Where Immortals Once Walked

He Lingchuan lifted his gaze and saw an old woman wandering in, her head turning this way and that as if searching for something. Her gait was awkward; her toes turned inward with every step.

She was small and shriveled, the skin on her face like dried bark, yet her round and taut belly bulged faintly beneath her clothes like a knot of wood that refused to die. The sight made He Lingchuan think of the weathered stumps that stood half-buried along the riverbank.

“Are you the shopkeeper?”

Her voice startled him. Though her face was wrinkled and spotted with age, her tone carried the strength and clarity of someone much younger. When she smiled, he noticed her yellowed teeth were all intact, and her lips moved with nimble sharpness.

“More or less,” he said honestly. “I’ve only just gotten this shop. It’ll be a while before it opens again.”

“What do you plan to sell?” The old woman did not wait for an answer before nosing about the shelves, picking up and turning over whatever caught her eye as though she owned the place.

“I’ve not quite decided yet.” He gave a small laugh. In truth, he had not had the time or energy to handle the shop in the dreamscape at all. The plan was to let the authorities rent it out and collect payment by the quarter. “And you are?”

“I, I collect things.” Her eyes glimmered as they darted over the cluttered heaps of goods. They were sharp, lively eyes, not clouded or dim in the least.

For some reason, her movements reminded He Lingchuan of an otter searching along a dry riverbed—restless, clever, and oddly secretive. Yet she was far too thin, her eyes slightly bulging, the whites laced with red veins.

“Do you still want these?” the old woman asked drily, pointing at a pile of miscellaneous junk. “If not, let me take them off your hands, hm?”

“Take whatever you like.”

The old woman cupped her hands together in salute and bowed so deeply that it nearly startled him. “A kind man! A kind man indeed. Heaven will surely bless you!”

Her tone was so earnest that he did not know whether to laugh or be embarrassed.

A moment later, he saw her trundle in a rickety pushcart from outside. Without another word, she began carrying items out one by one.

The first thing she picked was a jar.

It had been hidden beneath two stacked tables, with a folding screen blocking the view, its surface coated in a thick crust of yellow-gray mud. He Lingchuan had not even noticed it during his initial inspection. He could not imagine how she had spotted it at all.

He could not help but ask, “What’s the jar for?”

“Pi... Pickles.”

The jar was not large. At most, it could hold three kilos of wine. He Lingchuan had seen pickle jars bigger than this one.

“Want me to carry it for you?” he offered out of habit.

The old woman clutched the jar tight against her chest as if afraid he might snatch it away. “No need! No need!”

Afterward, she carried off two incense burners, several inkstones, and finally an entire row of ceramic figurines.

Those figurines were crudely made, their painted eyes unnervingly wide, as if glaring at whoever dared look back. The previous shopkeeper had probably found them unsettling too, since they had been shoved into a dark corner of the storeroom.

But the old woman seemed delighted. She grinned and said, “These are nice. I’ll bring them home for my son to play with.”

He Lingchuan nearly choked on air. Your son? He was about to ask how old this “son” was when a loud crash rang out from outside.

Bang!

Her pushcart had been knocked over.

The old woman cried out and ran out in a panic. Several items had spilled onto the ground. The jar rolled away, bumping along the cobblestones before finally stopping.

He Lingchuan followed and saw that a large patch of the jar’s outer mud had flaked off in the fall, revealing a pale, yellowish-gray surface underneath. The material looked unfamiliar. He could not recall seeing anything quite like it in Panlong City.

The old woman examined it carefully, turning it over in her arms. When she found no further damage, she let out a shaky breath of relief.

“A’Luo?” He Lingchuan said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to pick up medicine from the apothecary. They finally restocked the herbs I ordered last week.” A’Luo gestured toward the street behind them. His eyes then flicked to the storefront. “So this is your place?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like you’re not short on money if you’ve got time to tidy up the place.” If he had leased the shop a day earlier, he could have gotten a full day’s rent.

