Chapter 58

Chapter 58: An Old Acquaintance Again

The air was damp. Coolness seeped into Zhao Chun’s bones.

“Awake?”

She forced her eyes open.

Qi Yun Rong stood beside her, heavy ruler in hand, looking down with a hard, assessing gaze.

Zhao Chun pushed herself upright. Her wounds still ached, but her strength had returned enough to move. Spiritual energy stirred around her—clear, alive.

“This is Heng Yun,” she said hoarsely. It wasn’t a question.

Qi Yun Rong frowned. “Should be. I don’t know where that place was. I’ve never heard of it. Maybe some drifting Small World that broke away from Heng Yun.”

Zhao Chun’s mind flashed to the barren sky, the utter emptiness of spiritual energy. She had come from a small world herself, but she’d never seen one that lifeless—lifeless to the point of being wrong.

There was no answer to grasp. Not now.

Qi Yun Rong scanned the surroundings. They were in rugged hills, with no signs of people nearby. “After I smashed the bottom of the Heaven Pit, I fell through that black hole and ended up here. It felt familiar—that’s how I knew we’d returned. But I don’t know where we are.”

Her jaw tightened. “I came into the ruins with disciples from my sect. After what happened at the Windflame Sect ruins, I still haven’t received word from them. I’m going to scout ahead. If you still have strength, follow.”

Zhao Chun’s body was filthy, streaked with dried blood and ash. She used the Dust-Clearing Technique, then pulled out a clean outer robe from her storage bag and changed. Only then did she breathe easier.

“I’ll follow,” she said.

Qi Yun Rong’s gaze flicked to Zhao Chun’s storage bag. “Didn’t expect you to be someone your sect values.”

In Chang Hui Sect, Qi Yun Rong had been the foremost disciple. Even at the Qi Refining Stage, her sect had granted her a storage artifact. Seeing one on Zhao Chun made her assume Zhao Chun held similar standing within Ling Zhen Sect.

Zhao Chun understood the misunderstanding—and let it stand. It sounded far cleaner than the truth. The storage bag had come from Yue Zuan, a discarded disciple of Chang Hui Sect, and that was not a subject she wanted to raise in front of Qi Yun Rong.

Besides, Qi Yun Rong carried herself like someone too proud to snatch at petty gains. There was no need to invite trouble with explanations.

Qi Yun Rong summoned the Mist Skiff. Only cultivators at the Essence Condensation Stage could fly freely; at Foundation Establishment, she still needed a tool.

They left the hills behind. Green spread in layers ahead, a relief after the dead world. After a long while, a lake appeared—like a star set into the fields—rings of buildings hugging its shore.

“Let’s go,” Qi Yun Rong said, urging the Mist Skiff forward.

Not wanting to alarm mortals, she slipped the skiff down into the woods outside the settlement, then walked to the gate with Zhao Chun.

A low wall of blue stone circled the town. It wasn’t large enough to be called a city. Above the gate, three painted characters had been carved into the stone—rendered plainly in common speech as Lakewater Town.

Simple. Almost blunt. And perfectly fitting.

In Heng Yun, immortals and mortals were said to be separate, but cultivators did not truly hide. Low-level cultivators were numerous, and mortal towns saw them often enough that Qi Refining cultivators weren’t a shocking sight. The gatekeepers took one look at Zhao Chun and Qi Yun Rong—their bright eyes, their bearing—and hurried to let them through without questions.

Inside, the streets were lively. Merchants called out, porters moved through the crowd with poles across their shoulders, goods swaying as they walked.

Qi Yun Rong looked ready to seize someone and demand answers.

But Zhao Chun’s gaze snagged on a familiar face.

Hong Qian.

Back in Ji City, the trouble had begun with the Hong Family choosing a husband for their young miss. Then Yue Zuan had struck. Hong Qi Sheng died on the spot. Madam Hong broke under it and went mad. With their support gone, Hong Qian had taken her mother and the household steward and left Ji City, saying they would go to Hong Qi Sheng’s clan.

