Where Immortals Once Walked

In the end, however, it seemed like he had absolutely nothing to worry about.

People either nodded and smiled politely at him or ignored him altogether, brushing past without a second glance.

Do they see me as a local?

He Lingchuan knew full well that the soldiers and citizens of Panlong were notoriously wary of outsiders. Any unauthorized intruder was branded a spy and executed without mercy.

Could it be that, because he had once fought side by side with the Gale Army, the Generous Pot had now granted him passage?

With questions swirling in his head, he pressed onward.

The road wound through green hills and clear streams, wildflowers spilling across the slopes in bright carpets. Butterflies danced in pairs above the blossoms, and the crops in the fields thrived in the spring sun.

It all seemed so peaceful. In fact, it was more serene than even most of the countryside the Coordinating Army had marched through.

Yet this was the Panlong Wasteland, a land steeped in blood, nourished by the lives of countless dead.

And ahead, Panlong City grew ever nearer, ever more imposing.

Its outline resembled what he had glimpsed within the Panlong Illusion Realm, though here the angles were less severe, the fortifications less complete. Most striking of all, the massive gate lacked the fearsome row of crocodile teeth stakes he remembered. Clearly, at this period in history, Panlong City did not yet face the same crushing threats.

Even so, the city exuded an oppressive weight that pressed down on all who approached it.

When he drew closer, he saw that though there were no crocodile teeth stakes, the outer walls were covered in thick, gray-brown vines. They clung so densely that the stone beneath was almost invisible. It was springtime, yet the vines already bore fist-sized fruit, pale red and shaped like papayas.

Honestly, as city landscaping went, it was a failure.

This was Panlong’s main southern gate, so why plant climbing vines all over it? The stems were as thick as his thigh, perfect handholds for an enemy trying to scale the wall.

He was not the only one puzzled. Many other newcomers pointed and muttered in surprise.

Yes, Panlong City was not what he had imagined. It was not bristling with suspicion, not guarded like a fortress against strangers. A casual glance revealed foreigners in every direction: people in strange clothes, with diverse features and skin tones.

He even recognized several small-scale peddlers among them, and ahead, he saw a whole caravan waiting at the checkpoint. The caravan consisted of forty or fifty people, along with a dozen wagons piled high with goods.

These, too, were surely outsiders. Many wore the same look of awe that mirrored his own, hardly bothering to hide it.

The gates stood half-open. Only a squad of seven or eight soldiers handled the inspection. Their uniforms were neat, and their posture sharp, but their expressions remained calm and approachable.

They checked the identification and customs papers that travelers presented. For caravans, they opened a few crates at random, compared them with the records, and then waved them through.

It was not even as strict as the customs at Heishui City.

Soon, it was his turn.

He Lingchuan put on a friendly smile, though inside his legs were coiled, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. He carried no identification at all.

This was a gamble. The dream began here. If he could not enter Panlong, then what else could he do?

But when the guard looked at him, he did not even ask for identification. With a flick of the hand, he urged, “Move along, don’t block the way!”

Startled, Lingchuan hesitated for half a step.

The guard barked impatiently, “Go on!”

Well, it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to make a fool of me. He Lingchuan strode forward at once, slipping quickly under the gate.

Could it be that because of my last battle alongside the Gale Army, Panlong City now regards me with favor?

Regardless, he was at least no longer being treated like a rat in the street.

The gate tower loomed above. It was as grand as he remembered, though it had only two layers of gates, not the three layers of later years.

Beyond the threshold spread a vast square.

It was as large as in his memory, but the layout was different. Most curious of all, a lake glittered right at the edge of the square, its surface shimmering, and its waters steaming with heat. It was a hot spring lake.

Papyrus reeds sprouted along its shores, soft and tufted.

He Lingchuan stepped to the water’s edge. The lake water was crystal clear, the sandy bottom visible beneath schools of native stream fish. There was no ornamental carp, only hardy local breeds darting in quicksilver flashes.

This Chipa Plateau of the past was laced with rivers, cloaked in grass and trees, a verdant jewel in the Panlong Wasteland. He had seen this lake in the later Panlong City, but by then, it had long since dried up, leaving only a barren pit.

Now, with his own eyes, he saw how the shores were carved into broad steps, allowing people to walk straight down from the square to fetch water unimpeded.

He dipped a hand into the water. The temperature had to be over forty degrees.

Hot as it was, fish still thrived within. Add twenty more degrees, and they might just be cooked on the spot.

When he looked back toward the gate, he saw scaffolding rising against the high wall. Craftsmen hammered and chiseled at a massive relief that was about twenty-five meters tall.

Though unfinished, its outline was already taking shape.

The lines, the silhouette—yes, it was a flood dragon.

In the Panlong Illusion Realm, a black flood dragon relief had stood beside the city gate. Here, though, it was still unfinished.

Now, He Lingchuan understood exactly which time he had entered.

This must have been after the Panlong Wasteland once again became an enclave. Disillusioned with the state that had forsaken him, Zhong Shengguang had replaced the protective golden bull behind the city gate—the old guardian beast of the state—with the relief of the black flood dragon.

He Lingchuan picked a street at random and wandered in. The avenues were broad and clean, the buildings tightly packed, shopfronts bustling with hawkers shouting out their wares. In short, it looked no different from any other thriving city.

He had seen Panlong City in its later years, a cold and desolate place filled with death. To see it like this now, even knowing it was only a dream, left him with a jarring sense of unreality, as though he had lived through lifetimes.

