”

He Lingchuan praised, “It’s just like the real world, indeed.”

“This is what we call a living scene,” Fixer Liu grinned. “We real folk can even step inside. I’ve been in myself. The scenery inside is stunning.”

Other customers who overheard clicked their tongues in wonder.

The shop was divided into three parts. There was a showroom in front, storage and negotiation in the middle, and a vast space for smithing in the rear.

Fixer Liu, clearly familiar with the place, led them straight to Steward Zhao and made the introduction. “This is the eldest son of the new Governor-General of Xia Province. He’s come to have his treasured saber repaired. Young Master He has sought many craftsmen and smiths before, but none of them could help him.”

“It seems that he required the very best, then. Please, gentlemen, be seated.” Steward Zhao poured them some tea, then fetched another man.

He was in his fifties, eyes bright as steel, his skin bronzed by fire.

“This is Master Li Fubo, Songyang Mansion’s Chief Grandmaster Artisan.”

Li Fubo wasted no words. He took the broken saber, drew it from its sheath, and the cold gleam lit his brow. His apprentice laid a wooden board on the floor. Li Fubo lifted the saber and struck the board with a testing strike.

Nothing happened. The board remained whole.

Mao Tao rubbed his nose, disappointed.

Li Fubo returned the broken saber to its owner and said, “You try.”