Talk of the Town

The writing upon the Celestial Book faded away, leaving it once again completely blank. The Duyun Emissary spoke respectfully, "Monitoring unusual movements of this divine artifact is our duty." His meaning was that the gods should not be blamed. The Emperor pointed at the altar. "By relying on that thing?" "Precisely." The Duyun Emissary looked solemn. "That, too, is a divine artifact." "Send Bai Ziqi. Have him head south tomorrow morning to investigate as swiftly as possible." The Emperor turned and walked outside, his voice detached and cold. "Seize the pot and kill whoever holds it. Put an end to it once and for all." *** Sun Fuling was not home. He Lingchuan leaned over the top of the wall and saw that her courtyard was likewise fragrant with flowers and lush greenery. In particular, dozens of massive hydrangeas nearly choked the corner of the wall, bursting in a rare shade of bluish-purple. Once, there had been nothing at all in this little courtyard—so bare it would make a thief weep. The shell wind chimes beneath the eaves chimed softly, as if accusing their owner of leaving home once more without reason. Yet in He Lingchuan's own courtyard, the plants remained upright and vigorous, and the fish in the vat were lively, not a single one missing. It was clear that during his absence, Sun Fuling had come by regularly to tend to them. He Lingchuan took two books and stepped out the door. He was headed to Wenxuan Pavilion to return them and, while there, look up more of the Yuan Kingdom's history. The devil was in the details; perhaps he could uncover something more. Ever since overhearing the conversation between the King of Yuan and his minister, a sense of urgency had weighed on his mind, driving him to gather clues as quickly as possible. He Lingchuan had intended to close his eyes and rest in the carriage, but the driver proved exceptionally talkative, striking up a conversation about the "return to the east" right away. Only then did He Lingchuan learn that during the day or two he had been away, news that the sovereign had ordered the relocation of Panlong's soldiers and civilians back to their homeland had spread everywhere. It was the talk of every street and alley. Some said they would be able to go back; others insisted it was a conspiracy. Some yearned to return as eagerly as an arrow shot toward home, while others had no desire to go back whatsoever. When such arguments were fueled by alcohol, it often came down to loud voices and flying fists to decide who made more sense. As a result, more than a dozen taverns across Panlong City had witnessed rare brawls and injuries—all byproducts of inflamed passions. He noticed the carriage driver was also in his early forties. His left sleeve was rolled up, revealing a long scar across his arm. A saber scar. "You were a soldier before, weren't you? Do you want to go back?" The driver let out a sigh. "When I was young, I lived on Huangzhou Island. Fish and shrimp were free for the catching, and you could raid all the bird eggs from the trees you liked." He pointed to a large tree by the roadside. "Now, forget raiding bird eggs—try chopping off a single branch here. You might well get lashed a few times." "Look at the young folks in the city; they don't want to go back," the driver continued. "They've lived here since childhood and think the Panlong Wasteland is the greatest place under heaven. Besides, they hear our homeland is rampant with corruption and people's lives are miserable, so they don't want to go anywhere." "So you really want to return?" "I don't dare." The driver shook his head. "It's been thirty years since I left my old home. If I went back, I wouldn't know a soul or the place. I hear bandits run rampant in our motherland, so I probably wouldn't have a good life anyway. Besides, how could the journey back be an easy one? How many people would die along the way?" "Didn't they say the Baling Kingdom is going to open the Jinxi Corridor for us? Shouldn't the journey be easy?" "Hah, the Baling Kingdom!" The driver pointed at the scar on his arm. "This wound of mine was slashed by a Baling soldier; I almost lost my arm back then. How many of our fine soldier boys died at the hands of Baling and Xianyou? If Baling could be trusted, sows could climb trees." He sighed. "No matter whether we end up going back or not, this business is going to keep the entire Panlong Wasteland stirred up for quite a while." Passing Yunling Island along the way, He Lingchuan saw the chubby, fair-skinned man standing at the entrance, chatting with a customer. He Lingchuan got off the carriage for a brief stop to replenish consumables like sleeve arrows and medicine. After taking the money, Bai Guo hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something. He Lingchuan slung an arm around his shoulder with a laugh. "Still worrying over that matter?" "You really haven't heard?" Bai Guo sighed. "It's already become the talk of the town. Look at how things are out there—it's as if we're setting off to return tomorrow." He had wanted to seize an early advantage, but hadn't managed to. "Then why haven't you left?" He Lingchuan gave him a sidelong glance. The fat man wasn't being completely honest. "Don't use my shop as an excuse. You could lease it out to someone else or hand it over for someone to manage in your place, while you slip away first." He had already experienced just how nimble merchants could be from Second Master Shi and his own steward, Ding Zuodong. Could a mere shop really stand in the way of the fat man's return? Bai Guo was struck speechless. Wasn't it just that he couldn't discern Panlong City's true intentions? If the news came to nothing in the end and he had already abandoned his business, what would he do afterward? Without the protection of the Panlong City army, who knew how many perils one would face on the journey back? Who could guarantee they would make it through the Baling Kingdom's Jinxi Corridor? Still, his remark about it being "the talk of the town" was no exaggeration. With his sharp hearing, He Lingchuan could hear two tables of patrons on the second floor of the teahouse across the street discussing the return to the east. It truly was the top event gripping everyone's attention. He Lingchuan patted Bai Guo on the shoulder. "Set your mind at ease and run your shop. We definitely won't be leaving." Bai Guo gave a start. "How do you know? Do you have insider information?" He Lingchuan gave him a mysterious smile. "Can't say, can't say." Say what? He came from future generations; of course he knew that right up until its fall, the people