Where Immortals Once Walked-Chapter 298: Arena Seven

He Lingchuan did not answer her question. Instead, he turned to the old servant woman who had just come in with a basin of hot water and said, “Go get her a hot meal and some hot dishes. Just tell the kitchen that it’s Young Master He who’s asking for it.” With that, he gave A’Jin a brief nod and rose to his feet, leaving the tent.

As soon as he stepped out, the soldiers guarding the area exchanged looks, then one of them sprinted off through the rain toward He Chunhua’s command tent. Once there, he relayed every word of the conversation he had just overheard.

When He Chunhua finished listening, he chuckled. “So the brat’s not acting like an idiot this time?”

* * *

The next three days, the rain fell in a fine, ceaseless curtain.

At night, He Lingchuan found himself tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Eventually, he gave up on sleeping altogether. He climbed out of bed and had his personal guards pitch him a new tent, one much larger than the one he had had before. By the time they finished, the size and layout were almost on par with the provincial government office.

He used it for practicing with the saber.

Fleeting Life’s saber qi was too fierce. Hence, to avoid rain pouring down on him when it came time to sleep, he made himself a crude wooden practice saber and spent every waking moment outside of meals practicing the Wave-Cleaving Saber.

The space was limited, so he did not pair saber-technique practice with his movement technique. There were no darting steps, no sweeping charges, just one form after another, slashed out in place, repetition after repetition. Soldiers passing by the front of his tent would often glimpse Young Master He inside, feet set in the most basic stances, swinging through the most basic cuts.

Some might have laughed at the simplicity. But for He Lingchuan, ever since he had plunged into the river and fought against the force of the waves, something about wave-cleaving had finally clicked. The bottlenecks he had run into before were gone, as the parts he had not been able to feel were now clear in his muscles and bones.

His body had started to remember that feeling.

If the Han River were not already a raging monster, deadly to anyone who stepped into it, he would have gone back in without hesitation to practice in it again and again.

Outside, the sound of rain never stopped, drumming on canvas, hissing in the mud, swallowing the faint, thunder-like hum that occasionally rippled along the edge of his wooden blade.

Sometimes that sound surged loud and sharp. At other times, it faded until it was almost gone.

When Shan Youjun came by once, he saw He Lingchuan chop what looked like a perfectly ordinary slash at the ground. The saber was already back at the young man’s side by the time the change came.

With a soft hiss, a neat saber mark appeared in the packed earth.

The tip of the wooden saber had never touched the ground, yet the cut went nearly a thumb’s length deep.

Several hours later, when Shan Youjun passed by again, the rain had slackened a little. Young Master He was standing in the tent entrance, covering a yawn, when he suddenly turned and asked, “Do you know under what circumstances a drawn saber can cut water?”

Shan Youjun played along at once. “Please enlighten me, Master.”

“Right now.”

He Lingchuan suddenly drew his saber.

Seven drops of rain were falling through the air between them, some only a handspan from the ground, others seconds away from hitting Shan’s forehead. In that instant, each droplet split neatly into two. And from seven drops, there were now fourteen.

Every single one of the droplets was split right through the center.

Shan Youjun felt the space between his eyebrows tingle twice in quick succession, a pair of cold touches that cut straight through to the back of his skull.

When he looked again at the saber tip, it was perfectly dry.

He Lingchuan had not cut with the saber. He had lashed out with saber force alone.

“Master, that’s deadly!” Shan Youjun said, only now letting the fear show. From the moment the saber left the scabbard, he had felt a prickle at the point between his eyebrows, and a line of icy intent extended from it straight to the back of his head.

He knew very well that if that slash had been aimed at his life, he would already be lying motionless on the ground.

“Hah, that feels good!” He Lingchuan pursed his lips and let out a long howl, exhilaration bursting through his chest. Every meridian, every joint felt open and clear.

The insight that he had gained had settled. The saber intent that had flickered up by the river was now firmly anchored in his practice.

He tossed the wooden saber aside. As he rolled his neck, his cervical vertebrae crackled with a rapid series of pops.

Only then did he realize that, in his focused drilling, he had gone two full days and two full nights without sleeping. The fatigue he had held at bay came crashing down like a collapsing wall.

“I need to sleep.” He clapped Shan Youjun on the shoulder. “If nothing serious is happening, don’t wake me.”

After saying that, he shuffled over to his bed, collapsed face-first, and was asleep in moments.

* * *

Unfortunately for He Lingchuan, just as he fell asleep, he was met with loud sounds in his dreams.

He Lingchuan rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the blur, and when his vision sharpened, he found himself standing in a camp again, or so it seemed. Men’s voices surrounded him. There were shouts, cheers, and jeers, all of which overlapped until it was a roaring tide.

