Where Immortals Once Walked

Are the killers still lurking nearby?

He Chunhua had seen the same signs. He raised a cautioning hand, and the Coordinating Army drew weapons and fanned out.

Madame Ying and the other family members quietly withdrew to the rear.

The mood grew taut as a bowstring.

Just then, the door of the largest house—the one highest up the slope and brightest-lit—creaked open.

A figure stepped out into the doorway. “Who’s there?”

It was actually a woman, swathed in a snow-white cloak, with a hibiscus-fair face, willow-leaf eyebrows, and a cloud-black coil of hair pinned with a vivid red coral hairpin.

The officers exchanged looks of surprise. A beauty, here of all places; her voice was soft and velvety with a hint of husk.

A dead village in the wild mountains—and a living, breathing enchantress.

Lu Xin did not react, but its comrade moved in front of He Yue, baring its teeth with a low growl at the woman.

It sensed danger.

He Chunhua halted, frowning. “That’s my question. If you’ve men in ambush, bring them out. Blood on the air can’t be hidden.”

The beauty wagged a finger. “When I arrived, the villagers were already dead. It wasn’t my doing.”

“Where are their bodies then?”

“Moved to the back hill. We’ve dug a pit and were about to bury them.” She sighed. “My heart isn’t made of stone.”

He Chunhua flicked a glance at Zhao Qinghe, who immediately slipped off around the village. He Chunhua asked again, “Who exactly are you? State your name and affiliation so we don’t shed blood by mistake.”

“My surname is Li. I come from the capital, and I oversee Songyang Mansion.”

At the words “Songyang Mansion,” the He father and son both started. He Chunhua turned to look at He Lingchuan, a question in his eyes.

All He Lingchuan could do was shrug helplessly. He motioned for Mao Tao to hurry to the rear of the group to fetch someone.

Before long, Zhao Qinghe pounded back and murmured to He Chunhua, “My lord, there are indeed dozens of corpses piled behind the hill, with a half-dug pit beside them. Also, I scouted the surrounding woods. No ambush has been set up. Her people seem to be inside these houses.”

If they were bandits, they would kill and not take the trouble to bury. He Chunhua’s expression eased, and his gaze toward the woman softened. “I am He Chunhua, Governor-General of Xia Province. We saw lights on the mountain and hoped to ask for lodging. Our scouts went ahead and found the carnage.”

At that moment, someone from the rear of the Coordinating Army hurried up. Upon seeing the lady, he stepped forward and bowed with deep respect. “Li Fubo pays his respects to Your Lordship!” He turned to introduce her to He Chunhua. “Lord He, this is the master of our Songyang Mansion!”

It was Li Fubo, a grandmaster artisan of Songyang Mansion.

He Lingchuan silently propped up his own jaw.

Your Lordship?

So this is the Marquis of Songyang? The master of the artifact sect, Songyang Mansion?

Why had no one mentioned, from start to finish, that the Marquis of Songyang was a woman?

With Li Fubo’s identification, He Chunhua set aside his doubts and offered a sincere greeting, “So it truly is the Marquis of Songyang. If I’ve made any offense, please don’t take it amiss.”

The courtesies went both ways. The Marquis of Songyang stepped out at an easy pace, two maids following right behind her. “I’ll take you to see the bodies. Come with me.” She rapped the doorframe lightly. “All of you, out.”

Doors opened up and down the street as more than thirty people emerged and bowed to her. He Lingchuan noted that about half of them had eyes bright as lamps. They were clearly cultivators or people who had trained in martial techniques.

The Marquis of Songyang said, “These are my people. I told them to stay inside and keep quiet. We saw your group’s lights when you started up the mountain.”

He Chunhua nodded back, recognizing the polite way of saying “to avoid a clash.”

The group headed for the back of the village.

More than forty corpses lay on the ground—men, women, and children, just as the scouts had said. Madame Ying took one look, then turned away, unable to bear the sight.

He Lingchuan, Wu Shaoyi, and the others went forward to examine the bodies and found most fatal wounds on the chest and throat.

“The hearts and livers are gone. Some are missing kidneys as well,” Wu Shaoyi said over his shoulder. “The wounds aren’t from blades; they look like the work of pickaxes.”

The killer had punched an opening in each victim’s chest and taken the organs within.

The Marquis of Songyang added, “The money and grain in the houses haven’t been touched.”

“Then it likely wasn’t bandits,” He Lingchuan said. When bandits hit a village, those are the first things they take.

He drew back a victim’s tunic and pointed to the heart wound for the others. “There are four puncture wounds, all near the heart. Only the last hit the chamber dead-on. The killer was clumsy.”

His stint as a patrol in the Panlong Dreamscape, arresting seven or eight monsters, had given him some feel for this sort of thing.

A novice killer?

True, even bandits learn by doing, but an entire gang wouldn’t all be using pickaxes.

Compared to sabers and swords, that’s a very niche weapon.

He Chunhua mused, “A monster?”

The Marquis looked thoughtful. “Ever since the imperial nectar, the wilderness has been unsettled.”

The appearance of imperial nectar was a blessing to living things, but blessing and calamity often came together. Afterward, new monsters stir easily and wreak local havoc, and the human order of governance feels the strain.

If the Panlong Wasteland had suffered thus in its age, how could Great Yuan be spared?

Wu Shaoyi said, “The villagers were killed ten to twelve hours ago. The culprit may already be far away.”

“We’re borrowing their houses tonight. We owe them a proper burial.” The Marquis of Songyang then made a gesture, and her people came with hoes and shovels.

