Where Immortals Once Walked

“They’re already at the foot of the mountain. They plan to come up tomorrow morning.”

“Send word down, or better yet, send someone to guide them up here tonight! Tell them that Immortal Spirit Lake has yielded thousands of kilos of fish this evening, and we’re hosting a feast of fish. Invite them to come have some while it’s fresh.” Lu Yao chuckled. “Those poor bastards have had nothing but coarse grain down at the foot of the mountain. The moment they hear this, won’t they be drooling?”

In truth, ever since their rout at Woling Pass, these men had not dared to plunder openly on the way here, afraid of drawing attention and sparking a multi-province manhunt.

So their food had been meager, their morale in the pits, their heads drooping in defeat.

“When you deliver the message, make it loud. Make sure plenty of people hear. Once Wu and Pei’s men start clamoring, even if they’re told to wait till morning, they won’t be able to hold them back.”

Their “Righteous Army”[1] had just suffered an unprecedented collapse, and with it, the supreme commander’s prestige had fallen off a cliff. The whole army was in shambles with weak leadership, strong-willed soldiers, discipline in ruins, and the high command unable to rein in the ranks.

At such a time, if the common soldiers grew resentful, if they felt wronged or began to doubt their leaders’ ability, mutiny was never far off.

This was why generals had to cater to their men’s needs and feelings. Otherwise, the army could scatter at a snap, or worse, they might kill their commander and set up another in his place.

His confidant acknowledged the order and was about to leave when Lu Yao added, “Don’t breathe a word about the state troops up here. Not a single word, you hear? Keep that in mind!”

In times like these, defeated troops had a deep psychological shadow when it came to facing regular soldiers. If Wu and Pei’s men learned that state forces were already here, they might not dare climb the mountain at all.

* * *

The house was crowded, so He Lingchuan stepped outside for some air and to scout the surrounding terrain once more, keeping every detail fixed in his mind.

It was almost assured that tonight would not be peaceful. The little village they were in might well become his next battlefield.

The earlier uproar had faded, and Immortal Spirit Village lay steeped in the hush of evening wind. Were it not for the patrols pacing to and fro, one could almost believe nothing momentous was about to unfold in this sleepy mountain hamlet.

He passed before the Water Spirit Shrine. It was the finest building in the village, yet in the heavy night it looked drab and plain. The shrine was not large, but built square and solid, its four corners perfectly true. Its position was excellent, backed by the mountain and facing the vast expanse of the lake.

Crash!

Suddenly, a sharp sound split the quiet, like something had been knocked over, shattering across the floor, rolling twice before coming to rest.

He Lingchuan halted. “Who’s there?”

The Water Spirit Shrine remained silent, its main doors gaping wide like an open mouth.

Could there be a brigand inside?

He glanced around, took a torch from a patrolling soldier, and with his hand resting on his blade, strode in.

What’s there to be afraid of? This shrine’s in the eastern half of the village, so it’s part of our zone.

The shrine was not small. It had a worship hall in front, a meeting chamber in back, and low side-rooms on the left and right for the shrinekeeper’s quarters and storage.

Earlier, the brigands had hidden their weapons beneath the shrine’s altar, but once they split with the state troops, they retrieved them all.

Holding a torch aloft, He Lingchuan did a round around the Water Spirit Shrine. No one was there, not even a stray animal.

The floor was covered with footprints, no doubt left by the brigands earlier.

Then, he noticed a bucket-like object, which was probably the divination stick container, lying on the ground before the altar, its bamboo divination sticks scattered messily across the floor.

Is that what I heard earlier? Was it knocked down by a cat or something?

He recalled what Mrs. Zhu had said about the divinations of the Water Spirit Shrine once being famous for their accuracy. But too many people had come seeking fortune, and the water spirit, wearied by the clamor, eventually forbade any further divining.

Almost by reflex, he bent down to pick the sticks up. He was halfway down when a thought stopped him cold.

What am I doing?

The Water Spirit’s gone. What use is there in picking up sticks?

Besides, even when the old turtle was alive, it no longer offered divinations.

He Lingchuan was just getting back up when he spotted something wedged in the carved seams of the altar. A single divination stick, jammed so that its tip pointed straight at his nose, and it had nearly poked him in the face.

