Where Immortals Once Walked-Chapter 268: You Chase, I Run

Lu Xin’s voice was choked with guilt. Dong Rui was the mortal enemy of the entire Rock Wolf Clan; after all that hatred had piled up, it had finally cornered him, only to let him slip away again.

He Lingchuan took in the narrow scratches across Lu Xin’s head. One gash even crossed the right eye; a hair deeper, and the wolf would have been blinded. Beads of blood rolled down along its snout. It had not had a second to lick them clean.

He had to be the one to comfort the companion. “If he were so easy to catch, he wouldn’t be wanted by so many states.” From two clashes already, he had learned that Dong Rui was a fox—strike and, if the strike did not kill, vanish. He never lingered to trade blows, never chased the illusion of a maybe. One misstep, a single loose thread, and he would be gone without a trace.

Men who were that cautious were not easily cornered.

People said that his gang of monster puppets was small precisely because each one demanded painstaking preparation. He had already lost the werewolf earlier, so this ghost ape had to be his strongest card left. Dong Rui could not afford to lose it.

This meant that the vulture circling overhead had come to retrieve the ape.

Given that, He Lingchuan ordered, “Stay tight. Don’t let them out of our sight.”

Dong Rui tried a descent to snatch the ape. Shan Youjun bent his bow; the arrow skimmed past the giant bird’s wing, close enough to ruffle feathers and draw a harsh croak as it clawed for altitude.

He Lingchuan shot him a look. “That was sloppy.”

Shan Youjun had not aimed poorly, but the strange bird sensed killing intent like a drawn blade. At the last instant, it corkscrewed, letting the shaft hiss by. He rubbed his nose bashfully and tugged two more arrows free, determined not to let it slip twice.

But after that fright, the bird refused to come down again.

As for why He Lingchuan did not just use Fleeting Life’s Surestrike Throw ability? Well, that was simple. Dong Rui was more than thirty meters away. The saber’s surestrike range did not reach that far.

So they entered a stalemate, moving in parallel. Both parties soon covered another six kilometers.

The ghost ape was already flagging. Even over thudding hooves, they could hear its ragged wheeze, like a bellows with a tear in the leather. That Ghost-Eye Bow shot from He Chunhua’s guard had torn its lung. Now, every exhalation coughed out a palmful of blood mist.

If things went on like this, it would be the biggest trophy He Lingchuan took all year.

Just then, a bamboo flute shrilled. The sound pierced through the darkness and carried far beneath the night.

The ghost ape heard it. It threw its head back and roared, then somehow managed to increase its speed.

That was no tactic; it was the animal’s will to live being wrung dry.

The rock wolf suddenly growled, “Bad. I smell grass and running water!”

Ahead? He Lingchuan’s heart tightened. “Faster!”

Unfortunately, it was too late. The giant ape fled in lurching bounds, then launched forward. Its bulk suddenly shrank mid-leap, then it completely vanished from their sight.

He Lingchuan pounded forward three more strides and hauled back savagely on the reins. The bo beast screamed, reared high, striking at the air with hooves.

Three steps more, and they would have gone over.

Behind him, the other riders yanked their mounts to a scrambling halt.

A black chasm cut across the plain like a sword stroke.

The gentle flats ended here. The earth was split by a gorge over three hundred meters wide, its depths as dark as ink. He Lingchuan dismounted his horse, nudged a stone the size of an ostrich egg over the edge, and listened.

Clack, clack, clack.

The stone tumbled through branches and bounced off rock.

He Lingchuan remained motionless with his head cocked. Beneath those echoes, faint but sure, came the low murmur of water.

There must be a stream down there. There are trees along the cliffside, and water at the bottom.

The ghost ape had dropped straight in and vanished into the darkness. The vulture above them made a tight circle and folded into a dive, nosing toward the gorge-bottom rendezvous.

Dong Rui had a high view and an early read. He had found this line of retreat long before. On that front, He Lingchuan and his party were several steps behind.