He looked around to try to figure out where he was.

Huh? The Martial Review Hall?

Somehow, the moment he entered the dreamscape, he was already standing by the biggest martial arts arena in Panlong City.

He turned his head and saw Sun Fuling at his side, head tipped back, gaze locked on one of the arenas.

Before he could speak, a hand smacked him between the shoulder blades. Skinny’s voice nearly got swallowed by the surrounding noise. “Broken Blade, you placing a bet or not?”

“Bet on what?” He Lingchuan turned his head after asking the question and actually saw Hu Min standing right beside Skinny. “Hu Min? What are you doing here?”

“I’m bored and feel like playing a few rounds. I wanted to see if there’s any upset worth grabbing.” Hu Min jerked his thumb at Skinny. “I just placed a bet with him.”

“Which arena?”

“Which one do you think?” Skinny pointed toward the south. “Arena Seven, Wild Boar versus Meng Shan!”

A jolt shot through He Lingchuan. He swung his gaze over at once.

Sure enough, on the raised platform stood two hulking fighters. One of them was all too familiar—Meng Shan.

This was the same Meng Shan who had pounded him out of the dreamscape numerous times in the past.

This time, Meng Shan’s opponent was no less imposing, a mountain of muscle over two and a half meters tall, his broad face a rough slab of meat.

By sheer size and savage looks, the two were evenly matched.

Arena Seven was built at the far southern end of the Martial Review Hall, half of it jutting out over the street. Panlong City’s common folk only had to stand in the road below to see everything that happened on the stage.

Because of that, any fight held there had maximum visibility and entertainment value. It drew the most eyes and the loudest crowd.

Right now, the street below was packed shoulder to shoulder. Men and women alike craned their necks, jostling for a better view. Some reckless sorts had even climbed the iron railings around the raised platform to hang on and peer in.

Ordinary life for Panlong City’s citizens was dreary and hard. To break up that monotony, they craved exactly ferocious brawls such as this, where blood would spray across the platform.

He Lingchuan asked Skinny, “Who’s got the higher odds?”

“Wild Boar, of course.” Skinny pointed at the unfamiliar giant on stage. The fellow had an oily, shiny face, fleshy ears, and a heavy, overhanging jaw. The nickname Wild Boar really did suit him. “Meng Shan is undefeated in the Martial Review Hall’s southern courtyard. Even when he’s gone up to the northern courtyard, he’s only lost once.”

“Then what’s there to bet on?” He Lingchuan felt a little dejected. “Everyone’s going to back Meng Shan to win.”

“Not necessarily. I put my money on Wild Boar.” Hu Min let out a sly chuckle. “The guy looks like he’s got potential. And hey, if he wins, we make a killing.”

Next to them, Sun Fuling laughed as well. “I also bet on Wild Boar.”

“You’re supposed to be a people’s teacher, a tireless gardener of the state’s youth...” he started, appalled. For He Lingchuan, watching her openly bet on a brutal fighting ring just felt wrong.

Sun Fuling’s brows knit. “What gardener? I’m not out there weeding fields.”

He turned immediately and said to Skinny, “Fine, I’ll bet on Wild Boar as well. Half a tael of silver.”

“Tch!” Skinny spat in contempt. “Cheap.”

He had a massive leather sack slung across his back, bulging with coins. These were the morning’s wagers. Clearly, the crowds today were betting far more than usual. Even commoners from outside the hall were joining in.

A rapid, urgent drumbeat suddenly rolled out over the noise.

When the drumbeat ceased, the two fighters on the platform rushed each other like charging bulls.

Two spectators who had been standing on the railing were knocked off balance by the shockwave of their collision and tumbled down. The crowd roared in delight.

Normally, Meng Shan’s opponents preferred to circle, to dance and pick their moments, never meeting him head-on. Wild Boar, however, came on like a madman the moment the match started. He slammed into Meng Shan and went toe-to-toe, every strike heavy enough to rattle bones.

Every blow landed with the solid thud of meat on meat. Fists, knees, shoulders, heads—nothing was off limits.

The spectators were ecstatic. Applause, shouts, and cheers surged up in waves.

It did not take long for He Lingchuan to recognize Wild Boar’s specialty. Twice, the man managed to wrap his thick arms around Meng Shan, hoisting him up and then slamming him backward onto the stone with a brutal suplex. Even someone as tough as Meng Shan could not shrug those off. He lay prone for several breaths each time, gasping to catch his breath before he could clamber upright again.

The name Wild Boar is actually quite misleading. He Lingchuan then heard someone nearby grumble bitterly, “Shouldn’t a boar be goring people? He ought to be called Wild Bear instead.”

