Where Immortals Once Walked

Jiao Tai and the others galloped behind He Chunhua, doing their best to fend off the arrows whistling toward them from the rear.

One arrow came straight for his horse’s rump, but He Lingchuan flicked his wrist and knocked it aside in midair. Mao Tao, however, was not so lucky. His mount took a shaft clean in the hind leg, screamed, and collapsed in a tangle of limbs.

Mao Tao was instantly left behind.

When He Lingchuan glanced back, he saw the man scramble to his feet and shout, “Don’t worry about me!” before ducking into a single-storey house by the roadside. A row of low homes lined this stretch; a few quick leaps and he vanished behind one of the walls, gone from sight.

The Xun Province cavalry had eyes only for the grain convoy. They had no desire to waste time on a single stray pawn. The main force thundered on, hooves drumming like war drums.

The arrows behind them thickened into a rain no one could entirely block.

So He Chunhua simply hurled a round crystal token over his shoulder.

It flashed with the soft green glow of a mandate token and expanded the instant it left his hand, transforming into a wall of solid ice that rose up behind their two horses.

It was only about a finger’s breadth thick, but more than three meters tall. It sealed off their backs completely.

Dozens of dull thuds sounded in rapid succession as dozens of arrows slammed into the ice wall and stuck there, quivering.

With a roar, the Xun Province cavalry leveled their long spears and spurred forward.

The wall had been thin to begin with. Pierced through by so many shafts, it shattered the moment the charging horses smashed into it.

But the heartbeat of delay it had bought was enough.

By then, He Chunhua and his small party had already burst back into the grain convoy’s camp.

Inside the encampment, chaos reigned.

After a full day’s toil, the convoy men had eaten their fill and drunk what they could. Half of them had collapsed where they sat and plunged into sleep. Now, startled awake by shouts, they staggered up, rubbing their eyes, hearing nothing but panicked yelling from outside, “Lord Mozhe is dead! Lord Mozhe’s been blown to pieces!”

Mozhe Jingxuan was the nominal commander-in-chief of the convoy. The moment word of his death spread, the thousands of men under him became a dragon without a head.

Just then, a second explosion ripped through the night from the direction of the restaurant in the east.

Some officers had been sleeping so deeply they woke with their heads still fogged, struggling to even find their boots. Others were pounding on tent poles and shouting for men to form up and stand guard, but their orders had little effect.

And then the Xun Province cavalry hit.

The outer sentries saw a cloud of dust rolling toward them and blew their whistles at once.

Only then did the men inside the camp, who had been craning their necks to watch the glow of the fires, sense that something was seriously wrong. Cries went up all over the place. Instead of grabbing weapons, many turned and ran.

The cavalry came howling in, their shouts merging into a single, terrifying wave. With only two or three hundred riders, they still managed to project the momentum of a thousand. Even the patrol soldiers on duty outside the supply camp lost their nerve, clutching their halberds and instinctively falling back.

He Chunhua rode in at the head of his little group, voice booming through the camp like a thunderclap, “Governor-General of Xia Province, He Chunhua, is here. Who dares run? Who dares turn his back?!”

He bellowed it three times, each shout laced with true energy, the sound rolling through tents and over wagon tops, drowning out even the continuing blasts from the east.

The words “Governor-General of Xia Province” hit like a hammer.

The fleeing soldiers’ steps faltered.

He had not been in office long, but he had already done several remarkable things. Most notably, his three consecutive victories chasing down Xun Province’s troops had made his name echo everywhere throughout southern Xia Province.

Most of the escort soldiers assigned to this convoy came from the south. Hearing that thunderous title, they froze for a heartbeat, then disbelief and sudden joy flared together:

The governor-general is here? How can he be here?!

If the governor-general himself was present to hold the line, then what did the death of Mozhe Jingxuan matter? What was a mere assistant commissioner from the provincial capital compared to the man who ruled the entire province?

By now, He Lingchuan had swung off his father’s horse and dragged a fresh mount out from the frightened press of animals.

He could still hear someone shouting nearby, “Lord Mozhe is dead, enemies are here to kill us!” The tone nagged at him. He followed the sound and soon spotted a man half-hidden behind a supply tent, eyes rolling as he peered out at the camp, occasionally popping up to scream another panicked line.

There was not the slightest true fear in him; it was all just theatrics.

He Lingchuan let out a cold snort and nudged his horse forward.