Is that it, then? Is the chase over just like that?

He Lingchuan’s jaw tightened. He was unwilling to accept this. He did not bother with more words. He brought out his grappling hook from his ring and nodded at Shan Youjun. “Get your line out. With me.”

Then, he vaulted into the gorge!

He had no intention of repeating that fiasco by Immortal Spirit Lake, getting cornered by the Ghost-Eye Bow, and being forced off a cliff. As he fell, he whipped the grappling hook. Its prongs caught a branch with a satisfying jolt, and he swung out and away.

Shan Youjun mirrored him to a tee. The others had neither grappling hooks nor practice. With no way to fling themselves down safely, they hurried to knot ropes to stout shrubs and lower them over the edge to be ready to haul the two back up.

There were a few big trees along the bottom, but saplings sprang up by the dozen instead, followed by a crush of thickets and a soaked carpet of moss.

Two arcs, two swings, and He Lingchuan released for a clean landing. The bottom of the gorge was utterly dark, so if he continued swinging around here, he almost definitely would find himself smacking right into a tree. Unfortunately, most saplings could not bear his weight.

He and Shan Youjun nodded at each other and broke into a run, angling toward the spot where the ape would have fallen.

The stream cut a jagged line through rocks; boulders hunched like sleeping beasts, and the light was a damp smear. Progress was tricky.

The vulture’s wing-beats had stopped. Neither man heard the buffeting thunder of a bird taking to the sky again.

In other words, Dong Rui was probably still down here.

A few hundred paces, and Shan Youjun pointed and said, “Look up.”

He Lingchuan followed the line of his finger. A tongue of rock jutted from the cliff face like a balcony; crouched on it was Dong Rui, and the vulture perched close by like a sinister standard.

From their angle, the scene was surprisingly clear. Dong Rui was bent low, busily bandaging something with both hands.

It did not take a genius to guess that what he was bandaging was the shrunken ghost ape. With its prior wounds and a chase over tens of kilometers, it had burned through its reserve and then some. Now that Dong Rui had finally gotten to it, the ape was at death’s door and needed immediate treatment. Otherwise, Dong Rui would never have risked stopping here.

They could see so well only because there was a light source right at Dong Rui’s side. He needed a lamp for his work. Even so, he had chosen his perch with care—a half-height eyrie with space to run if trouble came knocking.

They flattened and crept closer.

Grass and reed clustered along the stream. They placed each step with care, careful as cats, letting the brush cushion their steps. Whenever the vulture’s head twitched or Dong Rui’s gaze swept their way, they froze, breathing shallow.

About the time it would take to brew a cup of tea passed. During this time, they drew within thirty meters of the other party.

Here, their hearts stopped pounding, and their hands grew steady.

Dong Rui seemed to have finished addressing the ape’s worst wounds. He fished a transparent glass vial from his robe and gave the red liquid inside a shake.

He Lingchuan flicked a glance at Shan Youjun and slowly drew Fleeting Life. Shan Youjun bent his bow and set the string on his cheek. He was a horseman born to the saddle; in his youth, he had shot at goshawks on the steppe for sport. That damned bird would not slip him twice.

Perhaps it was both of them locking on. Dong Rui’s hands hesitated, and his head turned and began searching.

It has to be now.

He Lingchuan refined his focus one last time and snapped his wrist.

Fleeting Life blurred into the dark as a lonely sliver of winter; even with its edge quieted, the saber gleamed far brighter than an arrowhead. A silver wink from below must have pricked Dong Rui’s eye as he slammed flat without thinking.

The vulture behind him, eyesight keener than a hawk’s, struck like a spear. Its beak stabbed straight at the passing blade.

A hard chime rang off stone. The vulture’s beak tip was now gone.

You dare challenge a saber?

Fleeting Life showed no mercy. The blade arced wide, clipped aside by the hit.

They’re here!

