*If someone comes hunting around here another day, dead men tell no tales...*
The very first thought that popped into He Lingchuan’s head startled even himself.
It seemed like something the body's original owner would do without a second thought, but for He Lingchuan, it weighed heavily.
After pondering for a moment, he said, "Have the Red-White Gang find a secure spot to lock them up. I’ll go back and report this to Father."
The thickest thigh he could cling to was his own old man; when trouble came, they ought to shoulder it together. Besides, he was still a minor, hardly built to bear such heavy responsibilities.
Yet when he was less than a hundred zhang from home, a servant from the He household came hurrying toward him. Rushing in haste, the servant’s eyes lit up upon spotting him, and he promptly stepped forward with a salute.
"Eldest Young Master, the Master orders you to return to the residence at once!"
"The Master," naturally, was the Governor of Qiansong Commandery, He Chunhua.
He Lingchuan lengthened his stride, hurrying off to see his old man.
The He family estate spanned twenty-five mu—which translated to over sixteen thousand square meters in units He Lingchuan was familiar with. Among the wealthy, it was neither exceedingly massive nor particularly modest, but its architecture had distinct character: black roof tiles and white walls, with delicate pavilions scattered through landscaped gardens, standing in stark contrast to Blackwater City’s rugged local style.
Take the garden gate He Lingchuan had just passed: it was shaped like a vase, behind which stood a fifteen-year-old wintersweet shrub that bloomed profusely in the depths of winter. Viewed right now from the Treasure-Viewing Pavilion in a corner of the garden, the speckled yellow blossoms happened to align perfectly with the opening of the vase, graceful and elegant, appearing truly as if they grew right out of the bottle!
Such refined sensibilities were said to be cherished only by the noble houses of the inland provinces, yet He Chunhua was immensely fond of them.
Last year, a newly hired gardener, unaware of the arrangement, pruned the wintersweet and severed that exquisite view with two swift cuts, provoking the famously even-tempered governor into an unprecedented rage.
Furthermore, the materials for the white walls of the He estate were hard to find; the He family had shipped them all the way from the heartland of the Yuan Kingdom, resulting in labor costs higher than the materials themselves. What was more, Blackwater City was battered by wind and sand seven or eight months out of the year, turning building exteriors an earthy yellow. Painting a wall stark white was practically an invitation for dust.
Yet He Chunhua insisted on doing so. To keep the white walls from turning yellow, he even had an array inscribed around the perimeter of the residence to ward off erosion from the blowing sand.
Just looking at how unconventional the He estate was, He Lingchuan understood exactly who the original owner had inherited his willful streak from.
Walking through the courtyard, he was surprised to spot the governor standing by the entrance of the storehouse, followed by the loyal house steward, Lao Mo.
The storehouse was primarily used to store tools and miscellaneous sundries, frequented only by servants, while the masters of the He household normally never went near it. But now He Chunhua waved toward his son. "Over here, quickly!"
He Chunhua had become the commandery governor seven years ago and was still only thirty-four, in the prime of his life. Standing there, he remained a tall, handsome man of jade-like poise.
Walking the streets of Blackwater City, the governor often turned the heads of young maidens and married women alike.
Only when drawing close, as He Lingchuan did now, could one spot a stray silver strand or two among his father's head of dark hair.
Over the years, he, too, had worn himself out with worry and toil.
"Father, something has happened—"
He Chunhua waved a hand to cut him off. "Come inside. There’s something I need you to see."
His face grave, he led his son and Uncle Hao into the storehouse. Lao Mo closed the door behind them and stood guard beside it.
The daylight was clear and bright, and He Lingchuan could see that the long workbench where the craftsmen usually piled their clutter had been cleared off, occupied now by a colossal shape.
This was...
"The Leopard King!" the youth blurted out. His old man had actually had it brought back?
Lying on the long table was indeed a dead leopard. Yet its massive frame rivaled that of a rhinoceros; even lying motionless in death, it exuded an immense sense of oppression.
Compared to this creature, the leopard demon that had plunged off the cliff with him paled into complete insignificance.
What an immensely powerful monster this thing must have been in life!
The leopard carcass bore black spots against a yellow coat, its pelt remarkably exquisite, though ruined by several gaping holes and drenched in blood and grime.
Its hind leg was broken as well. The men could still smell a heavy stench of blood, yet not a single fly buzzed nearby.
He Lingchuan noticed that the leopard carcass showed no signs of decay. Pressing a hand against it, he found the pelt still slightly soft.
They said a centipede dies but never falls stiff; this Leopard King had been dead for many days without rotting, proving its cultivation in life had been profound and its body had reached the state of incorruptibility.
In other words, how formidable must the opponent have been to slay such a beast?
"How long has it been dead?"
"Nearly forty days." He Chunhua lifted one of the leopard’s forelegs. Both He Lingchuan and Uncle Hao could see that its belly had been sliced open, evidently having undergone an autopsy.
"Forty days ago?" He Lingchuan calculated the timing. "Indeed, right around the time before I was attacked."
That leopard demon hadn’t lied; the leopard den in West Mountain truly had been slaughtered.
"I've already sent men to confirm it," He Chunhua paused, then continued, "The leopard demons' old lair in West Mountain was wiped out entirely, from the Leopard King down to cubs less than two months old. Lately, passing merchants have repeatedly spotted fire foxes in West Mountain. A few times they even saw them basking leisurely in the sand pits, utterly at ease."
He Lingchuan murmured in realization, "West Mountain is sand leopard territory; they would never tolerate fire foxes trespassing, unless something happened to them."
"Exactly. So I dispatched men to scout West Mountain. Near the leopard den, they found thirty-four leopard carcasses and over a dozen human corpses, with signs of battle spanning two hilltops. Most of the dead humans were unarmed and possessed ordinary constitutions. From their wounds, they were killed with single strikes—most likely servants of the sand leopards. It took my men another five days to bring this leopard carcass back into the city to search for clues through an autopsy."
It wasn't unusual for humans to be found in a demon beast's lair; they were either food or servants, largely abducted commoners. Demons that had awakened their intellect enjoyed creature comforts, and the meticulous dexterity of humans was something other species could never match.
Slain so cleanly, He Lingchuan could only think of four words:
Killing men—and beasts—to silence them.
"Father, how is it the news of the West Mountain leopard den being slaughtered only arrived now? That's far too slow!"
He Chunhua was accustomed to his complaints. "Sand tornadoes raged for a dozen days across the western Panlong Desert. Nobody could get near."
The Panlong Desert was a man-eating expanse under normal circumstances, and once a sandstorm kicked up, it became utterly terrifying. No matter how immense one’s abilities, one had no choice but to wait meekly until it blew over.
Rubbing his chin, He Lingchuan silently noted that the West Mountain leopard demons had indeed been secretly colluding with his father in the past.
This was hardly surprising. Blackwater City guarded the Red Cliff Trade Route and inevitably had to deal with the surrounding sand bandits. The bandits raiding back and forth weren't just humans; most were demon beasts, and the West Mountain leopard demons were merely one of those factions.
Qiansong Commandery was well aware that the Red Cliff Trade Route was a lucrative prize. Driven by profit, wiping out one band of sand bandits only meant another would crop up, growing faster than weeds. Thus, toward the major bandit bands within two hundred li, He Chunhua balanced intimidation with negotiation—wielding both carrot and stick. Over the years, they had actually maintained fairly decent relations, exchanging subtle nods and mutual understanding.
As for whether there was more intricate cooperation between them, He Chunhua hadn't said, and the previous He Lingchuan had never asked.
Chapter 4