Where Immortals Once Walked-Chapter 260: The He Familys Grievance

While one man was so busy that his feet barely touched the ground, He Lingchuan happily played the role of a hands-off boss. Aside from training with dogged determination, he took his personal guards and the rock wolf out hunting every few days.

It had been less than three months since imperial nectar descended upon the world. Across Xia Province, newborn monsters continued to emerge and cause trouble. So He Lingchuan simply resumed his old line of work from the Panlong Dreamscape and went monster hunting with his new subordinates.

At his request, Shan Youjun and Jiao Tai had recruited a few more men for him, rounding his personal guard out to a neat twenty men. The best way to see what they were worth was, naturally, to throw them straight into real combat.

In five days, they wiped out seven monsters. His team of guards, however, shrank from twenty to eighteen.

One man went home with a ruined leg. Another went home in a coffin.

He Lingchuan gave compensation both generous and prompt, as was only proper, then let out a quiet sigh.

These were men Shan Youjun had personally vouched for, swearing up and down that they were true powerhouses who were better in quality than ordinary Xia Province soldiers by a good margin. It was true; they were all sturdy, battle-hardened sorts. But judging by the past few days of live combat, they still fell noticeably short of the patrol squad he had commanded inside the Panlong Dreamscape.

It seemed the road ahead was long. He had a lot of polishing to do.

By comparison, Li Qingge’s recommendation had been a pleasant surprise. After hearing that he was selecting personal guards, she sent him a disciple from Songyang Mansion, someone skilled not only in martial arts but also in construction and repairs.

He Lingchuan had been looking for exactly that sort of jack-of-all-trades. He accepted the man with a smile, and when he turned to look over his little unit, he realized it now boasted a field medicine ape as well as a logistics man. For a mere twenty-man guard squad, the lineup was downright extravagant.

If only he had a flying scout on top of that, the package would be complete.

On this particular day, after he exterminated a den of bat monsters that sucked the blood of young children, He Lingchuan led the team back toward Dunyu. Halfway there, he suddenly felt a cool touch on his face.

Rain?

He looked up in surprise and saw tiny snowflakes laced with threads of rain drifting down from the sky. They melted on their cheeks and soaked into their hair. The horses’ manes grew damp and glossy.

They happened to be passing by Qing Lake. The ice along the banks had already melted, and tiny shoots of green had burst through the floating mats of algae. Shoals of fish shouldered their way up through the broken ice. The entire surface roiled with round fish mouths, opening and closing as they gulped at the water’s edge.

Only then did He Lingchuan truly feel it. Spring had finally arrived.

The wind that blew toward him no longer carried winter’s cutting edge. It had softened, bringing with it a hint of moisture, a smell of thawing soil and waking grass that was utterly different from the bleak, killing chill of just a month before.

By the time he returned to the He Residence, dusk was thickening. He had barely crossed the threshold of the inner courtyard when he heard He Yue’s voice from within.

The whole family—father, mother, younger brother, and himself—was present.

It was rare to catch He Yue at home these days. The young man was usually so busy at the provincial office that he was like smoke—there one moment, gone the next. Now, standing in the warm light, he seemed to have grown taller again, though he had thinned out noticeably. Perhaps the work at the provincial office had been grinding him down.

“Old man, you’re exploiting child labor,” He Lingchuan complained on his brother’s behalf the moment he stepped in.

He Chunhua chuckled, a sound that could barely be called a laugh. His lips curved, but his eyes did not.

He Lingchuan sprawled into his seat, legs apart, every inch the rude eldest son. Madame Ying shot him a look of pure disdain. “Would it kill you to change your clothes first? You’ve dragged dust and mud straight into the house!”

He had only bothered to switch out his boots. Mud still dotted the hem of his robe.

Instead of harping on that, He Chunhua asked, “What monster did you get today?”

Of course, he knew what his eldest had been up to. A township official had already come to report that Young Master He had personally exterminated monsters infesting the countryside. The commoners were deeply grateful.

Go out hunting and return with the reputation of slaying monsters for the people—it was a profitable arrangement on every front.

“A den of big-eared bat monsters that were particularly fond of drinking children’s blood,” He Lingchuan said with a grin. “There weren’t that many, just a bit over thirty. Shan Youjun took them home. He’s planning to roast them.”

Madame Ying frowned. “Those things can be eaten?”

Why not? Roast them properly, and they taste like chicken.

He Lingchuan snickered. “Anyway, what’s the occasion today? The entire family’s actually gathered?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew something was wrong.

