Where Immortals Once Walked

Chapter 222: He Chunhua’s Methods

The smoke stirred though no wind blew, as if something within it were on the verge of taking shape.

If the He brothers were here, they would have been stunned. They had never known their father to be someone who could pull off tricks like this.

But just then the candle gave a sharp sputter; the wick popped and burst into a flaring cinder.

Old Steward Mo felt the atmosphere change at once. He watched, helpless, as the azure smoke slowly unraveled and thinned into nothing, no matter how He Chunhua repeated the incantation.

Clearly, something had interfered with the casting. The ritual could not proceed.

Unable to help himself, Old Mo asked from the side, eyes fixed on the smoke, “What went wrong?”

He Chunhua wiped sweat from his brow. “It won’t answer the summons. It says there’s a stronger presence nearby.”

“A stronger presence?” Old Mo was startled. This is just a small county city. What powerful presence could possibly be here? “What do you intend to do, Master?”

“While it’s still the middle of the night, we find another place. Going east should be our best option.”

Old Mo gathered the implements. He Chunhua threw on a heavy cloak, and the two hurried out.

They had barely descended two steps when Madame Ying, roused from sleep, peered out, bleary-eyed. “It’s so late, where are you going?”

“I have business. I’ll be back soon,” He Chunhua said in a low voice. “Don’t worry, just sleep.”

That lowered tone meant there would be no discussion. Madame Ying knew her husband’s ways, so she did not press. “Be careful,” she said, and then she went back to bed.

* * *

Sound asleep, He Lingchuan rolled over.

He knew he was dreaming again. But this time, he did not directly arrive in Panlong City. Instead, he returned to that moment months ago when he had fallen into the ruin’s pool.

Back at the Panlong Ruins, the He Family and Sun Fuping had led the Heishui City troops to hunt across the desert, then drained the blood into the pool.

After the Gale Army’s heroic spirits had appeared, He Lingchuan had slipped and fallen into the pool. The pool water closed in on him from all sides, dark red blood-water.

The pool was of unfathomable depth, and the darkness did not help in the slightest in gauging just how deep it truly was.

He floated there, bewildered. Somewhere above, a streak of green light flashed, angling to dive into the water.

At least, that was how it felt. The surface waters shifted to a pale green, and that pale green then spread downward in a swift wash of color.

But then he sensed the water at his feet begin to churn.

He glanced down. Deep in the pool, a massive red figure moved.

Every sweep of its body sent gigantic eddies rolling through the water.

The dark pool fractured into a roil of hidden currents, so many that they tangled and buffeted one another.

The pale green light above was shredded at once and vanished without a trace.

He swam downward, wanting to seize the moment and finally see that red figure’s true face. Months had passed, and he had almost forgotten there was such a colossal thing coiled in the dream’s outermost layer.

What exactly is it doing here?

The closer he swam, the bigger it felt.

But the light thinned to near-nothing. Soon, he could see no more.

When he blinked next, he was standing amid Panlong City’s bustling streets. A hawker balancing a shoulder pole of trinkets gave him a stammering smile. “C-customer! Er, young, young sir, how about a pearl blossom hairpin... for s-someone special?”

* * *

Ru County had no curfew. The night was deep, and the watchman had just passed. At this time, not even a stray dog was on the road.

It was the first month of the new year. Snow piled to a third of a meter deep at the slightest drift.

It was snowing again tonight. Streets would not be swept until morning. The snow underfoot reflected a thin light, so the world was not pitch-black. He Chunhua and Old Mo trudged east through the drifts, boots squeaking and crunching.

They brought no attendants or servants with them.

The farther east they went, the sparser the houses.

At last, Old Mo pointed at a dilapidated home. “That one has the thickest snow built up by the door. It’s likely that no one lives there.”

The snow had heaped nearly to the door bar; from the look of it, the door had not been opened in half a month at least.

“A good three-hundred-odd meters from the post station inn. Let’s try it,” said He Chunhua. He and Old Mo vaulted the courtyard wall together.

The yard was also buried. Trees and crops were dead and brittle. The house door stood half ajar. There was not a breath of human warmth.

In times like these, there were a hundred reasons for a house to sit empty.

They entered the house and shut the windows and doors.

The window gaps were wide. Cold wind poured in, humming like a rock wolf’s howl. Old Mo had to stuff straw into the cracks. The warped wooden door needed the two of them to force it shut, and then they still had to brace it with a millstone.

That took some doing. Rubbing his hands, He Chunhua said, “Quickly, midnight is passing.” Miss it now, and they would be stuck waiting another day. They had no time to waste in Ru County.

He righted a toppled table, relit the azure wax candle, and began to chant.

Old Mo took out the Mount Shou stone paperweight and gripped it tight.

This time, the azure smoke took shape smoothly, coalescing at last into a blurred face. It was difficult to discern whether it was a ghost’s or a dog’s face; regardless, it had a nose and a mouth.

The room temperature plunged, and frost spread across the tabletop.

The face had only two blank hollows where eyes should be, and yet both men sensed it was studying them without the slightest bit of goodwill.

Sure enough, the next second it lunged without warning.

Forewarned by He Chunhua, Old Mo did not so much as twitch.

As the smoke swept across the table, He Chunhua flicked his left hand, revealing the mandate token in his palm.

The mandate token carried the state’s fortune, which thus allowed it to suppress malignant spirits.

