And yet, nothing of the sort happened.
People either nodded and smiled at him or ignored him outright, brushing past without a backward glance.
Did they take him for a local?
He Lingchuan knew very well that the soldiers and civilians of Panlong were extremely wary of outsiders, treating any unauthorized entrant as a spy.
Was it because he had fought side by side with the Gale Army last time that the Dafang Pot had granted him safe passage?
Carrying these questions, he walked on.
All along the way were green hills and clear waters, wild blossoms blanketing long slopes, colorful butterflies flitting about in pairs, and crops flourishing in the fields.
Everything was exceptionally tranquil, looking even more peaceful than most of the countryside the Auxiliary Army had marched through.
Yet this was the Panlong Wasteland, earth nourished by the flesh and blood of countless souls.
In his field of view, Panlong City drew steadily closer, looming ever more magnificent.
The outline of this fortress city appeared much like what he had seen in the Panlong illusion, though lacking some sharp edges and missing many defensive fortifications. Most noticeably, the gate lacked those ferocious crocodile-tooth stakes, showing that during this era, Panlong City faced nowhere near the pressure it would in its later years.
Still, Panlong City imposed a formidable sense of oppression on any outsider.
Approaching closer, He Lingchuan discovered that while there were no crocodile-tooth stakes below the battlements, the outer walls were completely smothered in brownish-gray climbing vines. They clung densely to the stone face, leaving hardly any of the wall's true surface visible. It was spring, yet the plants hung heavy with fist-sized, pale red fruit shaped like papayas.
He had to admit, this wall-greening effort was a bit of a failure.
Why plant climbing vines on Panlong City's vital south gate? The vines had thick, sturdy stems, and the old vines at the base were thicker than his thighs—wouldn't that make them perfect for enemies to climb?
He Lingchuan was not the only one; quite a few other outsiders were pointing and murmuring as well.
Indeed, Panlong City was nothing like he had imagined—it was not heavily guarded and forbidding to strangers. A casual glance in any direction revealed foreigners in varied attire and even differing skin tones.
He also recognized several pedestrians as itinerant peddlers traveling alone, and ahead of him a caravan waited to pass through the gates. The convoy consisted of at least forty or fifty people and over a dozen horse carts laden with goods.
These were likely outsiders as well, since many gazed upon Panlong City with expressions much like He Lingchuan's, making little effort to conceal their astonishment.
The gate was half open. About seven or eight soldiers handled inspections—a full squad, neatly uniformed and full of vigor, yet pleasant in demeanor.
They checked the tokens and transit permits produced by travelers. For caravans, they spot-checked the cargo and waved them through once it matched the paperwork.
It really didn't look very strict.
He Lingchuan had to admit, this was even more relaxed than entering Blackwater City.
Soon it was his turn.
He Lingchuan wore an amiable smile, but he secretly circulated qi into his legs, ready to turn and bolt at the slightest hint of trouble. After all, he had no identification whatsoever.
He was just trying his luck. The dream had started here; if he couldn't get into Panlong, he wouldn't even know what to do.
Who would have thought that upon seeing him, the gate guards didn't even ask for documents or tokens, merely waving him forward to hurry through?
He Lingchuan hesitated, his steps faltering.
The guard snapped, "Keep moving! Don't block the way!"
Sense told him it wasn't a trap. He Lingchuan lengthened his stride and slipped swiftly through the gate.
Sure enough, fighting alongside the Gale Army last time had earned him... good will from Panlong City? He was no longer a rat scuttling across the street.
The gatehouse was as grand as in his memory, but had only two gates, unlike the triple-layered barbicans of later ages.
Once inside, he emerged directly into a vast plaza.
The plaza was just as enormous, though its layout differed from his memory. Peculiarly, at the edge of the plaza lay a lake, shimmering and steaming—it turned out to be a hot spring lake.
The shores were fringed with tufts of papyrus.
He Lingchuan stepped over to the lake's edge. The water was clear enough to reveal the sand beneath. There were no ornamental koi, but native stream fish swam in schools.
At this time, the Chipa Plateau was laced with waterways and rich in verdant woods and grass—a pearl upon the Panlong Wasteland. He Lingchuan had seen this lakebed in the Panlong City of later ages, but back then it had long since dried up, leaving only its sunken hollow behind.
Only by witnessing it now did he realize the shoreline had been paved with numerous stone steps, allowing people to walk directly down from the plaza to draw water without hindrance.
He tested the water temperature; it had to be over forty degrees.
Fish could live in water this hot? Add another twenty degrees and would they cook?
Turning back around, He Lingchuan saw scaffolding erected along the high wall beside the gate, where numerous artisans were hammering and chiseling away.
The sculpture stood seventy to eighty feet high. Though unfinished, its general shape was already discernible.
Those contours, those curves—yes, a flood dragon without a doubt.
In the Panlong illusion, there was also a sculpture of a black flood dragon beside the gate, but here, it was not yet completed.
Now He Lingchuan knew what era he had entered.
This period was likely after the Panlong Wasteland had once again become an enclave, when Zhong Shengguang had grown thoroughly disillusioned with his homeland and replaced the Golden Bull—the guardian beast of the realm that originally stood behind the gate—with a sculpture of the black flood dragon.
He Lingchuan picked a street at random and strolled inward. The street was broad and clean, buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, hawkers cried out their wares before shops... It was no different from any other bustling city.
Having witnessed the grim desolation of Panlong City in later times, seeing its present state gave He Lingchuan an unreal feeling, as though a lifetime had passed, even while knowing he was only inside a dream.
