Where Immortals Once Walked

He Lingchuan did a quick mental count. “Out of the five of those creatures you’ve caught, I got two of them? Don’t you have curfew patrols every night?” Isn’t your efficiency a bit too low?

In fact, what he really wanted to say was: Panlong City has definitely been releasing Three Corpses Worms for patrol, right? How are those terrifying scouts unable to capture these little creatures?

The sparrowhawk ruffled its feathers irritably. “They changed their activity pattern. They don’t show up at night anymore, and they don’t appear under bright sun either. They’ve only been showing up on overcast days. They must be somewhat afraid of the Sun’s true fire. They’re not very smart individually, so we suspect someone is directing them.”

It paused, hesitating.

“And?” He Lingchuan asked, instincts sharpening. Years of experience had taught him that whatever someone hesitated to say was usually the most important part.

The sparrowhawk scraped its talons against the floor uneasily. “Commander Zhong brought in the most experienced physicians to examine the monsters. I was there too. They concluded that these monsters are still in their youth.”

“In their youth?” He Lingchuan’s brow furrowed. “So they’re still juveniles?”

“They have wide, unfused fontanelles on the top of their skulls. The bone gaps haven’t even begun to close. The physicians judged them to be newborns or fetuses.”

“Fetuses?” This time, He Lingchuan was well and truly shocked. “These things are this dangerous already, and they’re still fetuses?!”

If they’re already this terrifying when they’re still so young, then what would their adult versions be like?

“That’s why they’re instinctively afraid of strong light. They only move during overcast weather.” The sparrowhawk curled its wings tight. The cold air in the room made it shiver. “Since the first of them appeared, there have only been a handful of cloudy days. That’s why we’ve only caught so few. It’s not because we aren’t trying.”

“So that little creature, did it walk here by itself?”

“Yes. It walked, stopped, and sniffed around. It was almost as if it were searching for something. Eventually, it wandered onto your wall. I was watching from above. I saw it turn toward you with the intention of biting your throat, so I came down.”

“Thank you.” He Lingchuan truly meant it. He reached out and gently patted the bird’s head, moved by the gesture.

The sparrowhawk jerked away indignantly. “If you want to thank me, throw fuel into the stove! It’s freezing in here! I’m about to turn into a bird popsicle!”

“Alright, alright.” He Lingchuan laughed awkwardly. “I admit I haven’t been very hospitable. I’ll get a fire going.”

He walked into the kitchen and froze on the spot. There was neither charcoal nor firewood.

He had used the last of his firewood during his last entry into the dreamscape and had not gotten to replenish the stock. His body was strong enough to weather the cold through sheer vitality, but of course, the same was not true for the sparrowhawk in its current state.

So, what now? He thought for a moment, then grabbed his only blanket and wrapped it carefully around the bird. “Stay put. I’m going to borrow some firewood. I’ll be right back.”

* * *

The patrolman who had taken the bamboo basket left He Lingchuan’s house. The farther he walked, the more remote and winding his path became. He took seven or eight sharp turns, each leading him deeper into the quietest parts of the neighborhood, until he finally slipped into a deserted alley.

The walls here were low, and the trees overhead were tall.

A house to the left was undergoing renovations. Its gate stood wide open, piles of timber and bricks stacked just inside, but not a soul in sight.

Heavy clouds pressed across the sky, hinting that it would rain soon.

The patrolman scanned the surroundings to ensure no one had tailed him, then quietly darted inside the abandoned courtyard.

He moved toward the back corner of the house, set down the bamboo basket, and stared into it.

The little creature inside stared right back.

One man and one monster looked at each other for a long, chilling moment.

Then the creature opened its mouth and made a familiar clicking sound akin to teeth chattering in speech. It seemed to be reporting something.

The patrolman did not react. He simply listened. When the creature stopped, the patrolman made the exact same clicking sound in return.

The noise did not come from his throat. It came from inside his chest!

Then he lowered the basket and tipped it, intending to dump the little creature onto the snow.

If he covered it in layers of powdered snow, waited a bit, and let the snow melt, the diluted moisture would dissolve the sticky birdlime. The creature might be able to free itself afterward.

But just as he tilted the basket, an arrow whistled through the air and slammed into his arm, nailing it cleanly into the wall.

He did not scream. He did not flinch. He did not seem to feel pain at all.

It was only after the arrow hit that the delayed howl of wind followed.

The patrolman reached to yank the arrow out, but then a second arrow struck, pinning his other arm to the wall as well.

This time, he finally roared in fury. With brute, unnatural strength, he tore his hand free, forcing it through the wooden shaft and leaving the arrow embedded in the wall, dripping blood from tip to fletching.

However, he was a step too slow. A third arrow shot through the cold air and punched straight into his heart.

The patrolman froze. His head slumped forward. Then, in the very next moment, the armor on his back rippled, and something alive squirmed beneath it. A creature burst out through the back plate of his armor and sprang toward the corner of the courtyard, intending to escape.

It moved with lightning speed, moving faster than a human eye could track. Its entire body was a blur, like a shadow streaking across the air.

Unfortunately for the little creature trying to escape, a fourth arrow struck.

It hit the creature cleanly in mid-leap, making it seem as if the shooter had calculated its trajectory in advance. It was as if the creature threw itself into the arrow’s trajectory.

A harsh, guttural screech split the silence.

Without flourish, without theatrics, the four arrows methodically forced out the creature hidden within the patrolman’s body, killing it by pinning it into the wall.

The series of events seemed terrifyingly simple yet deadly.