The man clearly was not blind. Seeing trouble galloping his way, he whirled and bolted, choosing his route carefully. He kept to the messiest paths, darting between tents and supply stacks, clearly intending to use the obstacles to keep any pursuer from getting close.

He had misjudged the situation, though.

Just as he raced past a warehouse, a huge, shaggy black shape erupted from behind it.

It was the rock wolf Lu Xin.

The wolf stayed silent, jaws gaping wide as it lunged. Its teeth closed on the man’s torso, and then it shook. Everyone knew what a big dog’s shake could do, and a rock wolf was stronger in every way. Even at a distance of about ten meters, He Lingchuan heard two clear cracking pops, sharp as firecrackers. That would be the man’s spine coming apart in sections.

It was almost a mercy when He Lingchuan arrived a moment later to put an end to it.

One strike with his blade, and the man’s head rolled. He grabbed the severed head by the hair, swung back into the saddle, and galloped through the camp yelling, “Traitors die! This is what happens to scum like this!”

The head he held was not that of a Xia Province soldier—the armor the man was wearing was not one of theirs. But with the face covered in blood, who could tell at a glance?

He shouted the line several times as he rode. Sure enough, the effect spread quickly. Many panicked soldiers who had been on the verge of bolting drew themselves up instead and turned back toward the enemy.

By then, the execution squad had finally shaken off their own confusion and remembered their job.

Once they hacked down five or six deserters as an example, the flight at the edges of the camp slowed and began to reverse.

The other agent assigned to sow panic was taken down by Shan Youjun.

The Xun Province men’s division of labor was precise. Some had gone to bomb the restaurant and try to take out the convoy’s senior officers in one stroke. Some had disguised themselves as merchants in town eateries, lying in wait to assassinate any officers who slipped out to eat. The main force had hidden in the fields outside the town, waiting for the restaurant blast as their cue to strike the camp.

They even had specialists whose sole job was to gallop along the camp’s perimeter yelling rumors and terror, chosen specifically for their loud voices. The plan had clearly been laid with care down to the last detail.

The greatest twist of all was that they had chosen to make their move inside the town rather than in the wilderness, as the He father and son had assumed. That misjudgment had left them unprepared.

With northern and central Xia Province constantly harassed by Xun Province riders, every region’s local gentry had already raised their own protection units—village defense corps and civil peace squads. In the wilds outside the towns, raiders might run into any number of extra obstacles and ambushes.

But tonight, the county magistrate was hosting Mozhe Jingxuan at the restaurant. Any local bigwigs would inevitably have gone to pay respects as well.

Which meant that they had all been scooped up with that first blast.

Several of the officers recognized Governor-General He at once. They rushed over to cluster around him, some still half-dressed in loose robes or with armor thrown on over nightclothes, hair sticking up in all directions.

He Chunhua did not waste time scolding anyone. His voice cut through the confusion, crisp and commanding, “Form ranks and advance! Pass the word, there are only a hundred enemy riders!”

With the governor-general himself on the field, the officers’ hearts steadied. They ran off, shouting and cursing at men to get back into line.

The order messengers worked their lungs raw, passing the lie down the line again and again, “Form up to meet the enemy! The enemy only has a hundred riders!”

The Xun Province roving cavalry’s initial charge into the camp had indeed caused havoc. They cut down anyone they passed, and slashed at tents and wagons with equal enthusiasm, setting fires wherever they could. For a while, they seemed unstoppable. Many of the Xia Province soldiers, stunned by the suddenness and ferocity of the attack, either fled or hid.

Seeing this, He Lingchuan pursed his lips and let loose a whistle—two long notes, three short.

Then he turned his horse and spurred toward the nearest enemy officer.

That whistled pattern was the signal for his own people. The rock wolf and Shan Youjun heard it and abandoned whatever they were doing to race toward him. Lu Xin bounded along like a shadow while Shan vaulted onto a spare mount.

Not far away, Jiao Tai had been sticking close to He Chunhua. But as more personal guards clustered around the governor-general, his presence became less crucial. The moment he heard the whistle, he too grabbed his men and broke away.

The Xun Province officer bearing down on them was no amateur. Origin energy glimmered around him in a faint ring of light. His spear swept out twice, and two Xia Province soldiers went flying. Another skinny little soldier, already fighting for his life against another enemy, took a thrust from behind right through the gut.

The head of the spear was fitted with a barbed hook. When the officer yanked it back, a twist of his wrist pulled the man’s entrails out in a glistening rope.

They called this “flying a kite.”

The little soldier collapsed, rolling and screaming on the ground.

