Where Immortals Once Walked

The tall man’s next stop was the pharmacy. He bought some medicine and listened while the seated physician said the old prescription had done no good, so they would switch to a new formula and try it for ten days straight. The new one cost more, and he did not have enough money for it. Still, he nodded.

A butcher’s stall stood ahead. He did not want to pass it, so he took a long detour and circled home.

He had just entered the alley when angry voices reached him. He turned and saw a neighbor at the mouth of the alley, clutching a child and weeping. Inside the courtyard, the few household goods lay upended, as if someone had just ransacked the place.

Don’t tell me... His chest tightened. He broke into a long stride.

Crying and cursing bled from every doorway. He reached his own yard in three bounds. The bench had been knocked over, the bundle of firewood stacked was gone, and the door hung open.

He ran into the room and found his wife tangled with the quilt on the floor. Every object lay overturned. Someone had even pried up the bricks at the baseboard. He had hidden a few emergency coins under there. Those were gone too.

“Are you hurt?” He lifted his half-paralyzed wife onto the wooden bed. “Who dared to come in and rob us?” He asked, but in his mind, he already had a solid guess as to who might have come.

Her lips were bloodless. She gripped his arm hard enough to bruise, yet her voice flowed evenly. “Soldiers came to take grain. They ordered us to return the rationed grain. I told them we had never received any, but they still went and grabbed whatever they pleased.”

A woman who could not rise from the bed had watched a team of big men storm in and turn the home inside out, then throw her onto the floor. That she had neither fainted nor sobbed aloud just went to show how her heart had hardened.

Mr. Hong’s lips pressed into a tight line.

I knew it. Of course, those three boys who lost their heads earlier stole military grain and, in their idealism, gave it out at night to hungry neighbors. Hah, they even thought of themselves as heroes who succored the weak.

Naive!

Now they’ve been caught and beheaded, and the “grain distribution” became the perfect excuse for soldiers to go door to door searching for their grain.

Half of the grain in Mr. Hong’s home had been stored in the kitchen, and the other half under the bed, but now all of it was gone. And anything in the house that might fetch even a little money had been taken as well, swept up by the soldiers while they were at it, even the bundle of firewood.

There was nowhere to lodge a complaint.

His chest burned with frustration, yet he still tried to comfort his wife in a soft voice, “It’s alright. We didn’t have anything of value left anyway, so there wasn’t much they could steal. Oh, I got some money today. I’ll cook you some porridge.”

His wife let out a snort of bitter, hollow laughter. “Porridge? With what grain?”

As soon as he said it, Mr. Hong’s expression collapsed too.

They had taken all the grain, so how was he to make porridge?

They might as well drink the wind.

A surge of anger rose from the bottom of his heart. Before... back when he was full of pride and spirit, when had he ever suffered such humiliation?

His wife’s eyes were red, but she forced back her tears and comforted him instead. “I’m not hungry. Sit down and catch your breath. Even if the soldiers hadn’t come to rob us, that old woman next door would’ve snuck in to steal a thing or two.”

Mr. Hong looked at her sallow, thin face as she forced a smile, and his heart tightened with sorrow. He had once vowed to give her a good life.

But from beginning to end, she had known only a few fleeting days of peace.

He helped her sip some water and had just decided to go out and scrape together something to eat when the half-closed courtyard gate was flung wide open and the sound of hurried footsteps echoed outside.

He had just tucked his wife in with the quilt when three constables strode into the yard. They swept their gazes up and down at him before one asked, “You’re Hong Chenglüe?”

Hong Chenglue slowly rose to his feet. “Officers, what seems to be the matter?”

The lead constable tilted his head at the other two. “Take him.”

With a rattle of chains, the other two stepped forward, ready to shackle him. Madame Hong went pale with fright, but Hong Chenglue raised a hand and said, “Hold on. At least tell me what crime I’m accused of!”

“Your residency-transfer certificate was forged,” one of the constables sneered. “I don’t think I need to explain the times we live in. Come along quietly, and you will suffer less.”

Great Yuan forbade commoners from moving about freely. Anyone who wanted to settle elsewhere had to obtain an official letter of consent from their original place of registry. That paper was called a transfer certificate.

Now that war had broken out in the north and Xia Province had become a frontline, the provincial office had ordered a thorough review of the books to identify spies, and the first place to look was the registration records.

For his certificate to turn up fake at such a moment could only end badly.

Knowing the ways of local officials all too well, he understood that once the chains went on, being thrown in a cell or sent to hard labor would already count as lenient. More likely, he would be conscripted and shipped off to war.

Only a few days ago, Bailu Town had posted the provincial recruitment notice. Each township was to provide five hundred men to be sent to Dunyu for unified training for the provincial army.

The pay listed on the poster had been generous enough to make him waver. But his wife lay bedridden, needing constant care, so he had dropped the idea.

Besides, how many times had the Haotian Township officials failed to keep their word? Even if the pay truly reached the army, how much would ever make it into their families’ hands?

