Before long, however, Qin Sang's face fell in disappointment, and he sighed softly.
He had dashed down the mountain and eagerly searched the chaotic battlefield for a long time, but apart from two strips of cloth caught on tree branches, he had not found a single soul, not even a corpse.
The battlefield seemed confined to an area a few hundred zhang across. Unwilling to give up, Qin Sang widened his search in a circle around it, yet found no trace at all.
Qin Sang fingered the two strips of fine teal cloth, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the unrecognizable valley below.
The peaks on both sides of the valley had collapsed, choking it with earth and rock. A small river that once ran through the valley was completely blocked, forming a small lake upstream. Could someone be buried beneath the rubble?
With so much debris, it was impossible for him to clear it alone. After a moment's hesitation, Qin Sang returned to the ancient road and ordered an entire battalion of soldiers in to dig.
The valley did not lie on the ancient road, but none of the soldiers dared disobey Qin Sang's command, immediately throwing themselves into the work with fervent energy.
Growing impatient as he waited, Qin Sang stepped forward to help as well.
The valley was not large, but the earth and stones lay deep. Qin Sang could not help worrying: even if someone were buried below, they had probably been crushed to mincemeat. He could only hope whatever items they carried remained undamaged.
Layer after layer of rock and soil was hauled away. In the blink of an eye, darkness fell. Suppressing his anxiety, Qin Sang ordered fires lit to cook rations, then resumed the excavation through the night.
Some soldiers grumbled under their breath, but he pretended not to hear. Torches were planted throughout the valley, and they worked straight into the dead of night until they finally hit the valley floor.
The final layer of earth and stone had been soaked into sludge, carried out basket by basket. Qin Sang himself was nearly coated in mud from head to toe.
Just then, a sudden clamor of cries rose from up ahead. Qin Sang's heart gave a violent lurch. Looking up, he heard the soldiers ahead shout, "General Qin, there's someone down here!"
Overjoyed, Qin Sang immediately barked, "Nobody touch him!"
Leaping forward in several bounds, Qin Sang discovered that an underground stream had been unearthed.
The terrain here was peculiar. The base of a massive blue-gray boulder by the bank had been hollowed out by the water, its upper half jutting out to form a natural shelter. Several fallen rocks had wedged themselves in just the right spots to shield the gap without blocking the subterranean stream, allowing the water to murmur softly through.
Lying face down in the water was a person, completely motionless.
The person wore dark teal clothes. Qin Sang pulled the cloth scraps from his robes to compare—they had indeed been torn from this man's attire.
Ducking down to peer inside, Qin Sang was just about to check whether the person was dead or alive when another voice called out behind him, "We found another one!"
Then Zhang Wenkui's shout followed: "General Qin, this one's dead! His head was completely crushed by a rock."
Another mutual destruction?
Qin Sang thought to himself that the world of immortal cultivators was truly bizarre—whenever they died, they died in pairs. But for him, this was undeniably wonderful news.
Qin Sang immediately ordered all the soldiers to leave the valley.
Bright torchlight illuminated the surrounding mountains. In the distance, packs of wolves howled and night owls shrieked, sending chills down one's spine, yet Qin Sang's chest burned with excitement.
Reaching in with effort, he grabbed the arm of the person in the stream. Just as he was about to haul him out, his expression shifted slightly.
Half of the person's body was submerged, icy cold and indistinguishable from a corpse. Yet the instant Qin Sang gripped his arm, he felt the man's pulse give a faint thump!
Still alive!
For a moment, Qin Sang did not know whether to rejoice or worry. His expression flickered between light and dark. After hesitating, he decided to gently pull the man out of the water first.
Having soaked in the water for so long, the young man's face was deathly pale, his thin lips completely drained of color.
He looked slightly older than the youth surnamed Song, appearing to be in his twenties, with a hardy, angular face. His breath was exceedingly faint, his pulse and breathing so weak as to be barely detectable. Clearly severe injuries weighed upon him, for he did not awaken even as Qin Sang dragged him out.
Yet immortal cultivators could not be judged by mortal standards; this man might not be beyond saving.
Qin Sang stared at the young man, wavering. Deep down, he leaned toward saving him.
Seeking immortality, pursuing the immortal path—after enduring so much toil and patiently dealing with mortals, was it not all for this? Now that he had finally encountered an immortal cultivator, a shortcut lay right before his eyes. Why waste any more time in the mortal world?
Granted, killing him would allow Yanwang to hook out his soul for interrogation, but a soul lasted such a short time that it would be impossible to learn the full picture of the immortal cultivation world.
Yet Qin Sang could not help remembering the blood food sucked dry into mummies by the black-robed fiend. What if this man was also a demonic cultivator? And what if he was an orthodox cultivator, only to discover that Qin Sang practiced a fiend's cultivation art? Would he slay the demon to purge evil?
Qin Sang was truly caught between two fires, unable to decide.
Unexpectedly, while Qin Sang was secretly wrestling with the dilemma, the young man snapped his eyes open without warning. From those narrow, elongated eyes, two glints of light shot out like unsheathed swords, piercing toward Qin Sang's eyes with razor-sharp intensity.
Qin Sang had never imagined the young man would wake on his own. Caught completely off guard, he felt as if the young man could see straight through to his innermost thoughts. Alarmed, he hastily suppressed his intentions, made an instant decision, bowed his head, and said in quick succession, "Qin Sang greets the Immortal Master! May the Immortal Master be safe and sound!"
At the same time, his heart leaped into his throat, and he was on high alert.
The young man stared at Qin Sang for a moment. The sharp edge in his gaze softened slightly. His eyes moved as he glanced at his surroundings, and he asked in a raspy voice, "Are you a general of the mortal realm?"
The young man's injuries were indeed severe, his voice faint, but Qin Sang heard him clearly and nodded. "Qin Sang is an assistant general of the Xuanwei Battalion."
"Xuanwei Battalion?"
A flicker of bewilderment crossed the young man's eyes, but he did not pursue it. Instead, he asked, "Since you are a general, why have you brought troops into Mount Guling?"
Qin Sang hesitated for a moment. The surprise raid on Duyakou was a military secret; if leaked, it would inevitably affect the overall campaign, and all that magnificent military glory would be lost.
Yet at the thought that this young man was an immortal cultivator, Qin Sang realized that so long as he could get on his good side, why would he ever need to go to Mount Chaosheng? What did Prince Dongyang's victory or defeat have to do with him? He immediately laid out the whole story from start to finish.
"So that's how it is..."
The young man nodded, straining his neck slightly. "There should be another person nearby..."
Qin Sang hurried to his feet and carried over the other corpse. It was a gruesome sight—from the neck up, it had taken a direct hit from a massive boulder, leaving nothing behind.
"Please accept my condolences, Immortal Master. Your companion has unfortunately perished."
The young man let out a cold sneer. "How could I, Han, ever keep company with a fiend? That man was a cultivator of the demonic path, guilty of countless evil deeds. I merely happened upon him and struck him down. But his magic tool was bizarre and insidious, nearly costing me my life..."
As he spoke, the young man coughed violently several times. Straining to lift a hand, he clutched his chest in agony. "Search his body... see if there is a palm-sized pouch..."
Was this youth surnamed Han truly an orthodox cultivator who despised evil with a passion?
Qin Sang suppressed the unease in his heart, daring not show the slightest slip.
Obediently, he patted down the corpse's waist and indeed felt a small pouch. Pulling it out to look, he saw it was about the same size as the seven-colored brocade pouch, but made of drab gray cloth, dull and thoroughly unremarkable.
Chapter 44