Where Immortals Once Walked

He Lingchuan was not someone who lived only within the dreamscape. In the real world, the Golden-Armored Copper Man Art would be worth a fortune. As for Wu Metal and the rest of the rare materials, he could probably purchase some from Songyang Mansion, and with his connection to Li Fubo, he might even secure them at a discounted price.

Mm, perfect. Absolutely perfect!

He gripped the jade slip containing the secret art, and the moment his fingers closed around it, information poured into his mind in a torrent—precise diagrams, measurements, sequence notes, component lists—everything etched into his thoughts as if carved by an invisible chisel. Creating a copper man was delicate work, so the slightest error would render the entire construct useless. The knowledge stream was not enough to let him master the technique instantly, but it did guarantee that he would never forget a single step.

* * *

After leaving the Bureau of Bright Prospects, the two set off toward the Divine Descent Platform on a carriage.

Back then, when Zhong Shengguang conducted the rite of divine recompense, he had not chosen a discreet or concealed location within the city. Instead, he had traveled two and a half kilometers northwest, heading to a high and lonely highland behind Panlong City. That area seldom saw visitors in normal times, but today, the road was choked with traffic. Carriages, carts, and crowds moved in a thick current, all heading toward the highland.

He Lingchuan and Sun Fuling hired a roomy horse-drawn carriage.

Looking out through the window, he saw that nearly everyone on the road was an ordinary citizen of Panlong City. Some could not afford a carriage at all and simply trudged forward on foot. The dirt roads outside the city walls were uneven, in some places still covered with snow, nothing like the clean, paved streets inside the city. And the sky was half-black, heavy with brooding clouds, appearing to be ready to dump a blizzard at any moment.

Yet none of the Panlong City residents seemed worried. They chatted, walked, and laughed as they went, undisturbed by the oppressive-looking sky above.

“It won’t snow,” Sun Fuling said lightly when she noticed him glancing upward over and over. “Every year on the Day of Heavenly Offering, the sky looks like this. Everyone’s used to it.”

He Lingchuan cracked his knuckles in anticipation. “I’ll finally get to see Commander Zhong in person.” If he counted the Dreamscape’s internal flow of time, he had been here for months, yet not once had he encountered Zhong Shengguang or the Red General.

He had paid respects at Zhong Shengguang’s grave and had seen the black flood dragon, which was the commander’s transformed body. However, he had never really gotten to see what Zhong Shengguang looked like when he was still himself.

“You’re about to be disappointed.” Sun Fuling chuckled softly. “Lord Zhong doesn’t come here.”

“Huh?” He Lingchuan stared. “It’s his daughter’s memorial day, and he doesn’t come?” What kind of ferocious father is that?

“Lord Zhong holds a private ceremony at home. He says he feels he has wronged his daughter, that he has no face to attend the public offering nor the right to preside over the rites. That’s why Wen Daolun leads the ceremony in his place.”

He Lingchuan asked, puzzled, “If he feels such guilt toward his daughter, why not build a shrine for Zhong Wuhan inside the city?” There’s a Lady Mitian Temple[1], and even living shrines for Zhong Shengguang and the Red General.”

Sun Fuling laughed quietly. “Who builds shrines for the sacrifice?”

He Lingchuan raised a brow. “So he still sees his daughter only as a sacrificial offering, not as a hero who saved the entire city?”

Sun Fuling shot him a side glance. “Are you feeling indignant on her behalf?”

“Me? I’m nothing.” He Lingchuan gave a lopsided grin. “My opinion hardly matters.” He was still just a patrolman. He was someone without rank or status, unable to even secure a squad captain position.

Their carriage soon reached their destination.

Ahead loomed the Divine Descent Platform. The crowd was so thick that the carriage could go no further, forcing everyone to disembark and continue on foot.

Fortunately, the path was no longer rugged. Panlong City had sent workers to level the mountain road in preparation for the ceremony. Also, the platform stood right on the edge of the Chipa Highland.

The Chipa Highland was peculiar in its shape and placement, towering dozens of meters above the Panlong Wasteland. The far edge of the highland dropped into sheer cliffs, jagged rock formations below resembling rows of wolf fangs.

