"Thick-skinned and black-hearted"—no words described the tubby man better.
Bai Guo produced another small wooden vial, barely three inches tall. "This is a gift for you as well!"
The stopper was jammed in tightly. He Lingchuan gave it a gentle shake; inside were fine granules. "What's this?"
"Fish paste!" the fat merchant explained. "A specialty of the coast of the Song Kingdom, made from the essence of all sorts of seafood simmered over a low flame! Add a drop or two while cooking, and the fresh savory flavor it draws out is unbelievable! It turns a dish into something else entirely. Take it back and try it—I guarantee you'll love it."
Seeing that it would be rude to decline, He Lingchuan accepted it. Glancing around the shop, he noticed quite a few other customers buying fish paste as well, though theirs came in large wooden bottles.
The shifty merchant had given him a sample size.
***
Gange Hall.
The stone building remained bare, completely devoid of decoration.
He Lingchuan recalled that during his previous two shifts here, the late-summer heat had been raging with a vengeance, stifling and suffocating. Martial officers had it easy enough; their cultivation shielded them from extremes of cold and heat. But half-baked spellcrafters like Wen Daolun had been drenched in sweat.
Fortunately, the weather had now turned cool, making staying inside far more comfortable.
Only after undergoing the usual full-body security inspection was He Lingchuan permitted to enter.
Four soldiers guarded the exterior of the hall, but inside, he was the only guard on duty.
Yet someone was already waiting in the hall, having even poured himself a cup of tea.
It was a scholar in long robes. The left hand holding the teacup was missing its little finger.
When He Lingchuan got a clear look at his face, he couldn't help but start, his footsteps freezing in place.
The scholar faced the entrance and gave him a slight smile. "Hello."
He Lingchuan's composure had grown far stronger than in the past. His lapse lasted only a brief instant before he collected himself and stepped into the hall.
"Greetings, sir."
The man was in his early forties. His face was gaunt yet retained an underlying refinement, and a mole sat between his brows.
Most importantly, He Lingchuan recognized this face:
Shao Jian.
Though weathered by the wind and frost of the passing years, etched with wrinkles and touched with white at the temples, He Lingchuan could still recognize him at a glance—this was the nephew of the late King of Yuan, Shao Jian!
Back in the illusory vision at the ruins of Thousand Stars City, he had witnessed the conversation between uncle and nephew.
Years ago, knowing the situation was hopeless and the Yuan Kingdom could not be saved, the King of Yuan had entrusted the Dafang Pot, the flood dragon-head saber, and the divine bone necklace to his nephew, Shao Jian. He ordered him to flee overnight to Xiluo and deliver the trio of relics into the hands of Zhong Shengguang.
Naturally, he must have succeeded; otherwise, the Panlong City of today would not exist.
Yet He Lingchuan had never imagined that a figure from an illusion would appear right before his eyes, in the flesh... well, perhaps not truly in the flesh, since this wasn't reality after all.
Still, it was enough to set his heart pounding.
Spanning nearly two centuries of time and space, he had finally met another figure who rightfully belonged in the annals of history!
Or should have, at least.
Because Shao Jian operated in utter secrecy, his connection to Zhong Shengguang and Panlong City had never been recorded in history. But He Lingchuan knew very well that this very man was the catalyst for Panlong City's tragic, sweeping epic.
Facing Shao Jian, He Lingchuan felt a storm of mixed emotions. It was at this moment that he realized with a start just how deeply entangled he had become with Panlong City, and how profoundly they were shaping one another.
Back then, when Zhong Shengguang held the Dafang Pot, had he felt the same way?
Perhaps He Lingchuan's intense gaze struck Shao Jian as odd, for the scholar also began sizing up the youth. "Have we met before?"
He Lingchuan shook his head. "Probably not."
He made no inquiry into the man's name or origins. A soldier on duty in Gange Hall was meant to observe, not ask questions.
Shao Jian, however, was clearly bound by no such restriction. "What is your surname?"
"He."
"This is the first time I've ever seen a soldier so young stationed in Gange Hall." The lad looked seventeen or eighteen at most, yet here he was, assigned to guard Gange Hall. Shao Jian smiled. "General Red must hold great trust in you."
He Lingchuan kept his answer brief. "She does."
The last time he had seen Shao Jian, the man had just come of age, brimming with heroic spirit. Now, approaching forty, he was around the same age as Zhong Shengguang, his face marked by the wear of time.
Cultivator though he was, time had shown him no special favor.
Just as Shao Jian was about to speak, the door creaked open, and General Red entered alone, clad in light armor.
The door of Gange Hall was deliberately designed to make noise, precisely to alert anyone inside.
Seeing her, He Lingchuan felt a slight chill of awe.
She wore no mask. Her face was lovelier than peach and plum blossoms in full bloom, yet it bore an aloof detachment, as if looking down upon mortal life from beyond the highest heavens.
No one followed behind her. "Close the door."
As He Lingchuan shut the door, Shao Jian stood up and bowed respectfully to her. "Lady Mitian, it has been a long time."
"Shao Jian." General Red pulled out a chair and sat down. "Was your journey peaceful?"
"The road was clear. I encountered no bandits or troubles, nor was I followed."
Listening to him, He Lingchuan knew that after spending over twenty years hiding and fleeing, the man had become an absolute master of concealing his tracks.
General Red, however, was not entirely set at ease. "Step into the sunlight."
Past midday, the sun was just beginning to tilt, its rays slanting in through the unglazed window. Shao Jian stepped into the beam of light, as though coated in a layer of gold.
General Red then pointed casually at He Lingchuan. "You as well."
He Lingchuan promptly walked over and stood shoulder to shoulder with Shao Jian, bathing together in the sunlight.
