Where Immortals Once Walked-Chapter 270: The Invisible Nightmare Qi

He Lingchuan walked toward the row of single-story buildings at the back of the camp. The place had once been a post station. The front courtyard and guest rooms were half-destroyed by fire, but the stables behind had survived mostly intact, aside from one stall burned to charcoal.

The captives were all lined up here, sitting shoulder to shoulder with their backs against the wall, hands bound behind them—anyone who so much as twitched earned the butt of a spear for their trouble.

There were over a hundred of them, all slumped and spiritless.

The minor officers and adjutants were penned separately in two adjacent stalls.

He Lingchuan went from stall to stall, peering inside, until he noticed something peculiar. From his point of view, one of the captives was glowing faintly red.

Strictly speaking, the light was seeping from his waist.

Interesting.

He beckoned a nearby soldier keeping watch over the captives and asked, “When was this man brought in?”

“Just now,” the soldier answered. “He was skulking around town after the fighting. We didn’t know what he was up to, so we dragged him in.”

“Oh?” He Lingchuan raised an eyebrow. “All of the roving cavalry from Xun Province has already withdrawn, yet he stayed behind? Has anyone searched or questioned him?”

“Not yet, the officers are all too busy.” Everyone important has their hands full, why would they waste their time interrogating some lowly grunt?

However, He Lingchuan had time to spare. “Then I’ll do it.”

“Ah?” The soldier was stunned. “B-but...”

“Do you not know who I am?”

“I do, of course I do!” Even if he had not before, after tonight’s battle, half the camp knew He Lingchuan by face. “You’re Young Master He!”

“Then what’s the problem with me questioning a captive no one else can be bothered with?”

“None at all, sir.”

At He Lingchuan’s signal, Shan Youjun and Jiao Tai stepped forward and dragged the captive out from the huddled line of prisoners.

The man shrank back in alarm. “What do you want with me?!”

He was small and wiry and had no hope of resisting the two burly men who hoisted him up like a chicken.

He Lingchuan’s gaze sharpened. The moment Shan Youjun and Jiao Tai approached, the faint red glow around the man’s waist vanished. He had been sitting hunched over, hands tucked beneath his belt the whole time.

So, whatever’s been emitting that light is under his control?

The battle had left few intact buildings in camp, every last one already claimed. He Lingchuan commandeered a tent instead, kicked out its former occupant, and tossed the prisoner inside.

Lu Xin padded to the entrance and sprawled across it like a living barricade. With it stationed right there, no one would be coming in uninvited.

Meanwhile, Shan Youjun carried in two chairs, offering one to He Lingchuan before seating the captive in the other.

He Lingchuan got straight to the point. “What’s with the red light on your body?”

The man blinked, displaying a wide-eyed innocence. “What red light?”

He Lingchuan knelt and tugged open the man’s belt, but he found nothing. He then stripped off the man’s outer layer of light armor, but he still found nothing. Still, there were two more layers to be stripped off.

The captive’s face went white, and his eyes began darting back and forth.

Watching He Lingchuan methodically undress the captive, Shan Youjun and Jiao Tai exchanged a look, their expressions turning strange. They had been following the young master for nearly a month now.

Is this one of the young master’s hobbies?

But this captive is ugly, scrawny, and pathetic. How could the young master possibly take a liking to him?

The two men looked at each other, hearts full of complicated emotions.

If the young master started “eating from his own bowl,” were they supposed to comply or resist?

Fortunately, before their imaginations could run any wilder, He Lingchuan ripped open the man’s undershirt with a sharp rip. As he did so, something clattered to the ground.

It was something that looked like a copper rod or short staff.

He Lingchuan bent down to pick it up. The rod or short staff was tiny. It was just a bit longer than his middle finger and about as thick as a flute. The head was carved in the likeness of some unknown beast, part bat, part pig. The unknown beast was short-snouted, sharp-toothed, with stunted ears and an eerie grin.

Fine, intricate lines covered the shaft, some of which seemed to be some patterns, while others appeared to be a form of script. He Lingchuan could not recognize them. They were not even the script of the ancient immortals, yet their arrangement was symmetrical and disciplined, carrying a strange, solemn beauty.

Could this be some sort of array?

Set into the shaft was an oval gem that was about the size of a quail egg. Its color was impossible to pin down. Inside, red vapors churned like gas or liquid, ceaselessly shifting between the two states. The substance filled nearly three-quarters of the gem.

He Lingchuan recalled the red light he had seen earlier, and a thought struck him. He then turned to Shan Youjun and asked, “Do you see this gem?”

Shan Youjun nodded.

“What color is it?”

“It’s dark red,” said Shan Youjun hesitantly. His master had been acting strangely for the past hour.

But to He Lingchuan’s eyes, it was bright as blood. “Look carefully. Do you see anything moving inside the gem?”

Shan Youjun only looked more confused. But the prisoner’s face visibly blanched in horror.

Just as I thought, no one else can see it.

He Lingchuan smiled pleasantly. “It looks like you’ve got something to say, hm?”

“N-no, nothing.”

“You can see what’s inside, can’t you?” His tone grew soft. “So tell me, what exactly does this thing do?”