As they spoke, the old woman straightened up.

Perhaps she had been crouching too long, for her legs trembled the moment she rose, and she nearly toppled backward.

A’Luo caught her by the arm.

The old woman steadied herself and reached for her pushcart again.

He Lingchuan asked, “Old woman, is that all you’re taking?” The pushcart barely held a few things.

“I can’t carry more,” she said pragmatically. “You can let others have the rest.”

There was something strange about her manner. She seemed almost eerily calm.

A’Luo studied her closely, his expression shifting. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” The old woman then began pushing her cart away.

However, A’Luo’s hand came down on the handle to stop her. His brow furrowed as he said, “You’re pregnant. You know that, don’t you?”

The words dropped like thunder.

Hearing this, He Lingchuan stared in shock.

Pregnant? This old woman?

The old woman froze as well. For a moment, her face went blank, but then she scowled. “That’s none of your business! Mind your own business!”

Her voice trembled with anger, yet her quick denial and the way she avoided their eyes made it clear that she already knew.

A’Luo, seeing her bristle, stepped back and released the cart. The old woman pushed off at once, vanishing around the corner without a single glance back.

Her back disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the crowd.

He Lingchuan rubbed the back of his head. “Did you just say she’s pregnant?”

“Mm-hm, I caught her pulse for only a moment, but I’m sure of it.”

“Could you be...” mistaken? However, when he met A’Luo’s eyes, he immediately changed what he was about to say. “So, how far along is she?”

He had noticed earlier that the old woman’s belly seemed slightly rounded, but plenty of elderly folk had a bit of a belly, so he had not thought much of it at the time.

Who would have guessed that there was such an eerie reason behind it?

A’Luo answered, “About four, maybe five months.”

Everyone who heard him drew in a sharp breath. It had not shown at all.

A’Luo shook his head. “Her pulse was steady and solid, but restless, too. The children inside her are far too lively. She’s on the verge of a miscarriage, though they’re still strong for now.”

“Children?” He Lingchuan’s eyes widened. “You mean she’s carrying more than one?”

“At least two,” A’Luo replied flatly. “What do you take me for, an immortal? A single touch can’t tell me exactly how many.”

Someone nearby suddenly spoke up, “Wait, are you sure? Did you just say that Sister Ji is pregnant?”

Both He Lingchuan and A’Luo turned to see the fur shop owners, who appeared to be husband and wife, from next door standing at their doorway, staring in disbelief.

“Sure about what?” A’Luo shot back, his temper flaring. He had no patience for anyone doubting his medical skill. “Believe it or not, that’s up to you. I couldn’t care less.”

The male shopkeeper hastily bowed his head. “Please don’t be offended, honored sir. We just can’t wrap our heads around it. It’s... truly strange.”

His wife, far less tactful, blurted out, “So Sister Ji’s found herself a man again, has she? Guess you never really know people after all.”

He Lingchuan brushed the stone chips off the steps with his boot. “An old tree sprouting new buds, what’s wrong with that?”

The female shopkeeper snorted. “She’s not that old. She’s only four years my senior. However, she’s been widowed for ages. After losing her sons, she went half-mad. Who’d have thought she’d ever get together with another man?”

She looked to be in her late thirties, meaning this Sister Ji could not be much older than forty, certainly younger than her worn appearance suggested.

“Lost her sons?” He Lingchuan recalled the row of clay figurines the old woman had taken earlier. “How many children did she have?”

“Two boys. Both died on the battlefield.”

A’Luo lowered his gaze, and He Lingchuan let out a soft sigh.

This was the fate of all the fine young men of Panlong City, though none could foresee it until it came for them. No one knew except him.

To lose one child was grief enough; to endure that pain twice over would drive anyone half-insane. No wonder the old woman had turned strange, clutching those clay figurines and saying that she would give them to her son to play with.