Yet for people living in the highland, the approach to the platform was surprisingly easy.

Climbing with the crowd, He Lingchuan soon realized that the Divine Descent Platform itself was a massive stone structure jutting out from the edge of the highland. It was a colossal terrace suspended over the abyss. One misstep at the rim, and you would plunge straight down into the Panlong Wasteland.

Your body would fall, but your soul would depart for the heavens.

By the time the two of them reached the platform, people had already packed it layer upon layer. Everyone knelt or sat with heads bowed, murmuring prayers. No one spoke above a whisper. If a child dared make noise, angry glares shot toward the parents, who immediately silenced their offspring. If they did not do so, others would do it for them.

On the way here, Sun Fuling had warned He Lingchuan repeatedly that one must never speak ill of Zhong Shengguang’s daughter on this platform. Years ago, a traveler from another region had uttered disrespectful words here and was beaten to death on the spot.

The ceremony had already begun. Only a single voice dominated the air—Wen Daolun was reciting the ritual eulogy.

His speech was composed in the elegant four-six prose style[2]—balanced phrases, refined diction. His tone was steady, carrying a practiced rhythm.

He Lingchuan listened for a moment. The message was the same as every classical sacrificial text. It praised Zhong Wuhan’s devotion, her selfless sacrifice, and her sincerity that moved heaven and earth. Flowery words and gilded sentiments, piling praise high enough to touch the sky.

He only perked up when the text described the god Mitian descending in thunder to receive the offering. After that, he let the words fade from his awareness and turned his focus to the platform itself.

Originally, the Divine Descent Platform should have been the size of about two football fields[3]. But the front edge was missing a large chunk.

And that missing section... It looked as though someone had taken a massive compass and carved out a perfect arc, slicing the platform cleanly.

The outermost edge was a smooth semicircle. It was uniform, polished, and utterly unnatural.

Beside that enormous gap, the altar, which was made of azure stone, looked almost laughably small.

Atop the altar stood a tall stele shaped like an upright sword, stabbing toward the sky, its surface unmarked and unnamed.

Before it, on the offering table, sat the three sacrificial beasts—pig, cow, and sheep—presented whole.

By West Luo ritual law, a guard commander’s daughter had no right to such offerings. However, Zhong Shengguang clearly cared nothing for such rules, and neither did the people of Panlong City.

What puzzled He Lingchuan was why Zhong Shengguang had chosen this place for the rite of divine recompense years ago.

Most people conducted those rites in secrecy, hidden away, terrified of attracting attention. Zhong Shengguang had chosen a broad, open platform, one that was capable of hosting thousands of spectators.

This already went far beyond merely ignoring West Luo law and wielding absolute authority in Panlong City. It made one wonder if there was a deeper political intention?

Perhaps he had wanted the entire city to witness with their own eyes the price the Zhong Family was willing to pay for Panlong City’s peace, for every citizen’s safety.

Winning the people’s hearts required spectacle.

If that was the case, then even if his grief at losing his daughter had been real, it had also been carefully calculated, shaped into a weapon he could wield.

He was a true hegemon, someone capable of turning even his agony into political currency.

For some reason, that thought made He Lingchuan think of He Chunhua, and a sigh escaped him without warning.

Beside him, Sun Fuling immediately turned her head. Her bright eyes glimmered like cold spring water. She placed her finger lightly to her lips, not shushing him aloud, but signaling him to be quiet. Then, she subtly gestured upward.

The sky...

If “strange and ominous” had a physical form, this was it. It was not even three in the afternoon, yet the world had dimmed to twilight. Powerful winds roared across the highland. Black clouds churned above them, clouds thick enough to crush mountain peaks and dense as an overturned sea pressing down on the land. Anyone who tilted their head upward could see the underside of the clouds rolling like storm-wracked ocean waves. It was as though the sky had inverted and slapped a dark ocean against the heavens.

The civilians pressed themselves lower, hardly daring to breathe.

Wen Daolun finished reciting the eulogy. He released the golden-red prayer slip between his fingers. The wind snatched it instantly, spiraling it upward. Halfway into the air, the slip ignited by itself and burned to ash within seconds.

He Lingchuan watched the ashes drift into the cloud layer and vanish.