The azure smoke jolted and skittered back at once, putting at least a meter between itself and him.

Since it could not touch this man, it whirled toward Old Mo.

Old Mo was a loyal retainer of He Chunhua, not an official of the royal court. He had no mandate token to shield himself, but before the smoke could reach him, the paperweight in his hand suddenly shone with an azure brilliance, and the carved kite’s head turned. Its blood-red eyes locked on the smoke.

Pinned by that gaze, the azure figure froze in midair, nearly bursting apart.

After a long moment, the smoke gathered again. The face grew a shade clearer, fixed its stare on He Chunhua, and tipped slightly to the side. It looked as if it were asking a question, and its earlier arrogance was now nowhere to be seen.

He Chunhua’s expression turned solemn. “I’ll send you a delectable morsel. But he’s guarded by a talisman and an array. You may not be able to find him.”

He lifted the slip with Li Zhao’s date and hour of birth and eight characters—his Four Pillars of Destiny—and touched it to the candle flame.

“These are his Four Pillars of Destiny.”

The paper caught and soon burned to ash. The azure smoke rolled across the tabletop and swept every last particle of ash up.

The flame trembled wildly. Clearly, it had caught interest.

He Chunhua asked, “Can you find him?”

The azure smoke gave no response.

As expected, the Four Pillars of Destiny alone were not enough. Li Zhao was under the protection of spellcraft, so ordinary spirits were barred from tracking him directly.

Only then did He Chunhua take out the fingertip-sized porcelain vial.

Its stopper was wedged in tight; even He Chunhua had to exert himself to pull it free, a testament to the collector’s disgust when bottling it.

Manager Qian had been right. After two or three days of steeping, the liquid inside poured out yellow, foul, and rank.

Pinching his nose, He Chunhua dripped two drops onto the candle’s wick, careful not to drown the flame.

Truth be told, the stench still was not half as overpowering as the “incense balls” cooked up by the sand bandits of the Hongya Route. Now those were true biochemical weapons.

With a hiss, the flame leaped high, burning a deep green that washed both men’s faces with a corpse-like hue. It was a sight to chill the heart.

The azure smoke grew more solid. Now, it had eyes formed. Three vertical pupils appeared in each socket, and lights seemed to swim within them, though too erratic to look at for long.

Sight meant direction. It had a target now.

“He’s done plenty of evil in the light and in the dark. His kind of people should be your most favorite,” He Chunhua reminded it. “When he was a boy, he met a flash flood and betrayed his closest brother. He stepped off his brother, letting him drown. That may be a knot in his heart. You can start there.”

The three vertical pupils fused into one. The face sharpened, then the azure smoke slowly opened its mouth into a grin.

But the mouth opened too wide—going so far as to reach one hundred and forty, maybe one hundred and fifty degrees—the cheeks, eyes, even the temples stretched long. Muscles twisted and folded. It looked like a wax mask on the verge of melting.

More terrifying than meeting a ghostly face was meeting one that laughed silently at you.

Old Mo’s back prickled, and goosebumps swept his arms.

He Chunhua’s expression did not change. “Have you found him? Go, before dawn arrives.”

The face glanced at them once more, then pivoted and drifted outward, fading as it went.

It vanished before it reached the door.

The candle guttered out with it.

Old Steward Mo blinked, as if waking from a dream. He looked around the room. Something felt different than moments ago, though he could not say what.

The oppressive strangeness seemed to have lifted.

“You fell asleep,” He Chunhua said, turning to him.

“Asleep?” Impossible. He had been standing guard, utterly focused.

Seeing his disbelief, He Chunhua pointed at his mouth.

Old Mo touched the corner of his lips. It was wet.

He had drooled—a long string of it, even—without noticing.

Which meant he had indeed drifted off just now.

“You saw the azure smoke as well?”

“Of course. We were in the same dream.” He Chunhua tipped his chin at the paperweight in Old Mo’s hands. “Without that treasure to shield you, you wouldn’t have woken.”

A shiver ran through Old Mo. “Terrifying. I never even felt it take hold of me.”

If he, wary as he was, had been caught unaware, then what of Li Zhao, several dozen kilometers away?

“Li Zhao has a protective magical artifact. Ordinary spirits are unable to get close to him. If not for that, I wouldn’t have had to work so hard.” He gathered up the half-burned azure candle. “This thing is its ration. Without it, the spirit wouldn’t answer my call. Pity the candle is hard to acquire; there isn’t enough left for another casting.”

“My lord, why point out only one of Li Zhao’s heart knots?” Old Mo asked.

“The other incident won’t weigh on him,” He Chunhua said with a dismissive flick of the hand. “That woman was just a minor concubine, and dead is dead. Do you think he lacks women or descendants?”

After a short pause, a thought struck him. He Chunhua’s eyebrows drew tight. “Still, I wonder what’s at the post station inn. What could be near there that suppressed my ritual?”

* * *

Old Master Li dreamed again of that summer he could never forget.

He had not had this dream in a long time. His older brother was kinder than usual that day and gifted him a handsome belt. The children left their shirts on the river stones and leaped into the water to play. The cool river shattered the suffocating heat of summer.

They were laughing when voices rose in the distance.

Li Zhao looked up and saw a girl with a medicine basket on her back, halfway up the hillside, waving frantically toward them and shouting.

She was too far, and the river was too loud. No one could make out a word she said.