The captive stammered, “It’s, it’s nothing strange, just a toy I bought off a peddler!”

He Lingchuan turned the copper rod over in his hand. It seemed to be cast from a single piece of metal, with no joints or seams at all. The craftsmanship was exquisite.

A street peddler selling this? Heh.

Then, out of curiosity, he pressed down on the gem.

The strange beast’s eyes flared red. Its jaws stretched open in a silent roar, and the lines engraved across the shaft began to slither, as if they were snakes that had come to life.

The instant He Lingchuan gripped the rod, he sensed something invisible converging from all directions.

In the span of a few blinks of an eye, streaks of red light fell from the heavens, funneling straight into the beast’s open mouth.

So it wasn’t roaring but feeding.

And suddenly, he understood the flashes of red light he had seen earlier.

He still could not tell how they were formed, but they seemed almost projected by the beast’s eyes before being sucked into its mouth. He waved a hand through the streaks of light, but his fingers passed straight through as if nothing were there.

The patterns on the rod lit up one by one, carrying those streaks of red light down from the beast’s head to the gem, where they then pooled inside. The moment they emerged again, the lines dimmed back to normal.

Back and forth they cycled, unendingly.

After a while, He Lingchuan grasped the mechanism. The beast’s mouth drew in the red light, while the lines across the rod carried it into the gem for storage.

So the red substance inside the gem is condensed from those rays of light?

Hm, this is getting stranger and stranger.

The captive stared at him in disbelief. This was because He Lingchuan’s expression clearly told him that he could see what only their kind could see.

How is this possible?! Only attendants who have undergone the secret Opening Heaven’s Eye rite should be able to see nightmare qi!

“Are you still not going to talk?” He Lingchuan’s tone was cold as ice. This was the last chance that He Lingchuan was giving the captive to talk.

The captive gawked.

Shan Youjun stepped forward with a crack of his knuckles. “Allow me, Master.”

He Lingchuan folded his arms and stepped back. “He’s all yours. Be thorough with him. We might learn something useful.”

Shan Youjun and Jiao Tai moved in. Their punches landed fast and precisely. They stood to either side so that when their fists drove into the captive’s gut, the vomit and blood that spurted out would not splash them.

The captive screamed and choked; after a few more blows to the face, his cheeks swelled grotesquely and his eyes reduced to slits. Still, he gritted his teeth and refused to talk.

Shan Youjun ordered a bucket of water and a cloth. He soaked the rag, then tilted the chair backward so that the man hung with his head down. The wet cloth then came down over his face.

Even before the first pour, the captive began thrashing. Shan Youjun scooped a ladle of water and let it trickle slowly over the cloth.

A muffled sound escaped from the man, and he writhed like a fish on a chopping block.

In truth, he suffered worse than a fish out of water.

He Lingchuan was well aware of the capabilities of water torture. It drew no blood and left no wounds, yet the victim endured the agonies of suffocation and drowning, again and again. The alternating pace—fast, slow, then fast again—doubled the torment each time.

After barely a dozen breaths, noise rose outside the tent—shouts, footsteps, the rattle of arms. It sounded like a large troop was arriving in haste.

What’s going on now?

He Lingchuan strode out and saw an army entering through the main gate. This army was over six hundred strong, with cavalry, foot soldiers, and a hundred wagons, and there were even porters trudging among them.

But this army looked utterly defeated. Blood stained their clothes, and many of the soldiers bore wounds. The moment they reached the camp, they sank to the ground, too spent to move.

A cold weight dropped into He Lingchuan’s stomach.

Two days ago, this very unit had split from them to take the Bailu Town–Songhua Plain route. This unit had nearly a thousand men in all, making them an even larger force than that of He Chunhua. After the battle at Xinhuang, He Chunhua had sent scouts that way to check on them. And yet, they were the ones who had come back first, looking every bit like they had been routed.

The soldiers in camp put down their work and watched in silence.

The leader, Wu Shaoyi, dismounted and bowed with shame. “Young Master, we were ambushed at Bailu Town! I only managed to bring back these few wagons.”

He staggered as he stepped down from his horse. He Lingchuan caught him by the arm. His face was pale, and his shoulder was soaked through with blood.

Dawn was just breaking. He Lingchuan exhaled a long breath into the chill of spring. “Xinhuang was attacked as well.”

And that single sentence was enough to darken the whole sky.

Among all the grim tidings of the night—Baili Qing, the ghost ape, Dong Rui’s escape, the chaos at the Xinhuang camp, his father’s losses—none hit harder than this.

* * *

Wu Shaoyi was taken straight to He Chunhua. Although He Chunhua’s expression was stony, he first ordered the army medics to tend to the wounded commander. Their conversation continued during treatment.

Bailu Town’s defenses had been far stronger than Xinhuang’s. Wu Shaoyi and the grain convoy’s other commanding officer, Zhou Hongyue, had focused their vigilance on the Jutang Pass, a chokepoint they were due to cross the next day. Upon reaching Bailu Town, they ordered a brief rest. Cautious as they were, neither left the billets assigned to them. However, Wu Shaoyi had drunk too much water that night, and he slipped out to relieve himself. He had not even finished shaking off when a massive explosion caused waves to ripple across the very ground he was standing on.