Where Immortals Once Walked

He stole from so many people every day, so how could he possibly remember He Lingchuan, someone he had only seen once?

“Give me back my things!”

“I already sold them, traded them for food!” The boy patted his stomach. “They’re all in here!”

He Lingchuan smiled coldly. He drew his changdao and pressed the back of the blade against the boy’s belly, sliding it upward. “You ate what’s mine? Then spit it back out.”

The metallic chill sent the boy stumbling backward in terror, crying out, “Panlong City has laws! You can’t kill me!”

“Panlong City has laws, yet you still dare steal?” The brat might have been young, but he was a seasoned thief, hardened and unrepentant. He Lingchuan turned to the woman. “What did you lose?”

“A promissory note and a writ of remission.”

A writ of remission? He Lingchuan blinked. How could a commoner family have something like that?

The woman shook the boy like a puppet. “Who sent you to steal from my house?”

The boy shook his head violently. “No one! I was hungry, that’s all! But your house was dirt-poor! There wasn’t a grain of rice to be found, so I just grabbed something at random.”

“Oh? You can read, can you? Or did someone write down the words writ of remission for you to recognize beforehand?” The woman gave a mirthless laugh. “Otherwise, why didn’t you take one of the other books lying around my house?”

A six or seven-year-old thief who could read? That would be something indeed.

The boy clammed up, lips pressed tight like a clam shell. His eyes said plainly: What can you do to me anyway?

“Who did you hand the writ to?”

He blinked innocently.

He Lingchuan took a small piece of silver from his sleeve and held it where the boy could see, but before he could even speak, the woman pushed his hand away. “No need. Just hand him over to the authorities. There are people whose job it is to make him talk.”

“You think they’ll actually get anything out of him?” This was the first time He Lingchuan had met someone with such faith in the efficiency of Panlong City’s authorities.

“A writ of remission isn’t some trivial document. Stealing it is a crime against a hero. Once the authorities get the case, they’ll pursue it to the end.” She patted the boy’s head. “He’s too young to lose a hand. Most likely, they’ll brand the word thief on his face instead. That way, everyone who sees him will know what he is.”

If that happened, how could he ever survive in Panlong City again? The boy went white, his bravado crumbling. “Miss... please, miss, I didn’t mean to! Have mercy!”

Then he turned to He Lingchuan, tears welling up. “Please, sir! I’ve got a little sister! She’s only three! If I get taken away, she’ll starve!”

He Lingchuan stayed silent, his face unreadable. He had lost almost nothing. Hence, he felt it best to let the woman, the true victim here, decide the boy’s fate.

But the woman was unmoved. “Where’s my writ of remission? Who has it?”

“It’s in the western side of the city! It’s with Liu Tailai, people also call him Two-Club Liu.”

“So it was him.” The woman nodded slightly.

Just then, a few constables came walking down the street. The woman waved them over and pointed at the boy. “This thief’s hit seven houses.”

The boy glared at her, furious. “I told you the truth, why are you still handing me over?”

“If I don’t, how am I supposed to get my writ of remission back? You think a lone woman like me can walk up to Two-Club Liu and take it from him?”

The constables’ faces changed when they heard that a writ of remission had been stolen. “He stole a writ of remission?”

“He confessed that Two-Club Liu, Liu Tailai, sent him. That man runs illegal loans. My brother owed him a fortune before he died, and now he wants me to pay the debt. He probably sent this brat to steal my writ of remission.”

Listening from the side, He Lingchuan could not help feeling that the story sounded oddly familiar.

The woman pointed to him next. “And this man’s a victim too, the boy stole firewood and two fish from his house.”

The constables jotted everything down carefully, then asked, “Your name?”

“Sun Fuling.”

“We’ll take the boy in first. If we need anything, we’ll call you both in for questioning.”

Judging by their faces, He Lingchuan could tell they only cared about the writ of remission.

Soon, they led the boy away in chains.

He Lingchuan watched the small, thin figure being dragged off. “He begged so pitifully. I thought you’d take pity on him.”

Women, he thought, were soft-hearted by nature. Like Madame Ying, for instance.

However, Sun Fuling said calmly, “A city stands on its laws. If everyone acts out of pity, then we’ll have small kindness, but no greater justice.”

He Lingchuan straightened unconsciously and gave a slight nod. “Well said.”

The woman paused before continuing, “Besides, last time on Maliu Street, when he got caught stealing, he used the exact same sob story.”

She turned and pushed open a door—the one next to He Lingchuan’s.

“You live here too?” All that existed between their homes was a single wall.

Come to think of it, he had never paid attention to who lived beside him. The only time he had noticed a neighbor was on the night of the imperial nectar rain, when he saw a child over at the house to the east. As it turned out, this woman lived to his west.

Not that it really matters, this is only a dream, right?

“Yes. Looks like we’re neighbors.” She glanced at his wooden door. “That brat came specifically for my writ of remission, but he helped himself to your things on the way. My apologies.”

No sooner had she finished than his stomach heard a low, gurgling rumble.

The woman covered her belly and took a half-step back. Even with a veil on, He Lingchuan could practically see the flush of embarrassment on her face.

He remembered the little thief saying that there was not even a grain of rice in her house, and something clicked in his head. He pulled out an oiled-paper bundle and handed it over. “For you. Consider it a thank-you for catching the thief.”

She meant to refuse, but the aroma seeping through the oiled paper made her accept it in the end. “Thank you.”