He Chunhua nodded. “As we should.”

The ground was frozen hard, so Zeng Feixiong detailed a dozen soldiers to help dig and lay the dead to rest, and sent two patrols to rotate through the surrounding hills.

The Marquis of Songyang returned to the village with He Chunhua and the others.

Outside the village, the ground was level; the Coordinating Army had started pitching tents and lighting fires. With families included, they were over six hundred strong. In other words, there were far too many of them for the village to house.

They were used to the road by now. They had gone from the west to the north, eating in the wind and sleeping in the open. They used windproof sheepskin tents, sturdier than canvas ones. He Chunhua had also arranged to buy warm sacks at Shihuan City, similar to the sleeping bags He Lingchuan knew, which kept the cold at bay on autumn and winter nights outdoors.

Campfires were essential, of course. Men gathered brushwood from the treeline and soon had a fire going.

As for lodging the rest, Old Steward Mo took charge. He Chunhua told him, “We’ll take only the three small houses on the west side.”

The Marquis of Songyang waved a hand. “That won’t do. Let the Coordinating Army have all the houses; we have other accommodations.”

Other accommodations? Are those from Songyang Mansion going to pitch tents too?

She walked east through the village, found a clear patch of ground, and paced a circle. “This will do nicely.”

Then she drew from who knew where a palm-sized model of a walled courtyard, set it on the ground, peeled off the talisman paper stuck to its roof, retreated a hundred paces, and clapped once with a low command, “Grow.”

Before everyone’s eyes, the toy-sized courtyard swelled like an inflating bladder.

In just a few breaths, it stood as a full-sized compound with high walls, a black gate, a two-story house within, and even the tip of a pine peeking over the wall.

A toy house had turned into a proper-sized one in but a few moments.

The Marquis of Songyang pushed open the gate and glanced back at He Chunhua with a smile. “Let’s talk inside. It’s too cold out here.”

The sight drew a murmur from the crowd.

Even He Chunhua was moved. “A mustard seed holding Mount Sumeru, so such divine craft still exists!”

He Lingchuan added for him, “Father, Sun Fuping’s walnut boat came from the Marquis. He borrowed it without returning it, and you ended up with it.”

He Chunhua finally understood. “So this is Songyang Mansion’s signature craft. No wonder!” Why hadn’t this boy mentioned it before?

The Marquis of Songyang glanced at He Lingchuan with a smile.

The He father and son stepped into the little compound; Zhao Qinghe, Wu Shaoyi, and the guards followed.

“Madame, the braziers are lit inside,” Old Steward Mo said, hoping to guide Madame Ying to a village house to rest after the long, jostling ride. But she looked at the conjured courtyard, heard the laughter drifting from within, and shook her head. “I’m going in too. Nanny Qian!”

They passed through the black gate into a small courtyard roughly eighty square meters in size, with a stacked, craggy rockery in one corner and beside it a pine tree whose crown was just beginning to gather the windblown snow.

Two palace lanterns cast warm lights, and the wind seemed to lag half a beat here.

Under the eaves of the small tower, wintersweet bloomed in profusion.

Snow fell without a sound. The courtyard was secluded, almost cut off from the world. If you did not peer over the wall, who would guess that outside lay a wild mountain village?

Inside the tower, warmth rolled out to meet them. Braziers in all four corners held the cold at bay.

After the ice and wind outside, everyone let out a long, grateful breath.

Madame Ying smiled. “Carrying a treasure like this everywhere, Marquis, you do know how to live.”

“Since I’m always on the road, this saves a good deal of trouble.”

The two maids behind the Marquis stepped forward to take cloaks and capes, then served hot tea.

Only then did He Chunhua introduce his people to the Marquis of Songyang one by one.

When he came to He Lingchuan, the marquis inclined her head. “My thanks, Young Master. Thanks to you, I acquired a spirit artifact.”

“Trading one spirit artifact for a grandmaster artisan to travel with us was a bargain.”

The Marquis of Songyang laughed and said, “When you have a moment, I’d like to examine that broken saber.”

Of course, He Lingchuan agreed. As the head of Songyang Mansion, her mastery of bladeforging would hardly be below Li Fubo’s.

When He Chunhua introduced He Yue, the marquis said with a smile, “I heard tales of the little prodigy of Qiansong Commandery two or three years ago. A rare pleasure to meet you at last.”

He Yue flushed to the ears, tongue-tied; none of his usual poise could be seen. He Lingchuan found it amusing.

Once everyone was seated, He Chunhua asked where the Marquis of Songyang was bound. After all, they were already over two hundred kilometers from Shihuan City, and the odds of meeting an acquaintance on the road were slim.

“I’m headed to Taobin City on business, then farther north to Yufen City to collect a few treasures and negotiate a deal.”

“Yufen City?” He Chunhua did the distance in his head. “That’s within Xia Province.” It was more or less the province’s middle reaches.

“Yes. This trip’s farthest point is in Xia Province.” The marquis took a sip of hot tea. “I plan to establish a Songyang Mansion branch in Yufen City and speak with the local authorities.”

She paused, then went on, “The situation in the north is tense, and Songyang Mansion has taken on a royal commission to forge arms. If I get the branch set up first, we can move military supplies flexibly later without tying up the royal court’s transport network.”

“Excellent, that’s excellent!” He Chunhua clapped. “Your Lordship thinks of everything. Why not place the branch in Dunyu, the capital of Xia Province? It would make coordination easier.”

Madame Ying’s expression changed, and displeasure flashed across her face.