Where Immortals Once Walked

On the way here, He Lingchuan had noticed a pattern. The thicker the forest on a mountainside, the more likely it was to be someone else’s prized territory. Dense branches and leaves could catch far more imperial nectar, giving cultivators the time, and thereby the chance, to gather it.

If imperial nectar fell straight onto water or mud, it seeped in immediately. No one was digging that back out.

This was why the place he had chosen now was really just not worth claiming, even to the scruffy little monsters roaming the wilds.

This time, he had set himself one goal before leaving the city: to keep a low profile.

While keeping a low profile, he would collect as much imperial nectar as possible quietly.

He climbed to the tallest tree nearby and stood on its highest branch, looking down.

“Perfect.”

The dawn redwood he was on was about seventy-three meters tall, and even the low hills behind it looked short by comparison. From the very top, he could overlook the entire small lake.

Now, he was waiting.

He was waiting for the right mountain wind.

Before long, his sleeves began to flutter and snap.

The wind direction was now right.

He Lingchuan pulled two eyeball spiders from inside his robe and flung them hard—one to the north, the other to the northeast.

“Go.”

They were so light they vanished instantly, snatched away by the gust.

But two strands of silk trailed behind them, and those strands wrapped around the thick branch behind him.

Zhu Erniang’s silk was as fine as human hair, and it was tougher than tempered steel.

He Lingchuan did not rush. He sat down and waited.

A little over fifteen minutes later, one strand twitched.

That tremor was nothing like ordinary wind vibration. He had spent enough time around the eyeball spiders to recognize the difference. The tremor just now was one of them signalling him that it had reached its destination.

Soon, the other strand twitched as well.

It had gone absurdly smoothly. Both eyeball spiders had done their part.

Carried by the wind, they had drifted across the lake and reached the tall trees on the far shore. Once they adjusted their positions, they anchored their silk.

He Lingchuan reeled them back in, chose a few more directions, and repeated the process.

About two hours later, the base grid of a giant web was in place. The web stretched over the small lake that was over a quarter of a hectare in size. The mesh was wide and sparse.

That was as far as the eyeball spiders could take it. They were simply too small to produce any more silk.

So He Lingchuan reached into his storage ring and pulled out the rosy cloud brocade Zhu Erniang had gifted him, spreading it across the web’s framework.

He had squeezed ten bolts of the stuff out of Zhu Erniang back then and had not expected to use it so soon.

Ordinary cloth might have one or two layers, but Zhu Erniang’s “bridal shawls” were different. That ancient greater monster had always been generous and diligent when it came to making these cloud brocades. Each bolt was always at least made up of seven layers, and when she was in a good mood, she might weave ten layers.

After refining his auxiliary ingredients back at the inn, He Lingchuan had temporarily hired a dozen or so seamstresses to help him dismantle the brocade, peeling the layers apart into single sheets, then stitching them together into a larger spread. They were short on time, so he did not care if the seams looked ugly. They just needed to hold.

If Zhu Erniang saw her painstaking work treated this brutally, she would probably go berserk on the spot.

Even so, ten bolts still could not cover the whole lake. They only blanketed the central portion.

Despite this, He Lingchuan was already more than satisfied.

This was the very first time such a massive web hung over Three-Heart Lake.

He jumped onto the newly rigged net and crawled to the center before planting his feet.

Naturally, the entire net sagged in a gentle arc, and the lowest point was exactly where he stood.

The heart-protecting mirror had been watching his every move. Now it let out a low whistle and said, “Damn, kid. You’re going big.”

It had already figured out what he was doing.

By this point, both eyeball spiders were exhausted. They sprawled on the net, gnawing on a wild chicken they had caught.

He Lingchuan leaned back into a half-sitting, sprawled position, as if lounging in a gigantic hammock, looking ridiculously comfortable.

Despite how relaxed he looked, his hands never stopped moving. He pulled out bundle after bundle of bamboo chopsticks and sharpened them with a knife.

He had bought them for a few copper coins from two eateries near the inn. The owners had not expected anyone would pay money for used chopsticks.

By the time he finished sharpening the last of them, the sun was already shooting its last rays of light for the day from the west.

He reclined on his suspended net above the lake, ate dinner, and watched the rays of light slowly dissipate.

Near where the Stone Gate Merchant Caravan was staying, there was an old smoke-braise shop that had been around for thirty years. Its signature dish was what He Lingchuan held in his hands now, namely smoked and braised pig trotters. He tore open the dark skin to reveal snowy-white, gelatinous meat beneath—rich but not greasy, springy but not mushy, with just the right touch of smoky street-life flavor, and it was satisfyingly chewy.

For carbs, he had two big bowls of brown-sugar rice cake, and half a pot of sweet-and-tart plum wine.

Once he had eaten his fill, he patted his stomach and stretched.

Since he would be on high alert tonight, it was best to stay sated.

As the sky darkened, he said to the heart-protecting mirror, “Lend me your evil ghosts.”

“Sure.” Do I even have the right to refuse?

He Lingchuan flipped the mirror, and three streams of black smoke shot out from its surface and vanished into the nearby woods.

After sundown, three dark figures burst out of the trees, bounded along the silk lines, and landed on the web.

The three figures were actually three oily-haired, blue-faced giant mandrills. Standing upright, they were nearly as tall as adult men.

He Lingchuan did not move to stop them. He could see clearly that the three evil ghosts the Soul-Stealing Mirror had released were already riding their bodies.

He tossed them his leftovers, including the pig bones.