Everywhere, peddlers and porters, merchants and commoners, bustled about. Some joked, some bargained, some quarreled, and some hurried on their way. The air was filled with the clamor of ordinary life.

That solemn, tragic, mournful atmosphere he had expected? It was nowhere to be found.

Could this dream be showing him a fragment of what had once been real?

The people here lived as they always had, bowing their backs for a few measures of grain, buying candied hawthorn skewers for their children at two coppers apiece, swindling and cheating when they could get away with it.

As He Lingchuan reached the doorway of an inn, a child suddenly darted out and crashed straight into his chest.

The boy was wiry and short, quick as a monkey, and surprisingly strong. An ordinary man might have been bowled over. But He Lingchuan, trained in martial arts, stood as steady as a bell tower. The child bounced off him instead, landing on the ground with a thump.

He Lingchuan glared. “Watch where you’re going, brat!”

“You little brat, why are you pulling my necklace?” He Lingchuan looked down and saw that his necklace, which usually lay hidden against his chest, now dangled outside his collar, the divine bone amulet glowing faintly red.

When the little brat had crashed into him, he had felt his neck tighten, but fortunately, though the necklace chain was thin, it had not snapped.

The boy scrambled up and bolted.

He Lingchuan was just about to chase him down and deliver a sound slap when—

Smack!

A heavy hand clapped his shoulder. A voice rang out, “Hey, He Lingchuan!”

Someone here knows my name?

He Lingchuan stiffened. He forgot all about the little brat that just tried to swipe his necklace as he turned sharply toward the speaker.

The person who had just called out his name was of average height, lean, with round eyes and an energetic air. Yet he leaned on a crutch, one leg hanging uselessly in the air.

“It really is you!” the man grinned, showing a mouthful of white teeth.

“Hu Min!” He Lingchuan’s surprise turned to delight. He grabbed him in a rough embrace, thumping him on the back. “Where the hell did you limp out from, you cripple?”

The joy was not just from meeting an old acquaintance in this dream, but from the fact that the other man remembered him.

That meant he had left an imprint here. He was more than just a bystander.

The significance of that was enormous.

“I was just on my way to Frost River Tavern for a drink, and what do I see but you standing here, letting some brat pick at your necklace like an idiot!”

They locked eyes, and then they both burst into hearty laughter.

Hu Min was the Gale Army comrade who had once stood with him in the dream, shoulder to shoulder, defending the barricade of wagons. When He Lingchuan lost an arm, it was Hu Min who had loaded every one of his crossbow bolts for him.

True friendship between men was not forged in classrooms but forged under fire.

“Come on, let’s go have a few drinks.” He Lingchuan turned his head and immediately saw Frost River Inn.

Wait, isn’t this the same place where Old Snake Sun gathered us to discuss our strategy after we entered the Panlong Ruins?

Back then, however, the inn had been nothing but a decrepit shell, its signboard hanging in the wind, the characters almost illegible.

But here and now, Frost River Inn’s plaque gleamed with golden letters. The place bustled with drinkers. It was lively and prosperous.

The two of them went in cheerfully and found a table. When the server came over to ask what they wanted, He Lingchuan belatedly patted his pockets.

Not good, do I not have any money on me?!

The broken saber had drawn him into this dream, and all it let me bring in is a set of clothes? It didn’t even let me bring any coins? Stingy bastard.

Hu Min, oblivious, was already calling out merrily, “Old Luo Bai, bring us a full jar first! Fry up some wild greens, a plate of pork cracklings, and slice us some pig’s head meat! Oh, right, do you want goose or chicken?”

“I...” What choice does a penniless man have? He Lingchuan forced a wry smile. “Either is fine.”

“Then make it marinated goose leg, the biggest, fattest piece you’ve got!”

He Lingchuan’s heart lurched at the word biggest. “Isn’t that too much? I’ve already eaten. Let’s not waste food.”

“You might be full, but I’m starving.” Hu Min rolled his eyes. “That alone won’t be enough to finish the jar! Order more—”

Then he caught himself, grinned, and clapped the table. “Oh! No worries, no worries. Eat and drink your fill! It’s on me today!”

“This...” Is too good to be true! “...How could I? You think I’m the sort to freeload off a brother?”

He Lingchuan widened his eyes in mock indignation. Hu Min only laughed and said, “Between brothers, what’s there to fuss about?”

In less than the blink of an eye, the cracklings were on the table.

They were nothing more than scraps left from rendering pork lard, sprinkled with a pinch of chili powder. Meat was expensive and too precious to waste, so the kitchen sold the leftovers to accompany wine. A single plate of pork cracklings costs only two copper coins.

He Lingchuan picked one up and popped it into his mouth. It was crispy, fragrant, and it grew more savory with each chew. Hu Min clearly knew his liquor snacks. Only an experienced drinker would go straight for pork cracklings.

“How did you make it out alive?” Hu Min finally asked. “We held the line till dawn. The Red General himself came to our rescue, but you, one moment you were there, the next you were knocked into the river. After the enemy fled, even Officer Xiao went down himself to search for you. But no matter how he looked, he couldn’t find you.”

Officer Xiao went in after me? He Lingchuan was deeply moved.

He remembered clawing his way onto a boulder, just wanting one glimpse of the Red General, and then being shaken awake by a servant, that dream forever cut short. But to Hu Min, to Officer Xiao, and to the others, he had simply been knocked into the river and vanished.