As for the matter of an “old tree sprouting new buds,” strange as it might seem, no outsider had the right to interfere.

The shopkeeper hesitated, then said gravely, “She used to live next door to us. Every night, she’d start wailing at the top of her lungs. Once or twice a month, people could bear it, but half a year of it nonstop? Who could stand that? And she grew worse and worse; she even tried to snatch other people’s children. In the end, the neighbors had no choice but to drive her out. I heard she moved to the outskirts.”

A’Luo suddenly asked, “How long has it been since you last saw her?”

“Um...” The couple exchanged a glance. “Three years, give or take?”

Three years and she’s aged that much already?

When their talk ended, the street fell quiet again. The fur shop owners slipped back inside, and A’Luo turned to He Lingchuan. “I’m heading to the Martial Review Hall. You coming?”

“Sure, why not?” He Lingchuan locked up the shop behind him, brushing off the little incident from earlier as if it had never happened.

Panlong City had three martial arenas in total, and the Martial Review Hall, located near the western gate, was the largest and busiest.

It was a place where men sparred and tested their skills—an exchange of martial friendship, as people liked to call it. But truth be told, there was no such thing as second place in martial arts.

He Lingchuan had been training hard for months on end, practicing day and night with relentless focus. His effort far exceeded that of ordinary men. Naturally, he wanted to see what all that work had amounted to.

The Martial Review Hall had once been a horse farm on the city’s outskirts, but as Panlong City expanded, it was soon enclosed within the new walls. The grounds remained vast and open, though only about one-fifth of the entire area was visible to the public; the rest was hidden behind high stone walls.

Its grand signboard loomed over the gate, the three bold words “Martial Review Hall” written in vigorous, sweeping strokes. In smaller script on the edge was the name of the calligrapher: Zhong Shengguang.

So Commander Zhong had personally written on this sign.

He Lingchuan, who had little experience with such things, could not help staring. The sign had black ink on a white background, giving it a somber, austere feel.

A’Luo led the way inside. The guards checked their identification tokens carefully before letting them through. This was not a place open to the general public; only soldiers officially registered under Panlong City’s banner could enter.

The moment He Lingchuan stepped inside, he felt the sheer size of the place. The Martial Review Hall was divided by a central tower, which served as the boundary between the southern and northern courtyards.

The southern courtyard, closer to the gate, was open to the city’s soldiers and patrolmen. It had five training grounds in total. The northern courtyard, however, was reserved exclusively for the Gale Army. Ordinary soldiers could only watch from behind the fence, filled with silent envy.

The central tower was a two-story building that served as the boundary between the two courtyards, dedicated to logistical support for warriors. Here, they could rest, sharpen their weapons, change gear, or even consult the on-site physician in case of injury.

A’Luo was here today to take over as the physician for a shift. He needed the money

By now, several dozen men were already in the southern courtyard. The edges of the training grounds were open for solo practice, but the center was kept clear for sparring duels.

He Lingchuan saw six pairs locked in combat. Their swords and sabers were all wooden, the blades coated with red powder.

A strike that landed would leave a red mark on the opponent’s body. If neither side managed to knock the other down by the end, the victor would be decided by the number and placement of those red marks.

As his gaze swept the grounds, He Lingchuan spotted a familiar face.

It was Skinny.

The man was waving more than a dozen slips of paper in his hands, shouting himself hoarse at the edge of one of the matches.

However, he hardly stood out, not with the crowds of people also howling like a storm around him.

A heavy thud rang out as one contestant got struck by a shield bash and fell unconscious.

A chorus of groans erupted at once. Some spectators left grumbling, while others shouted in triumph, rushing toward Skinny to collect their winnings.

“I won! I won, pay up, quick!”

There was no escaping those debts. Skinny spun around, batting away the grasping hands behind him while frantically scratching out names from his betting slips with a charcoal stick. “Don’t rush! One at a time, one at a time!”