By some twist of fate, the Hong Family’s main household was here in Lakewater Town.

Hong Qian stood amid the crowd with a small basket in hand, graceful despite her worn clothes.

“Miss Hong,” Zhao Chun called.

Hong Qian turned. The moment she recognized Zhao Chun, surprise flashed across her face, then brightened into joy. “Immortal Master! Why are you here?”

“It’s a long story,” Zhao Chun said. “I have a few things I need to ask you.”

Hong Qian nodded at once and led Zhao Chun and Qi Yun Rong into a small shop by the street. She explained, a little shyly, that she ran it herself—selling simple food and drink. The profit was enough to keep her and her mother fed.

Upstairs was their living space. Once she brought them up and shut the door, Hong Qian finally dared to speak freely.

Zhao Chun kept the explanation brief, smoothing over details. She only said she and Senior Sister Qi Yun Rong had arrived here by accident and didn’t yet know where they were.

Hong Qian smiled. “This is Ju Zhou Ridge. My father said it lies in the northeast of Southern Domain.”

Still in Southern Domain.

Relief loosened something in Zhao Chun’s chest. If she knew the direction, she could return to the sect.

And it made sense. Hong Qian and her mother were mortals. They couldn’t travel far; they certainly couldn’t cross regions. If the Hong Family’s main household was here, then they were still within Southern Domain.

Qi Yun Rong, however, was already restless.

She still hadn’t received any messages from her juniors. The fear that someone had been caught in danger gnawed at her patience. She stood abruptly. “I have things to do. I’m leaving.”

She didn’t wait for Zhao Chun or Hong Qian to see her off. She pushed open the door and strode away, steps quick and decisive.

Hong Qian watched her go, then released a slow breath. “That Senior… she’s frightening.”

Zhao Chun couldn’t help a faint smile. “She looks cold, but she’s a good person. She saved my life.”

Among cultivators, appearances meant little. People who walked the Dao came in every temperament and every mask. Only caution—and time—revealed who someone truly was.

Hong Qian nodded, understanding in her own way.

Zhao Chun sent a message talisman to Meng Han. No response came immediately. At Hong Qian’s insistence, she stayed in Lakewater Town for two more days, and in that time she learned more than she’d expected about Hong Qian and her mother.

After returning from Ji City, Madam Hong’s illness had improved somewhat—but she grew quieter, refusing to speak to anyone.

Within the Hong Family’s main household, many people knew Hong Qi Sheng had gained an immortal chance and stepped onto cultivation. When they learned he’d died, they showed the mother and daughter a measure of pity.

Still, Hong Qian and Madam Hong had been used to comfort. When they first arrived, they struggled to adapt, and their awkwardness drew complaints.

Then there was the matter of marriage.

Hong Qian was beautiful and of marrying age. In ordinary families, an 18 or 19-year-old girl still unmarried was rare. Not long after she arrived, matchmakers crowded her doorstep.

But her father was dead, her mother still fragile. Hong Qian didn’t want to marry. She refused again and again—until gossip turned vicious. The Hong Family tried to force the issue.

Hong Qian had been fierce. She cut her hair at the front gate and vowed never to marry. Then she took her mother, separated from the main household, and opened a small shop with the money she’d saved to survive.

Zhao Chun listened with a heaviness she couldn’t shake. Mortal life was harsh in ways cultivation rarely acknowledged.

She asked, finally, “What about Little Shuang? The steward who traveled with you?”

Hong Qian’s eyes lowered. She sighed. “Not long after we arrived, he left. He said he’d find a way to bring Mother and me back to Ji City, so we wouldn’t be looked down on.”

Her fingers tightened around the basket handle. “I asked around, but I never found any trace of him…”

Zhao Chun offered a few gentle words, the only comfort she could give.

As they spoke, a yellow talisman drifted into the room.

A reply at last.

From Meng Han.