Then, the heavens split open.

A blinding flash struck downward.

He Lingchuan shut his eyes instinctively, but in that fraction of a second, he glimpsed the lightning’s shape. It appeared as root-like tendrils branching downward, and it struck not the altar, not the towering stele, but the cliff face beneath the platform.

A second bolt followed, again striking low.

This made no sense. Lightning always sought the highest point. Why would it ignore the prominent stone stele and smash into the depths below?

As if the heavens had heard his skepticism, twenty breaths later, just when everyone thought the ceremony had ended, another bolt descended.

This one was different.

It was not a jagged flash, but a colossal, perfectly round column of radiant light.

And it struck the missing arc of the platform’s edge. It landed precisely and seamlessly, as though the heavens were inserting a puzzle piece into its rightful place.

No one dared keep their eyes open. Even Wen Daolun, the officiant himself, turned his face away.

It was impossible to withstand divine might.

When He Lingchuan finally dared open his eyes again, he smelled scorched air. The clouds overhead slowly began to dissipate. Before long, a single beam of sunlight pierced the opening sky, falling like a spotlight directly upon the Divine Descent Platform.

The beauty of it, the solemn grandeur of the scene, could not be captured by brush or ink.

He surveyed the kneeling citizens. Everyone had pressed their foreheads to the ground, murmuring prayers. Their piety intensified severalfold compared to earlier. The god still watched over Panlong City. Who would dare doubt it now?

Wen Daolun stepped down from the altar and stood aside.

The formal ritual was complete. The atmosphere loosened. Citizens lined up to present their offerings in the form of baskets of fruit, vegetables, and pastries, then bowed earnestly. Parents guided their children’s heads down to make three loud kowtows.

Once the incense approached its final burn, Wen Daolun would go up again to replace it with fresh sticks.

City guards maintained order as the crowd flowed steadily. Everything proceeded with calm discipline.

He Lingchuan’s eyes passed over the offerings. Despite the severe weather, many had brought fruit or pastries. In this season, fruit was expensive, especially those that were unblemished.

Panlong City’s life was still far from comfortable.

Some children even offered their prized toys.

He spotted a boy carefully taking out flowers hidden under his outer robe. The child peeled away the oil paper protecting the blossoms and placed them gently at the base of the stele.

The flowers were not crushed, but in the freezing wind, a fine frost glazed their petals within seconds.

Delicate things survived poorly in Panlong City.

Only now did He Lingchuan fully grasp the citizens’ genuine feelings toward the Zhong Family. Their reverence needed no words. For someone who had sacrificed her life to protect every soul in the city, no respect could ever be too much.

Sun Fuling tugged his sleeve and divided her offerings in half, giving him his share. Together, they stepped forward.

He looked down at what she had brought. There were several crystal pears, and even a box of meat pies from the old, well-known brand Fragrant Station.

So she had truly prepared carefully.

The public table was long since full, so all new offerings were placed at the foot of the stele.

They set everything down, bowed respectfully, and then made their way toward Wen Daolun.

Wen Daolun’s personal guards stepped forward at once to block them.

However, Sun Fuling called out before they could be turned away, “Master Wen.”

Wen Daolun turned around. His expression eased as he said, “Ah, if it isn’t Xu Shichu’s disciple. Come, come.”

Only then did the guards withdraw.

Sun Fuling understood that his time was precious and did not waste words. She got straight to the point. “Master Wen, I’ve come to ask you for a favor.”

Wen Daolun blinked. “A favor?”

“Two months ago, when we played chess at Shumin State Academy...”

Recognition dawned across Wen Daolun’s face. “Ah, yes, yes, I remember. Speak.”

“My friend here has been told that his fate carries calamity,” Sun Fuling said, gesturing toward He Lingchuan. “I would like to ask Master Wen to point him toward a clearer path.”

He Lingchuan bowed with cupped hands. “Please enlighten me, Master Wen.”

1. Probably the same as the Temple of Mitian. ☜

2. The four-six prose style, which is also known as pianwen or parallel prose, is a classical Chinese literary style that uses couplets of four or six characters, or a combination of both. ☜

3. This is not referring to American football, by the way. ☜