Peddlers and porters, commoners and wealthy merchants bustled to and fro—laughing and chatting, haggling, squabbling, or hurrying on their way, thoroughly steeped in the rhythm of daily life.
The tragic, somber, grim atmosphere He Lingchuan had expected was nonexistent.
Was this dream he found himself in a reality from the past?
The people living here went about their days just the same, bending their backs for a pittance, buying two-wen candied haws for their kids, and swindling and cheating just like anywhere else—
As He Lingchuan walked up to the entrance of a tavern, a child dashing from the opposite direction ran headlong into him.
The brat was as short and scrawny as a monkey, yet packed quite a punch. An ordinary person might have been knocked over, but He Lingchuan had trained in martial arts for years; his lower body was as solid as a bronze bell. Not only did the boy fail to topple him, he was bounced two feet back and landed squarely on his rear.
Glaring in fury, the boy snapped, "Hey! Can't you watch where you're going?"
"Why did you grab my necklace, you little brat?" He Lingchuan looked down. The necklace that usually rested against his skin had been dragged out of his collar, and that small fragment of divine bone was actually pulsing with a faint red glow.
When the boy rammed into him, he had felt a yank at his neck. Fortunately, though the cord was thin, it hadn't snapped.
The boy scrambled up in an instant and bolted.
Just as He Lingchuan was about to chase him down and give him a resounding slap across the face, a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder out of nowhere, and a voice called out: "Hey, He Lingchuan!"
Someone here actually knew his name! A jolt ran through He Lingchuan. Giving up on the brat, he spun around to see who it was.
The speaker was lean and of average build, with round eyes—a spirited young fellow, but leaning on a crutch under his arm, one leg held aloft, not daring to touch the ground.
"It really is you!" He grinned at He Lingchuan, flashing a mouthful of white teeth.
"Hu Min!" He Lingchuan was pleasantly surprised as well. Stepping forward, he clasped shoulders and slapped him on the back. "Where did you limp out from, you cripple?"
His delight came not only from meeting an old acquaintance in a dream, but from the fact that the man actually remembered him!
This meant he had left a mark on the dream, that he wasn't merely a spectator or a transient passerby.
This discovery was of immense significance.
"I came to fetch a flagon of wine from the Frost River Tavern, and then I saw you standing here like a fool getting your pockets picked by a kid!"
The two traded looks and burst out laughing.
Hu Min was his Gale Army comrade who had held the wagon barricade to the death alongside him in his previous dream. When He Lingchuan had lost an arm, Hu Min was the one who had reloaded bolt after bolt for him.
A man's truest bond was forged either in the classroom or on the battlefield.
"Come on, let's go have a few drinks." He Lingchuan glanced back and saw the Frost River Tavern right there.
Wait. Wasn't this the very place where Sun Fuping had gathered them to discuss their plans after the expedition entered the Panlong Ruins? Only back then, all that remained of the tavern was a battered sign swaying in the wind, its characters barely legible.
Yet the Frost River Tavern before his eyes had gilded characters blazing across its plaque, bustling with patrons and doing a roaring trade.
The two entered cheerfully and took a seat. Only when the waiter came over to ask what food and drink they wanted did He Lingchuan belatedly pat his pockets.
Uh-oh. Clean as a freshly washed rag!
The broken saber sent him into the dream and only let him bring a single change of clothes?
Shouldn't it have provided a little starting capital? Talk about stingy.
Meanwhile, Hu Min was happily placing the order: "Start us off with a jar of Old Luobai! Stir-fry a plate of clover greens, bring a dish of pork cracklings, and toss some shredded pig's head! Oh, right, do you want goose or chicken?"
"I..." Did a penniless man have room to be picky? He Lingchuan offered a strained smile. "Either's fine with me."
"Then bring us chopped wine-pickled goose leg—the biggest and fattest one!"
At the word "biggest," He Lingchuan quickly intervened: "Isn't that too much? I already ate before coming. Let's not waste food."
Hu Min stared at him. "You might be full, but I'm still starving! This little bit won't even see us through the jar! Go ahead, order whatever—"
At that point, the realization suddenly struck him. "Oh! Don't worry, don't worry. Eat whatever you like, order whatever you want. Today's treat is on me!"
"That..." That's great! "...how could I? Am I the kind of person who freeloads off friends?"
He Lingchuan glared back at him in mock indignation, and Hu Min laughed. "Between brothers, why bother with that nonsense?"
In less than the blink of an eye, the pork cracklings were served.
In truth, these were just the crunchy bits left after rendering lard in the kitchen, dusted with some pepper powder. Meat was so expensive that nothing could go to waste; sold to tavern patrons, a dish cost a mere two copper coins.
He Lingchuan picked one up with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth. Crisp and flaky, it grew more fragrant the more he chewed. One look at Hu Min told him the man was a seasoned drinker who truly appreciated the virtues of pork cracklings.
"How did you survive?" Hu Min asked him. "We held out until dawn, and General Red herself finally arrived with reinforcements, but you got knocked into the water by an enemy. After we drove them off, even Commander Xiao dived in personally, but they just couldn't find you."
Commander Xiao jumped into the water to search for him? He Lingchuan was moved.
He remembered climbing onto a boulder hoping to catch a glimpse of General Red, only to be shaken awake by a servant—a regret he still harbored. But in the eyes of Hu Min, Commander Xiao, and the rest, had he simply vanished after being knocked into the water by the enemy?
Chapter 154