The mandrills caught them and crunched away happily.

With sentries on watch, He Lingchuan laced his fingers behind his head, shut his eyes, and rested.

The web was light, swaying gently with the night breeze like a cradle. Before long, he dozed off.

Time slowly passed. Under the bright moon, the mountain lake gleamed silver. Occasionally, a forest bird made a racket, then fell quiet again.

The wind rose, then faded.

And after who-knew-how-long, the world went strangely still, like the calm right before a storm breaks.

He Lingchuan felt it in his bones. He snapped awake and sat up.

It’s coming.

Rain began to fall. First, it was scattered drops, then it came in steadily thickening threads.

He held out his hand. A drop landed squarely in his palm. The drop was pale green, slightly viscous, and carried a strange fragrance that sank straight into the soul and yanked greed awake like a hook.

This time, Lingxu City’s forecast was dead-on.

The imperial nectar is here!

He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, fixed his gaze inward, and forced himself to suppress the hunger rising in him. Then he spread out his spiritual sense and went on full alert.

Just like last time, every living thing in the mountains grew restless. Even the lake water below started to churn.

But this time, the rain was denser, meaning that the scent was stronger, strong enough to drive mindless creatures into a frenzy.

They were scrambling everywhere to gather imperial nectar. As for him, however, he did not have to do the same. He only had to stand still.

Imperial nectar fell as liquid. Once it hit the brocade, it naturally ran along the web’s threads, flowing inward from every direction until it reached the lowest point, which was right beneath his feet.

He had hung a bucket there, positioned perfectly to catch it.

Having lived through one imperial nectar eruption in reality and one in the dreamscape, He Lingchuan had learned the basics. If you wanted to take more than your share, there were only two core principles: maximize area and minimize time. In other words, make whatever preparations you can that would allow you to most efficiently collect the falling imperial nectar.

This was why the major factions around Fufeng City, as well as the Panlong City authorities in the dreamscape, fought over the mountain wilderness outside the city. It was all about claiming surface area, and then you had to gather the “rain” fast.

This was because the moment imperial nectar hit the ground, it vanished into the earth.

And come daylight, whatever remained would vaporize into the air.

By weaving this enormous net, He Lingchuan had effectively taken most of the imperial nectar falling over the lake, and he did not even need to personally run around collecting it. His claimed area was smaller than what the nobles around Fufeng City could secure, but his method was efficient and practical.

This was how spiders collected dew. He had watched them do it over and over in Demon Nest Swamp. A few days ago, inspiration had struck, and so he had thought up this self-collecting system.

The heart-protecting mirror sighed enviously. “Too bad I don’t have hands or feet. I don’t get a sip.”

He Lingchuan saw through its act instantly. “Guard me properly, and maybe you’ll get something.”

The mirror quivered. “Really?”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Has he really never lied to me? The mirror did not get any time to give that thought any proper time before He Lingchuan’s voice sounded once again. “Stay on alert, raiders are here.”

He pulled out a Nuo Opera mask and slipped it over his face.

Tonight, he intended to be the kind of man who never showed his real face.

Even the fish in the lake were bewitched by the imperial nectar dripping from the web, leaping out of the water again and again. None of them had the makings of a carp leaping the dragon gate, but He Lingchuan realized that these were not small fish at all. The largest was over two meters long, with black scales that had a golden sheen and whiskers hanging from the corners of its mouth.

Still, what was in the water could not reach him or the bucket, so he could simply ignore them.

But the airborne thieves had caught the scent, too.

In the forest, birds and beasts were already tearing into each other. Now the strange fragrance over the web drew them like a beacon, shifting their target.

The first wave was dozens of birds. They dove toward the web without caring whether they could even see well, all trying to lick imperial nectar off the silk strands.

He Lingchuan had been sharpening chopsticks for over an hour for exactly this. Now he used them like throwing knives, striking them down one by one.

His aim was good, and these things had little ability to dodge with how focused they were on getting even a single drop of imperial nectar, so each of his throws landed cleanly.

The three mandrills that were controlled by evil ghosts joined in the fight as well, yanking the chopsticks out of dead birds and returning them to He Lingchuan so he could reuse them.

He ordered them to toss the bird corpses into the surrounding woods or onto the ground. With a little imperial nectar smeared on their feathers, the bodies quickly became new prizes for other animals to fight over, drawing attention away from the web and reducing pressure.

As for moths, butterflies, ants, and the like, they were too small. He Lingchuan could only ignore them. It was difficult for any plans to ever be perfect.

Besides, the brocade’s stickiness had been taken away by Zhu Erniang. Otherwise, anything that touched it would have stuck, and none would be able to escape.

The bucket hanging beneath the web quickly filled up halfway.

Just the haul from these two hours was five or six times what he had collected the entire previous night of imperial nectar. Sure, the rain was heavier tonight, but the real key was that his method was right.

A few birds tried to swoop in and snatch the bucket. He gave them special attention. They shrieked and plunged straight into the lake.

He was even wasteful enough to smear a little imperial nectar directly onto the heart-protecting mirror’s crack.

Sharing the “rain and dew” equally, right?[1]

The mirror let out a stifled yelp of joy.

The imperial nectar in the bucket was thick. On the mirror’s surface, the crack left by Fleeting Life began to visibly draw together, slowly but surely.

He Lingchuan did not have time to watch it for more than a heartbeat. He was overwhelmed. There were simply too many raiders and too few hands to deal with them all.

1. There was an idiom here that could also be translated to something along the lines of “shower favors equally on everybody.” ☜