of Panlong City never left the Panlong Wasteland. Although the course of the dream might not completely align with history, in his recollection nothing significant enough to alter the main storyline had occurred yet. Therefore, most likely none of the people here would be leaving. At this thought, his heart stirred. If the Xiluo Kingdom truly issued a resettlement decree and the soldiers and civilians of Panlong obeyed the order to return east, could they escape their ultimate fate of slaughter? The thought sprouted in his mind like wild weeds, growing uncontrollably. Without realizing when it had started, he had begun to worry for this city and its inhabitants, entirely resistant to the arrival of their doom. He had been a witness to the final moments of Thousand Stars City's destruction. The horror, despair, and tragic solemnity of it could not be captured by words even in the slightest measure. He Lingchuan desperately wished Panlong City would not follow in those same footsteps. After all, this city had given him an ever-growing sense of belonging. Boarding the carriage once more, He Lingchuan stopped by the Tizhen Office along the way. He had accumulated enough military merits again, and this time he wanted to exchange them for a spear technique. "An inch longer, an inch stronger"—after experiencing the great battle at the Han River, he had gained a much deeper understanding of that saying. In the future, opportunities for mounted combat would surely be plentiful; fine though the Fusheng saber was, it was still a short weapon. He had seen the spearmanship of General Red, Xiao Maoliang, Hong Chenglüe, and even Zhao Pan, and had envied them deeply. The spear technique the Tizhen Office gave him had an unpretentious name: Thunderbolt Spearmanship. It meant thrusting the spear like rolling thunder—it had to be not only fast, but carry the terrifying might of thunder. As He Lingchuan's combat experience grew richer by the day, he understood full well that "in martial arts, only speed is unbreakable" was a paradox. Didn't a hummingbird flap its wings fast? What threat did it pose to a human? On a hot day, it might at most fan a bit of breeze your way. Speed, stability, accuracy, and ferocity—swift without lacking power—that was the true essence of victory. He had just committed the spear formula to memory and was about to return the jade slip to Merit Officer Liu when a guard dashed in from outside, bootsteps clattering. "Which one is He Lingchuan?" "That's me." "General Red commands you to report immediately to Gange Hall for guard duty." A mission? He Lingchuan set down the jade slip and followed the messenger. Gange Hall was one of the places where Panlong City's top brass deliberated vital military affairs. Not only was it off-limits to ordinary folk, but even soldiers of the Gale Army could only enter if they carried a token. He Lingchuan followed behind the messenger, passing through the government offices and heading north, soon passing Zhong Shengguang's residence. Gange Hall was built right behind his residence, making it convenient for the city's leader to convene meetings on a moment's notice. There was not a single green plant in this place. The ground was bluestone, the walls were bluestone, bare and cold. Though called a council hall, to He Lingchuan it felt more like a prison; the moment one entered this space, a chilling, austere air washed over them. The actual council chambers consisted of two halls, one large and one small. Their exteriors were square and blocky, the masonry laid with every seam sealed flat. Even a pale green grasshopper landing on the wall stood out starkly. Moreover, the moment it hopped over, it slipped straight to the ground. Evidently, the building itself was protected by a barrier that prevented living creatures from resting upon it. There had originally been trees in the courtyard—judging by the stumps, quite thick ones—but they had been chopped down. Trees made it easy to conceal people, or conceal something else; after all, the means of eavesdropping in this world were ever-changing and multifaceted. The moment He Lingchuan entered, he detected the barriers—multiple layers, in fact. If anyone attempted to force their way in or infiltrate, an alarm would surely be triggered. From these precautions alone, one could tell that any topic brought into Gange Hall was anything but simple. At the entrance of the smaller hall, the messenger stopped and approached no further. "Wait here." He turned and left. His mission was complete; he was not permitted inside the hall. Even the wind blowing into Gange Hall felt noticeably colder. He Lingchuan had not stood there long when several more Gale Army soldiers walked in from outside. Afterward, Zhong Shengguang and General Red appeared. General Red casually pointed to two men, one of whom was He Lingchuan. "You two, report inside for guard duty." Then she told the rest, "The rest of you, stand guard outside the hall." Everyone complied with the orders. He Lingchuan entered the small hall. It was only about fifty square meters, and most of the space was occupied by a large sand table in the center, so it could accommodate twenty people at most. General Red stood by the sand table and manipulated it with a few gestures. The loose sand began to pile into shapes—hills, towering mountains, lakes, rivers, and low valleys emerging one after another. In barely half a quarter of an hour, the sand table was fully formed. From He Lingchuan's angle, he could clearly see the majestic plateau and the stone forest standing like a thousand sails— On the sand table was the Chipa Plateau, as well as Zhu Erniang's lair, the Ghost Needle Stone Forest. General Red was wearing a mask again. This time it was an eagle-head mask in shades of brown, gold, and red, crafted just as exquisitely and in a similarly abstract style. He had to admit, General Red's aesthetic taste never disappointed. He Lingchuan was genuinely curious: who on earth made these masks for her? Zhong Shengguang also stood by the sand table, looking down at the miniature Panlong City. There was a vertical furrow between his brows, the result of habitual frowning. Commander of the Panlong Wasteland—the responsibility and burden represented by this title were not something an ordinary person could bear. Moreover, He Lingchuan recalled the King of Yuan's entrustment. The very "calamity" that had driven the mighty Yuan Kingdom to tragic extinction was right here in Zhong Shengguang's custody. If news leaked, the consequences would be catastrophic. From that fact alone, the psychological weight he bore was unimaginable.