After he had eaten and drunk his fill earlier, He Lingchuan had also gotten a lotus-leaf chicken to go from Yixiang Tower. It was meant to be a late-night snack to treat himself. It was the restaurant’s signature dish, seasoned with seven spices, including sand ginger powder brought in by out-of-town merchants. It was salty, savory, and dripping with juices. He had polished off a whole bird himself and still had not had enough.

The woman seemed to smile; her almond eyes narrowed to slits. Then they said their goodbyes and each went inside.

All afternoon, He Lingchuan practiced diligently in his courtyard, while the place next door stayed quiet as ever.

He did not think much of it. The Panlong Wasteland was all wind and sand, the sun fierce. Even though Panlong City sat on the Chipa Plateau, it was not spared from such conditions. Plenty of people here wore veils outdoors, leaving only their eyes exposed. The veils blocked wind, grit, and glare, proving mighty useful in the environment they were in. He saw it on the streets all the time.

Near sunset, he heard someone knocking on the woman’s door, followed by voices.

He had sharp ears, so even when he was just standing in his own courtyard, he could catch the conversation clearly.

Constables had come by to follow up, asking the victim for more details and assuring her they would pursue the case to the end and see justice done for the family of a fallen hero.

After that, they took their leave.

After finishing his practice session, He Lingchuan rinsed off with a cold bath and had just pulled on his trousers when someone knocked on his gate.

At this hour, anyone he knew should be sleeping at home.

He opened the door to find a girl of seventeen or eighteen standing outside. Though she wore plain clothes without a single ornament, she was as pretty as a figure stepped out of a painting.

A new face? He Lingchuan blinked. “Who are you looking for?”

The girl smiled. A small dimple appeared in her left cheek.

“I’m Sun Fuling,” she said, lifting her chin with easy poise. “Your neighbor.”

“Oh!” Looking closer, he saw that the girl’s almond eyes were indeed familiar.

She held a bundle of firewood in her left hand. Hearing the splash of water, she thrust it toward him briskly. “I heard you running water. You probably don’t have firewood or charcoal for heating, do you? A small return gift.”

Since she called it a return gift, He Lingchuan accepted it.

It was a big bundle, and it was even quite heavy.

“The lotus-leaf chicken was delicious,” his female neighbor said with a nod. “Yixiang Tower’s signature. Quite pricey, isn’t it?”

The words slipped out of He Lingchuan’s mouth, “How did you know it was from Yixiang Tower?”

“...There’s a marking on the inside of Yixiang Tower’s oiled-paper wrappers.”

“Oh.” He found himself at a loss for words. In waking life, his tongue was sharp and glib. He was usually someone who could banter and tease any young woman he met. Yet now, his wit had deserted him completely.

An awkward silence settled between them.

The woman shifted slightly and said at last, “Well then, see you around...”

On some strange impulse, He Lingchuan blurted, “Would you like to come in for a bit?”

Every time he entered these dreams, he was either fighting or training. He had hardly ever spoken properly with the ordinary folk of Panlong City.

Her almond eyes curved again with a smile. “Alright.”

She followed him through the small courtyard, glancing around curiously.

The weather was bitterly cold, but the house itself was tiny. It was so cramped that with a bed inside, there was hardly room to sit unless both of them sat on the bed. That, of course, would be far too forward. He Lingchuan dragged out his one wooden stool and said casually, “Please, have a seat. I’ll get you some water.”

But as soon as the words left his mouth, he froze. He had not lit a fire all day; where was he supposed to get boiled water?

What, was he going to offer her raw well water instead?

There was wine in the house, good wine, too, but bringing that out might give the wrong impression.

The woman spared him the dilemma with an easy wave of her hand. “No need, I’m not thirsty.”

Still, He Lingchuan went into the kitchen, fetched a small stove, and started a fire partly to boil water, partly to warm them both. “Your brother was Sun Jiayuan, right?”

“Yes. The compensation has already been delivered.” Sun Fuling’s eyes flicked toward him. “If you made it out alive, that means your skill surpasses his.”

“Just luck,” he said lightly. Just the advantage of not being able to die in a dream.

He could not help thinking how pretty she looked. She was nothing like her brother at all. When she looked up, her gaze shone, clear and bright, as though it could pierce straight into a person’s heart.

“I was there when your brother fell,” He Lingchuan said, stirring the ash in the brazier. “In fact, I almost died beside him. Before the end, he asked us whether becoming a fallen hero meant all his debts would be wiped clean.”

To his surprise, Sun Fuling’s expression did not even flicker. Her tone was calm, almost cold, as she said, “Typical of him. Only someone beyond saving would think of such a thing.”

The ash puffed up; He Lingchuan nearly sneezed. “Well, at least he cleared those debts before he went, so they wouldn’t drag you down. By the way, did he live here, too? I don’t recall ever seeing him nearby.”

“No. He lived in an earth house,” Sun Fuling replied evenly. “He was a man neck-deep in debt; what right did he have to live in even a wood house?”

In Panlong City, earth houses were the lowest grade of dwellings, just a step above the shanties where slaves huddled. They were six square meters at most, which was enough space for a bed, and not much more.

If wood houses were the homes of ordinary citizens, then earth houses were the mark of the destitute.

“Still, he’d sometimes come by for a meal.” Her gaze turned curious. “I heard from Willow that after my brother’s death, you went down into the den of the spider queen yourself?”

“That’s right.” The fire had finally caught, and He Lingchuan hurried to set a kettle on top. The flames were maddeningly slow.

“Then did you see the spider queen, Zhu Erniang?” Sun Fuling extended her hands toward the warmth. The firelight danced in her eyes, flickering bright and mischievous like a sprite at play.