That guy clearly bet on Meng Shan.

However, Meng Shan was not stupid. After eating those two throws, he adapted. Every time Wild Boar tried to grab hold of him, Meng Shan locked one of his joints first, twisting the elbow or shoulder and tangling his limbs so the man could not deploy his favorite technique.

Hu Min arced his hands around his mouth and bellowed toward the stage, voice cutting through the din, “Reverse lock! Reverse lock! Ah, idiot, you’re late again!”

Among the ten thousand cries, He Lingchuan still clearly heard Sun Fuling’s quiet sigh. “It’s over. Wild Boar’s going to lose.”

Sure enough, Meng Shan finally managed a full lock. He hooked Wild Boar’s arm and shoulder and pinned him just long enough to drive his bald skull forward.

The headbutt crashed squarely into Wild Boar’s forehead.

The dull crack of bone against bone made He Lingchuan’s molars ache in sympathy.

It turned out that Meng Shan’s skull was the harder of the two. Wild Boar’s eyes rolled back. Dazed and seeing stars, his grip weakened.

Meng Shan planted his feet, stomped ruthlessly down on Wild Boar’s instep, then drove a fist like a battering ram into the man’s solar plexus.

Wild Boar’s breath vanished in an instant.

Almost in the blink of an eye, he had suffered three solid, heavy blows in a row.

Though he tried to rally afterward, swinging in desperation and raising his guard, the outcome was already decided.

The struggle dragged on for another fifty breaths. In the end, Wild Boar toppled like a felled tree, his entire head swollen and distorted, the resemblance to his nickname suddenly much more literal.

Several Martial Review Hall guards scrambled onto the arena and hauled him away for treatment.

Meng Shan wiped the blood trickling from his nose, slapped his chest twice, and threw back his head in a thunderous roar as he said, “Who’s next?”

The shout shook the air. For a moment, even the enthusiastic applause could not drown it out.

“My half tael of silver,” He Lingchuan muttered, thankful he had not wagered more. It was just a bit of fun, nothing to cry over. He turned to Sun Fuling. “How much did you lose?”

She let out a long, heartfelt sigh. “Three taels.”

“Whoa, you bet that much?” Three taels of silver were enough for him and Hu Min to drink at Frost River Inn more than a dozen times.

“Take a risk, turn sackcloth into silk,” Sun Fuling said glumly. “The odds were good. If Wild Boar had won, I wouldn’t have had to worry about meals for the next half year.”

He looked at her with new eyes.

He had always thought of Sun Fuling as serene and detached, someone who wanted little and was satisfied with less. Who would have guessed that his otherworldly neighbor hid such a gambler’s heart?

It did remind him a little of her brother, Sun Jiayuan.

She added, “Just like that, two years of firewood money is gone.”

Even if she burned charcoal and bought kindling for two full years, she could hardly spend that much.

Hu Min watched other people lining up to collect their winnings from Skinny and stomped his foot. “Damn it, I should’ve gone with the crowd!”

He Lingchuan looked at Meng Shan, still strutting on the platform, basking in adulation, and could not help frowning. “With so many good fighters in the northern courtyard, why doesn’t anyone come out and knock him down a peg?”

“The northern courtyard does have plenty of experts, but Meng Shan’s a new force. He hasn’t been there long, but he’s strong as hell. Ordinary Gale Army soldiers can’t beat him. As for the squad leaders and captains, if they go up and win, it would hardly look glorious. If they go up and lose, they’d never live it down.”

To be fair, Meng Shan’s performance in Xiqing Gorge had been there for all to see. That had been a real battle between two armies, not a staged spar. Plenty of Gale Army soldiers had crossed blades with him there, and they knew exactly how little they gained by challenging a humanoid war rhino like this.

On top of that, the Martial Review Hall’s rules favored brawlers like him—fighters whose raw power and toughness let them dominate small arenas with limited space.

Hu Min said with a grin, “As for Officer Xiao and the other officers, they’re not allowed to challenge soldiers on Arena Seven.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be fair. Their battle skills are sharper to begin with, and on top of that, imagine how a soldier would feel being ordered around every day and then suddenly having to face his own superior in front of a crowd.” Hu Min shrugged. “If you put me on Platform Seven against Boss Xiao, I’d be scared, too.”

A soldier’s whole career was built on following orders. The authority of their officers had sunk into their bones. Drag that relationship out into a public arena, and it turns into a kind of invisible pressure, and that pressure was enough to skew a fight badly.

Even so, there were always hot-blooded people who could not resist a provocation.

And sure enough, as Meng Shan’s taunt echoed across the Martial Review Hall, someone finally could not hold back. With a shout, a challenger vaulted onto Arena Seven to face him.