Only now was the creature discernible. It was another one of those creatures, but this one looked like a spider with long, stilt-legged limbs. Each of its eight legs was at least one meter long, thin as noodles. But its body was no bigger than a duck egg. On its back, a distorted, vicious human face stared in silent rage.

Pinned to the wall by the arrow, the spider-looking creature raked its eight legs desperately, scratching at the plaster. However, its limbs were built for delicate work—injecting venom, manipulating nerves, puppeteering dead bodies—not for brute force.

That was how it had taken the patrolman by surprise earlier, turning him into its mobile shell.

It had earned He Lingchuan’s trust just so that it could bring away the little creature from the basket.

But in the end, it had been the mantis stalking the cicada, while the oriole waited behind.

A figure landed lightly from the top of the wall, moving soundlessly. The newcomer plucked the arrow and the creature along with it from the wall and stuffed both into a long arrow quiver.

The little creature inside the basket erupted into frantic clicks. Its tiny eyes flashed with terror.

The shadowy figure picked up the basket and vanished down the alley within heartbeats.

* * *

Meanwhile, He Lingchuan vaulted up the low wall separating his home and Sun Fuling’s.

Yes. His plan was to borrow firewood from his good neighbor Sun Fuling.

Teachers or instructors at Shumin State Academy always had more salary firewood than they could burn.

Still, why did that little creature come here in the first place?

As he swung his leg over the wall, something clicked in his mind.

The bamboo basket’s occupant had struggled nonstop except during two moments.

The first was when he spoke with the patrolman, and the second was when he handed the patrolman the basket.

Both times, the little creature went quiet and perfectly still. It had become almost obedient.

Why?

He stood on the wall, stunned for several long seconds, then smacked his own forehead.

Fuck, that patrolman must have been compromised!

He had been so distracted earlier that the red flags slipped right past him.

What was I thinking? Why did I trust that guy so easily?

However, it was too late. A considerable amount of time had already passed since he handed that patrolman the basket containing the little creature.

He sighed and resumed his original task of finding firewood.

Sun Fuling’s courtyard was spotless, perhaps even cleaner than his own face. Only a ladder and a chair sat under the eaves. The snow on the ground had melted and refrozen in clear patches of ice that gleamed under the weak daylight.

So she isn’t home again. She should’ve been on winter break, so where’d she run off to?

He Lingchuan stepped into the kitchen. A large stack of firewood taller than him sat neatly in the corner. Next to it lay a pile of charcoal. She must have saved her academy’s allotted salary firewood for months.

Does she just not heat her home at all? How did she save up so much firewood?

He glanced around. The kitchen was immaculate. The pots and utensils were perfectly arranged, no soot, no scorch marks, not a trace of cooking.

He checked the stove. There was only a thin layer of dust, no blackened ash.

When she said she could not cook, it was no false modesty.

But does she not even boil water? Does she just chew the snow and melt it down into water in her mouth or something?

The door connecting the kitchen to the bedroom was open. He Lingchuan knew that he should not look, but his legs did not listen.

Sun Fuling’s bedroom was equally pristine. The bedding was straight and clean. A chair by the wall held two leisure books.

A small chest sat beneath the window—latched, but not locked.

On top of the chest, there was half a plate of burned candles.

He scanned the room. Nothing looked out of place, yet the chest drew his eyes again and again.

Should I open it?

He had seen her retrieve medicine several times before, but he did not see a medicine box anywhere. Maybe she kept the supplies inside that chest?

What else could she be storing in there?

Just as he stepped closer.

Creak.

The courtyard door swung open.

This is bad.

He darted back into the kitchen and slipped out, but then he immediately ran into—

Sun Fuling.

The two of them froze mid-step.

She blinked in mild surprise, hands full of parcels.

He Lingchuan felt his face heat with embarrassment. He did not need a mirror to know he looked suspicious as hell.

“Uh, hi.” His voice was thin as air. “You’re back.”

Sun Fuling glanced at the wall, then at him, looking like she knew that he must have jumped over the wall. “Did you need something?”

“I came to...” He Lingchuan forced out a stiff chuckle. “Borrow some firewood.”

Noticing her heavy leather satchel, he rushed forward. “Here, let me carry that.”

She handed it to him, then strode into her kitchen and returned with a huge bundle of firewood and charcoal.

She shoved everything into his arms. “I never use it, so just take as much as you want.”

From next door came a faint chirrrp.

Sun Fuling tilted her head. “What was that sound?”

“It’s the sparrowhawk,” He Lingchuan said quickly. “It got into a fight with a creature in your yard earlier and got injured. I’m treating it at my place. It keeps complaining about the cold, so...”

He lifted the firewood pointedly.

“It’s hurt?” Sun Fuling’s eyes softened. She had met the bird before. “I’ll go take a look.”

Of course, he could not climb back over the wall in front of her. He led her out through the gate, across, and into his own courtyard.

“Please come in.”

In the kitchen, he began lighting the stove. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Sun Fuling crouched beside the sparrowhawk, gently examining its wings. She stroked its back with a light hand.

The sparrowhawk did not flinch or dodge. Instead, it closed its eyes in bliss.

Seriously? Is this bird playing favorites?

Moments earlier, it had practically hissed at him.

“Poor thing. Its feathers are broken. It looks like it’ll be a few days before it can fly again.” Sun Fuling reached into her satchel and drew out a small pouch of dried meat. She tore off soft strips and fed them to the sparrowhawk bit by bit. “I bought these at the market. They’re not salty.”