A shudder rippled through Dong Rui. He flung a fistful of dark powder toward the brush where the two lay hidden; smoke billowed as he scooped the shrunken ape up, turned, and dropped off the ledge.

Years of training with the bird made the motion seamless. The vulture rolled and spread its wings, shouldered under him, and gathered itself to climb.

If it made the sky again, He Lingchuan would have no answer at all.

Luckily, Fleeting Life was not done. The saber spun once in a drunken loop, then curved back like a homing swallow.

Dong Rui lifted his head right into the returning flash. He yelped and jerked a short staff up in reflex. He had just drawn this short staff, intending to teach He Lingchuan and whoever was with him a lesson.

Fleeting Life skimmed by, and one of the ends of the staff and a row of fingers leapt free together.

Dong Rui screamed. Something slipped from his palm, fell, and thumped off the bird’s back.

At that instant, Shan Youjun’s arrow whistled away as well, flying straight for the vulture’s wing.

The creature was wickedly quick, flipping midair more neatly than a falcon. However, Shan Youjun had read the vulture’s reaction. His second shaft arrived a half-breath behind the first and drove into the batlike membrane.

The vulture gave a rasping, human-sounding squawk. It wobbled, skimming forward, riding a long slant toward the ground like a crippled kite.

He Lingchuan and Shan Youjun sprinted toward the falling bird.

However, they had only covered a handful of strides when the bird leveled out. Two thunderous wingbeats, and it snatched a ground effect[1], slid behind a trunk, and while screened by that trunk, clawed into a low, skimming flight, then a climbing glide.

The trees ruined any clean shooting lane. Shan Youjun could only watch as it used the cover to pull distance, then lifted beyond the treetops, higher and higher, fading into the star-studded sky.

Only then did they notice that each of its wings was actually two overlapped panes that could split top and bottom like a butterfly’s. Shan Youjun’s shaft had spoiled the lower pane, but the upper could still flap alone—clumsy, yes, but serviceable.

Cunning bird.

It knew a straight climb would get it killed, so it feigned a crash, dragged the distance long, then went up once arrows could no longer reach it.

“Damn!” He Lingchuan knew they were no longer shooting it down. He stamped, breath harsh with frustration.

Shan Youjun’s face was burning red; fortunately, the dark hid most of it. “Master, I... it was my fault. Please punish me.”

Above, the vulture circled and croaked like it was laughing at him.

“If punishment could haul any of those three back, I’d punish you until the new year,” He Lingchuan said, half sighing, half growling. “Enough. Back to camp. Father needs help over on his side.”

They trudged for a dozen paces, surly and spent. As they passed beneath that protruding rock ledge, a thought pricked He Lingchuan.

When Fleeting Life had sheared the staff and fingers, something seemed to have fallen.

He moved to the spot where he had seen it drop and thumbed a tinder spark. Fire blossomed in the fold of his palm; he lowered the glow and searched.

A short while, and Shan Youjun barked, “Here, I found something!” He stooped and spat. “It’s Dong Rui’s severed finger.”

He Lingchuan was not looking for the finger.

He had started to turn when the divine bone amulet at his throat grew warm.

Huh?

It had been quiet for so long that he had almost forgotten about it. Why was it suddenly acting up now?

The last time it heated, it had been pointing him toward a treasure.

He paced in a slow spiral, using rises and dips in that warmth to fix the vector and the range.

At last, his boot toe nudged something hard and round, which rolled twice in the grass.

There?

He pushed stems aside and picked it up, holding it to the flame.

“A medicine vial.”

It was the same glass vial Dong Rui had drawn moments before, the one he had not yet uncorked before Fleeting Life flashed past. The vial was tough. Despite the fall, it was uncracked, the red liquid inside unspilled.

The instant it touched his palm, the divine bone necklace cooled again, as if satisfied and content to go back to sleep.

1. This is an aerodynamic phenomenon where an aircraft—or bird, in this case—flying close to the ground experiences a reduction in drag and an increase in lift. ☜