Behind their father, He Yue was winking at him so frantically that it looked like his eye was spasming. Madame Ying’s expression had frozen mid-sentence, a look of dawning horror on her face.

As for He Chunhua, his expression shifted from overcast to stormy, dark enough to drip water.

“Well. Well, well. You unfilial brat. You actually dare forget what day it is today?”

Ordinarily, even when he was most displeased with his eldest son, He Chunhua did not call him “unfilial.”

A bad feeling clenched in He Lingchuan’s gut. What did I forget?

He Yue, standing slightly behind and to the side of their father, kept gesturing like he had gone mad. He pressed his palms together, mimed holding sticks of incense, and bowed three times in rapid succession.

“Forget? How could I?” He Lingchuan forced a dry laugh. “Of course I remember today is the day we pay our respects—”

He Yue shook his head so hard his hair almost flew off.

Not pay respects? Then it must be “Ah, the day of offerings...”

He Yue nodded fiercely and pointed straight upward at the sky.

“...to Heaven?” He Lingchuan finished lamely.

He Yue rolled his eyes back in despair, his face clearly spelling out, “You’re dead.”

At that very moment, He Chunhua turned his head and caught his younger son wearing that exact expression. One of his eyebrows twitched.

So the two boys thought they were old enough to cheat right in front of him now?

While their father’s head was half-turned, He Lingchuan’s mind spun at full speed, racing through every possibility.

What’s so special about today?

He replayed the scolding earlier in his head. That specific scolding was unusual. Combined with the date—the Spring Equinox—it suddenly clicked. The beginning of spring, the time when plans for the year are laid... and in spring, what exactly happens?

He dove into the sea of memories left by the body’s original owner, frantically searching.

Perhaps because he had been entering Panlong City in his dreams too often recently, his divine sense had grown keener. Against the odds, he actually dug out the answer from the vast clutter of memory.

Madame Ying cleared her throat softly, clearly ready to throw him a lifeline. But before she could speak, He Lingchuan had already blurted, “Today is the day of our family sacrifice. Father, I wouldn’t dare forget that.”

He Chunhua turned back around, snorted coldly, and said, “You spend your days loafing around with not a care in your head.”

Which, translated, meant: You got it right.

This was the most important day of the year for the He Family. The body’s original owner had never dared treat it lightly.

He Yue and Madame Ying both let out quiet breaths of relief.

No wonder, then, that before letting him go monster hunting this morning, their father had strictly ordered him to be back before dusk. At the time, He Lingchuan had agreed without thinking. Only now did he realize what that reminder had really meant.

Every household had its ancestral days, but the He Family’s day of memorial ceremony was a thorn buried in He Chunhua’s heart. He had never allowed the slightest mishap.

Because of that, the He Family never needed advance notice. No one ever forgot.

He Chunhua snapped, “What are you dawdling for? Go bathe and change. The hour is almost here!”

“Yes!” He Lingchuan answered in a rush and made a swift escape.

No sooner had he reached his own courtyard than servants arrived, carrying a large wooden tub, which they set down in the bathing room and filled with hot water.

This so-called “fragrant bath” was very different from his usual quick rinses. The special medicated blend was meant to dispel evil, cleanse filth, and purify the body.

By the time He Lingchuan had scrubbed himself clean from head to toe, dusk had deepened almost into full dark. He changed into a plain white robe, a white cap, with every ornament removed. Then he brushed his teeth with willow salt, rinsed his mouth with bitter tea, and only then allowed a servant to lead him toward the memorial hall.

The renovations at the He Residence were still ongoing, but the family shrine had been the first building completed.

Its design was plain—black tiles, gray walls. In the future, it would sit quietly tucked into the greater sprawl of the residence, low-key and unobtrusive.

Under the eaves of the memorial hall, newly hung white lanterns swayed in the strengthening rain and snow. Their light flickered on and off, throwing shifting shadows across everyone’s faces.

Every member of the He Residence was present. Under Old Steward Mo’s direction, the servants filed in, bearing offering after offering to place before the memorial tablets.

The first row on the offering table held the three sacrificial beasts: a whole pig, a whole cow, and a whole sheep, all roasted and set into stiff, dignified poses.

Behind them were the five fruits, sourced locally—five kinds of common fruit from the region, chosen for freshness and abundance.

Then came sixty-four bowls of varying sizes, filled with dishes both meat and vegetable.

According to Yuan ritual law, only sacrifices for the imperial family or major public ceremonies were entitled to use pig, cow, and sheep as the great three beasts. From officials down to commoners, lesser rites were limited to the small three beasts: pig, chicken, and fish.