But if he was dragged off now, he would be pressed into service with not a single copper to show for it.

Hong Chenglue’s face stayed expressionless. “My wife has been bedridden for years. She can’t do without me. Sirs, please have mercy. Please just pretend you never saw me.”

He flexed his right hand, the joints cracking sharply.

Among the three constables, one looked around the bare little courtyard and wavered, but the other two were unmoved. “Everyone has troubles these days. Enough talk, move!”

The chain whistled as it flew toward his neck.

Constables used them as deftly as herdsmen with lassos; once the loop settled, escape was almost impossible.

Yet Hong Chenglue reached out and somehow caught the chain mid-air. A single tug sent the constable stumbling forward. To Hong Chenglue, it felt as effortless as hauling in a chicken. Before the man could even gasp, Hong Chenglue’s fingers clamped around his throat.

Crack! The Adam’s apple shattered.

Another constable yanked out his saber, mouth opening for a shout. Hong Chenglue flicked the chain, snaring him by the neck. The loop tightened, tighter still until the vertebrae gave with a dull snap.

The last constable stood frozen. They all carried official badges imbued with origin energy, protection that ordinary men could never break through. Yet this thin, long-limbed man before him—

Hong Chenglue’s gaze slid his way, and the constable jolted into motion, bolting for the gate.

Hong Chenglue hesitated. He had not meant to kill them all.

But the man had only just crossed the threshold when an invisible force seized him. He flew backward as if yanked by a giant’s hand, flailing helplessly, and crashed at the foot of the bed. His skull burst open without so much as a scream.

Red and white splattered across the floor. Hong Chenglue frowned and stepped back to block the doorway.

Then came a polite knock at the still-open gate. “Mr. Hong, are you home?”

The gate stood wide, yet the visitor still knocked. It was polite, but eerie.

“Who is it?” Hong Chenglue looked up. A man in his forties stood outside, round-faced and affable, with a trader’s bundle on his back, the very picture of a traveling merchant.

But this was the one who had just hurled the constable back inside and smashed his head like a melon.

He closed the gate behind him, then bowed solemnly. “My name is Wu Qing. I come at the behest of another Lord Hong, who passed away not long ago. He bade me deliver his belongings to you.”

Hong Chenglue’s eyes narrowed. “Another... Lord Hong?”

“He was your older brother. His name is taboo now, so I won’t speak it. These are the items he entrusted to you.” Wu Qing unshouldered the bundle and presented it with both hands.

Inside were only a slim leather case, a stack of talismans, a folding fan, and a sealed letter bearing a wax imprint.

The handwriting on the talismans was unmistakable. They were from his older brother.

He opened the case first. Ten silver notes lay folded inside, in varying denominations; even one would lift a pauper into the comfort of land and home. Nestled beside them were several profound crystals, their hues shifting from deep green to faint red.

These profound crystals were condensed spirit qi of heaven and earth, treasures no amount of money could buy. Even Xia Province’s newly appointed governor-general could not match their worth.

But Hong Chenglue barely glanced at them. What drew his eye was the tiny wooden toad resting atop the notes, no larger than a fingertip, carved so finely that even the warts on its back were lifelike.

He picked it up and studied it for a long while, lost in thought.

Wu Qing waited silently.

At last, Hong Chenglue set the carving back and closed the case.

From the inner room came his wife’s frail voice, worried by the silence. “Dear?”

“I’m here,” he answered softly. “My big brother sent someone with a few things. Give me a moment.”

Hearing that, she said no more.

Hong Chenglue unsealed the letter and unfolded it in the courtyard.

The handwriting was familiar—it truly was his older brother’s—and written in their shared code, one only the two of them could decipher.

At first, he read with a heavy heart. It had been ten years since they last met, and now all he could do was see the words in place of the man. These were words from a brother already gone beyond reach.

However, the further he read, the more his pulse quickened.

The last page bore a code that meant: Xiangqian![1]

Beside it, in red cinnabar, his brother had drawn a tiny, vivid, and lifelike toad.

He remembered it clearly. When they were boys playing by the river, his big brother always teased him for being clumsy—unable to catch dragonflies or shrimp, managing only to grab toads.

“Talk of following Heaven’s will, huh?” He gave a quiet, bitter laugh and sighed deeply. “Do you know what was written in this letter?”

Wu Qing shook his head. “Only you can read it, sir.”

“My brother is dead. Who do you serve now?”

Wu Qing bowed low, not daring to lift his head.

Hong Chenglue’s eyes sharpened. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Before I speak, I beg Mr. Hong to spare my life.”

Instead of anger, Hong Chenglue chuckled. “Very well. Let’s hear it.”

“I came from the north. I once served Lord Hong for three years.”

The north? Hong Chenglue studied him more closely. “You’re one of Nian Zanli’s men?”

Wu Qing shook his head, his lips curling in disdain. “Nian Zanli? He’s nothing. He’s just a petty nobody!”

1. Note that Xiangqian (向前)can also mean forward. ☜