From somewhere, General Red produced a wide-rimmed golden alms bowl containing half a block of incense. She brushed a hand across the bowl, and the incense ignited without a flame, releasing wisps of milky-white smoke.
The scent of the burning incense exuded solemnity and reverence. Smelling it, He Lingchuan felt as though he were standing within an imperial shrine.
General Red blew gently toward the two of them. The smoke drifted over, enveloping their bodies in a tight, lingering mist that refused to disperse.
Neither dared make a move.
After five or six breaths, in the sunlight and through the white mist, He Lingchuan was startled to discover a faint, translucent black thread resting on Shao Jian's shoulder, stretching straight out through the window.
General Red said in a low, grave voice, "You are being watched."
Shao Jian recoiled in shock. Turning his head, he saw the antenna-like black thread upon his shoulder.
He brushed at it twice with his hand, but it was like sweeping through empty air.
The black thread remained there, ethereal and indistinct, yet stubbornly refusing to fade.
He Lingchuan checked himself and found, as expected, nothing at all.
He was completely clean. General Red gave him only a single glance before turning her attention back to Shao Jian.
Shao Jian asked in bewildered unease, "What is this?"
"Attention from another celestial god." General Red blew another breath of white smoke toward him, shrouding Shao Jian completely until He Lingchuan could barely make out his features. "A mortal cannot remove it."
Miraculously, Shao Jian did not find the dense smoke suffocating at all; he could breathe with complete ease.
"This mist can block their prying eyes. Otherwise, the moment the thread of fate snaps, they will direct even more attention toward you." With that, General Red reached out toward his shoulder and gave a gentle tug, as if brushing away a gossamer strand of spider silk.
Just like that, the so-called thread of fate snapped!
Whichever celestial god had cast this thread would surely wonder who had the power to tear it asunder. Yet with Shao Jian enveloped in Mitian's mist, they were unable to locate him.
Catching the severed black thread, General Red tossed it directly into the golden bowl.
With a soft pop, the flame turned pitch-black, bursting into a cloud of dark vapor.
Within the dark vapor, a silhouette flickered into view, bearing a pair of massive wings, resembling a butterfly or a giant fluttering moth.
"So it's this thing." General Red waved her hand, and the smoke in the room instantly vanished without a trace, allowing the sunlight to envelop Shao Jian once more. "The good news is that this isn't a deity worshipped by Beijia, so you haven't drawn the attention of the northern demon kingdom. Shao Jian, which country did you pass through recently, or whom do you know, that worships the god Dunie?"
Shao Jian was slightly taken aback. After pondering for a moment, he said, "That might be a small kingdom I passed through in the desert, very far from here. But the god they worship is also in human form, not... not like this."
Aside from Beijia, other nations in the mortal world naturally worshipped gods openly as well. It was just that none of them could compare to the northern demon kingdom in might.
General Red remarked indifferently, "Human believers are the most numerous, so the form a god manifests in the mortal realm is usually human as well."
He Lingchuan caught the unsaid implication: *As for their true form, that is another matter entirely.*
"Just avoid going there in the future." General Red put away the golden bowl. "Across the divide of an entire world, the attention of these wild gods is often severed for all sorts of reasons, not just deliberate intervention. As long as you don't step back into its sight, it is of little consequence, and they won't dwell on it too much either. Now then, I have a task to assign to you."
Shao Jian's expression turned solemn. "Please give your orders."
Watching them, He Lingchuan was filled with curiosity.
Years ago, the King of Yuan had instructed him to tell Zhong Shengguang to destroy the Dafang Pot by any means necessary. Yet now, far from obeying the king's warning, Zhong Shengguang had used the Dafang Pot to summon the celestial god Mitian to descend into the mortal realm.
So what was Shao Jian's current relationship with Panlong City?
He was very likely the sole surviving bloodline of the King of Yuan's family. He Lingchuan thought to himself: after delivering the three relics, could this man truly have washed his hands of the world and lived out his days drifting across rivers and seas?
General Red brought out another object and held it flat on her palm.
This truly was a bizarre day. One after another, the people and things appearing in Panlong City defied all of He Lingchuan's expectations.
What General Red displayed was shaped like a copper cylinder, only about the size of a middle finger. Carved atop the cylinder was the head of an unknown beast—pointed snout, short nose, fine teeth, and small ears, its visage hideous and twisted, resembling a pig's head smashed by a fist.
The surface of the short cylinder was engraved with markings that looked like both patterns and writing, though not in the ancient immortal language.
Embedded in the body of the cylinder was a hollow gem. Inside, there seemed to be a speck of crimson matter, sometimes swirling as a liquid, sometimes vaporizing into mist.
The moment this object appeared, He Lingchuan's eyes widened in shock, for he recognized this as well:
A Dragon-Torture Pillar!
After the battle at Xinhuang Town between He Chunhua's Xiazhou army and the Xunzhou skirmishers, an acolyte of the National Preceptor from Beijia had secretly carried a Dragon-Torture Pillar just like this to collect nightmare energy from the battlefield.
At the time, the acolyte had confessed that the Dragon-Torture Pillar was an ancient treasure crafted from the copper pillars surrounding the Dragon Slaughtering Grounds. The so-called nightmare energy was merely the resentment, fear, and rage of fallen soldiers before death, which Beijia gathered to take back and perform deliverance rites upon.
Later, however, the soul-snatching mirror corrected that notion: nightmare energy was actually the vital essence of living beings, simply dispersing into the air upon death.
What astonished He Lingchuan even more was what General Red—or rather, Mitian—said next:
"At last, I have finally managed to craft this!"
Her voice carried a rare trace of profound emotion.
Mitian could craft a Dragon-Torture Pillar?
He Lingchuan's thoughts raced. Why did she want to make such a thing?
Did Panlong City need to collect nightmare energy as well?
Chapter 543