The stick was blood-red. Even in the dim light, the glaring color was impossible to miss. He tugged it free and immediately realized that the red was not blood, but lacquer that covered the entire stick.

Then, he saw the tiny characters inscribed upon it, and he cursed under his breath.

At the top of the stick were two words: Very Inauspicious.

Beneath that, there was the following verse:

A cuckoo takes the magpie’s nest, sewing another’s wedding clothing.

Reading the verse, He Lingchuan’s hand gave an involuntary tremor.

He could ignore the second half for now, but the first phrase, “a cuckoo takes the magpie’s nest,” was like a thunderbolt striking the darkest recesses of his heart.

For he was a soul from another world, dwelling in the body of this world’s He Lingchuan. Was that not precisely a replication of the case of a cuckoo taking a magpie’s nest?

He lifted his gaze toward the altar. Is the Water Spirit really dead? It really doesn’t feel like it.

Or is this stick ending up stuck like this merely coincidence?

Behind him, footsteps approached. He Yue’s voice rang out, “Brother, what are you doing?”

He Lingchuan turned to see Madame Ying, He Yue, and Mrs. Zhu walking up, Mao Tao trailing after them.

“You all came out?”

“The prisoner you caught is being tortured in the kitchen. I couldn’t bear it,” Madame Ying said. Then her eyes fell on the divination sticks on the floor. “Were you drawing lots[2]?”

“That divination stick container was sealed long ago.” Mrs. Zhu’s eyes flicked to the stick in He Lingchuan’s hand, and she let out a gasp. “Young Master, how did you end up with the worst lot?”

In Immortal Spirit Village’s Water Spirit Shrine, the “worst lot” was always blood-red. Hence, she was able to recognize it instantly.

“The worst lot?” Both Madame Ying and He Yue were startled. Madame Ying snatched the stick from his hand. He Lingchuan, strangely, did not even resist.

“What does it mean?”

Madame Ying studied the inscription, but she could not make any sense of it.

He Yue leaned in and read it aloud, then thought long and hard before shaking his head as well.

Meanwhile, Mao Tao gathered the scattered sticks and returned them to the container. He Lingchuan reached out. “Give it here.”

Mrs. Zhu quickly said, “Young Master, the Water Spirit is dead. The divinations no longer hold true.”

He knew that. However, he still wanted to try again. Muttering under his breath, He Lingchuan held the container and gave it a hard shake.

Clatter.

A single stick flew out.

Even before it hit the ground, everyone could already see its color.

It was blood red.

He Yue darted forward and snatched it up. Holding it to the torchlight, he read out loud, “The body like a prison cage, and the hatred, bearing no remedy, only to be dispelled in death.”

It was another very inauspicious lot!

Everyone looked at one another in disbelief. He Lingchuan’s expression turned dark. Was one of these cursed things not enough?

Body like a prison cage? What’s that supposed to mean?

Zhu Xiu’er, standing at the side, felt that this stick fit her situation far more closely, so why had Young Master He drawn it?

He, who lived free and unrestrained, wielding power as he pleased, what did he have to do with a prison cage? Or with a hatred that only death could erase?

“I’ve never heard of anyone being this unlucky,” Mao Tao muttered. “Young Master, maybe this container is rigged?”

He Lingchuan clenched his fists. The local Water Spirit had met misfortune itself; what good was asking it for guidance?

Could someone be secretly playing tricks on him?

He Yue suddenly grabbed the tube. “Let me try.”

Madame Ying, alarmed, seized her precious son’s arm. “Don’t! That thing is far too ominous.”

“Divination has always been mysterious and obscure,” He Yue said with a smile. “Don’t worry, Mother, my luck has never been bad.” With that, he gave it a few shakes.

A stick fell to the ground. This time, it was an ordinary bamboo-colored one.

He Lingchuan bent to pick it up. It was a slightly auspicious lot.

“Eh, yours turned out pretty good.”

1. I added quotations just to try to make it appear that this is how the rebels refer to their army. Future appearances of this term will generally not have quotations. ☜

2. Drawing divination sticks is also referred to as drawing lots. ☜