After a sight like that, which of the nearby Xia Province men still had the courage to step forward?

The officer laughed once, sharp and exultant. He kicked free of his personal guard’s protective ring and plunged deeper into the camp, stabbing and slashing in every direction. For a few glorious breaths, he was akin to a man with a scythe among wheat stalks.

Just as he was reveling in his slaughter, he felt a gust of wind at the back of his head.

He Lingchuan had cut in from a slanting angle, saying not a word as he brought his blade down in a clean arc.

Fleeting Life showed no sign of anything unusual. It looked like nothing more than an ordinary changdao. He Lingchuan himself wore standard soldier’s armor, nothing that of itself caught the eye.

The Xun Province officer’s lips curled in a sneer. He drew his spear back and flicked it up to intercept.

A weapon an inch longer is an inch stronger. This brat wants to pit a saber against my long spear? Ridiculous.

His spear work was refined to a razor’s edge. He flicked out a feint toward the throat—a pretty flower-stab, all flourish and kill wrapped together. If the boy tried to block, he would just dip the spearhead down half a hand’s breadth and punch it straight through his guts.

He was already picturing the man bending over and spilling blood when something cut his line of sight.

An arrow flew in from the side.

It was Mao Tao. He had taken cover behind a burning warehouse and waited until the officer presented his profile. Now he loosed a single arrow at the man’s eye.

There was no time to block properly. The officer jerked his head aside and let the arrow scream past his ear.

But that tiny movement was enough to ruin the perfection of his stroke.

The spear shifted just six centimeters off its intended line. And once it missed that mark, there was no time to execute the neat follow-up he had planned.

Just six centimeters.

His hands were steady, his torso bending back just enough that the spearhead still snapped upward like a striking snake, turning from a throat-stab to a shot at the boy’s jaw.

Any ordinary opponent might have panicked. The move He Lingchuan chose looked like the mistake of a novice.

He grabbed the saber in both hands and lifted from below in a rising, slanted cut straight into the spear’s path.

It was a foolish technique on paper. If it connected, it would at best knock the shaft aside; if it did not connect, the spear would punch through his cheek. Worse, such a move gave his opponent plenty of room to adjust to a new attack.

But tonight, the years he had spent grinding out wave-cleaving drills finally bore fruit.

Speed, confidence, and momentum, he poured all three into this single slash.

He could not afford anything less than a perfect strike.

The officer’s men, watching from behind, saw the two riders flash past each other, saber and spear intersecting in a burst of light so bright and cold it was almost like snow.

At the instant of contact, Fleeting Life, which had been utterly silent until now, erupted with killing intent. It felt like a tiger that had been lying in wait for far too long and now finally sprang.

The two men had been charging toward each other. Their reaction window was no more than a flicker—the blink between two heartbeats.

In that slim gap of time, the Xun Province officer felt his hands suddenly lighten.

Something whistled up into the air.

Then another, and another.

An arm, severed at the shoulder.

A spray of blood, bright as a handful of poppies.

And half a spear, the cleanly-cut end smooth as a mirror.

The officer screamed in agony. Blood sprayed from his shoulder like water from a burst pipe.

His opponent, on the other hand, was untouched. He hauled on his reins, wheeled his mount, and prepared to charge back in.

His subordinates said in shock, “Lord Baili is hit!”

“Protect Lord Baili!”

A chorus of panicked shouts rose up. Dozens of riders surged forward, forming a living wall around the officer they called Lord Baili. Missing an arm and bleeding heavily from the right shoulder, he slumped forward over his saddle. If his bodyguards had not rushed in when they did, Lu Xin would have already been on him—the wolf had leapt, jaws aimed straight for the man’s throat.

Half sick with pain, half boiling with fury, Baili still did not forget to spit curses at He Lingchuan.

He had underestimated the other party badly.

At a glance, the young man and his saber had seemed utterly ordinary, no different from the ten-odd small fry he had already killed tonight.

Who would have thought he was a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing?

There was something monstrous about the edge of the young man’s saber. With a single clash, it had sliced clean through the cold-iron spear that had served him for years.

With a divine weapon like that, how could its wielder be some nobody? Why’s he wearing a common soldier’s armor and lurking among the rabble?

Baili felt as if he had climbed a tree to pluck a peach, grabbed it, only to realize it was no peach at all, but the nose of a lion. Then, as his gaze traveled up, he found himself staring into the enraged face of the lion itself, close enough to count its whiskers.

Don’t men of status always love to rely on their status? Why the fuck is the brat so shameless?!