By that measure, the He Family’s offerings were out of line. However, He Chunhua clearly did not care. From what He Lingchuan recalled, ever since his father had become Grand Administrator of Qiansong Commandery, their family sacrifices had been prepared this way.

Back then, they were far from the capital. As the saying went, the mountains were high, and the emperor was far away. Now, though, they were in Xia Province, under far closer scrutiny. Why was his father still flouting the law?

He could only assume that the man had his own considerations and that he was ready to bear whatever responsibility came with them.

Besides, they held their ancestral rites strictly behind closed doors. At this moment, no outsiders were allowed near the shrine.

Once all the offerings were laid out in neat ranks, Old Steward Mo lit white candles on the altar table. Their flames steadied, and a deep silence settled over the hall.

They waited like that for an hour.

He Chunhua and Madame Ying stood in front, with the two brothers standing behind them. All four kept their eyes lowered, their breathing even, gaze from eyes to nose, nose to heart, quiet and unmoving.

Outside the windows, the rain began to drum harder.

The candles on the table did not so much as flicker, even as the wind sighed around the eaves. Their light spilled into the memorial hall, illuminating the dense ranks of tablets on the central altar.

He Lingchuan knew that among those tablets, one hundred and twenty-six bore the same date of passing.

That day was the darkest and bloodiest in the history of the He Family.

Old Steward Mo finally broke the silence. “The first quarter of the hour of the dog[1]. The hour has come.”

He Chunhua’s voice rang out clear and strong as he began to recite the invocation.

He needed no written script. Every line came straight from his heart, each word heavy with feeling.

Standing by his side, listening, He Lingchuan could not help but sigh as a stirring emotion rose in his heart.

What a world this is.

The He Family had once been a great family of the capital, one of the esteemed houses of the realm. His great-grandfather had held the rank of a top minister. No matter how chaotic the times, that status alone should have ensured that the family enjoyed smooth sailing for generations.

Then, nineteen years ago, his grandfather—He Chunhua’s father—had been framed.

The charge had been grave: during a rite of divine recompense, he had supposedly offended his monarch and betrayed the orthodox order. Whoever had set him up had aimed straight for the ruler’s reverse scale.

The old emperor had flown into a rage and personally decreed that the He Family be executed to the last—a full-family execution, carried out at once.

By the time he had cooled down and realized that he had been manipulated, it was the following day.

By then, nearly the entire He Family was already dead.

The only survivor was an eleven-year-old boy who had been living away from home at the time, spared for no reason but that distance.

The old emperor repented, but he would never admit it aloud.

Instead, he dragged the man who had framed the He Family into the light and bestowed upon him the same punishment—another full-family execution, this time with extermination of nine related branches on top. Then, with a magnanimous wave, he issued a new decree:

The chief culprit has already paid with his life. But the He Family harbored and concealed his crime, and thus cannot be blameless. They are to be treated as accomplices. The young scion of the He family, He Chunhua, shall be spared death and demoted to Qiansong Commandery!

What generosity.

What imperial grace.

And just like that, the third young master of the illustrious He Family, famed across the capital for his talent and prospects, saw his bright future snuffed out.

He became a boy with no prospects at all.

The only sliver of good fortune hidden in that disaster was that he had not been exiled in chains but demoted.

For a child who was not yet an official, that choice of word had been extremely delicate. It meant he had not been struck from the rolls of the gentry or branded as a criminal. No words had been carved into his face. No oath marks stained his skin.

His path through life had not been severed entirely. His chance to rise again had not been completely erased. That was the greatest mercy the old emperor had chosen to give.

From the memories in this body, He Lingchuan knew exactly how that boy had clawed his way up, starting as nothing more than a minor clerk at a remote postal relay station, inching step by step to his current rank. Twice, he had been promoted out of turn for exceptional merit.

Such a reversal of fortune was not something hardship alone could explain. It had required not just grit and toil beyond what outsiders could imagine, but also immense luck at critical moments.

Half a cup of tea later, He Chunhua finished his invocation.

This year, he had a great many happy tidings to report to his ancestors: the merits he had earned one after another, his promotion to Governor-General of Xia Province, his appointment as a frontier-ruling official with real power in his hands.

In terms of sheer authority, he had already surpassed his forebears.

Perhaps because of that, his bearing this year was more spirited than in previous years.

He drew a deep breath, stepped forward onto the mat, and knelt down.

Then, he kowtowed.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

He knocked his forehead against the mat thirty-six times in a row, each one loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear.

Only after the thirty-sixth bow did he rise slightly to take the three sticks of incense from the steward’s hands and gently press them into the incense burner.

1. 7–9 P.M. ☜