Chapter 428: Full City Storm

The script on the divine text faded, leaving the surface blank once more.

The Douyun Emissary respectfully stated, "Monitoring anomalies in this divine artifact is our duty."

This implied that the gods should not be blamed.

The Emperor pointed to the altar. "That thing?" he scoffed.

"Precisely," the Douyun Emissary replied gravely. "That, too, is a divine object."

"Send Bai Ziqi. He is to head south tomorrow morning and investigate as quickly as possible," the Emperor said indifferently as he turned to leave. "Seize the vessel, kill the person, and be done with it."

Sun Fuling was not home.

From atop the wall, He Lingchuan saw that her courtyard was equally filled with fragrant flowers and plants. Dozens of large hydrangeas, in particular, almost crammed the corner, their rare blue-purple blossoms unfurling magnificently. Previously, this small courtyard had been completely bare, so desolate that even a thief might have wept upon seeing it. The shell wind chimes beneath the eaves tinkled, as if lamenting their owner's repeated, unannounced departures.

In contrast, the flowers and plants in He Lingchuan's own courtyard remained upright, and the fish in his tank were lively and all accounted for. This indicated that Sun Fuling had been regularly tending to his home during his absence.

He Lingchuan grabbed two books and headed out. He intended to return them to the Wenxuan Pavilion and, while there, search for more information on the history of the Yuan Kingdom. The devil was in the details, and he hoped he might uncover something new. Ever since overhearing the conversation between the Yuan King and his officials, He Lingchuan had felt a growing sense of urgency, his mind fixated on quickly gathering more clues.

He Lingchuan hoped to rest his eyes during the carriage ride, but the coachman proved very talkative, immediately bringing up the topic of the "Return to the East." Only then did He Lingchuan realize that in the day or two since he had left, news of "the King ordering the relocation of Panlong's military and civilians back to the homeland" had already spread and was being hotly debated throughout the city. Some believed they could return, while others claimed it was a conspiracy. Some were eager to return home, but others had no desire to go back at all. When fueled by alcohol, these arguments often escalated, with volume and fists ultimately determining who had the more "reasonable" viewpoint. Consequently, over a dozen taverns in Panlong City had reported an unusual number of fights and injuries, all direct results of the inflamed public sentiment.

He noticed the coachman, also in his early forties, had his left sleeve rolled up, revealing a long scar on his arm. It was a knife scar. "You were a soldier, weren't you? Do you want to go back?"

The coachman sighed. "When I was a boy, I lived on Huangzhou Island. We could catch fish and shrimp as we pleased, and pluck island eggs from the trees whenever we liked." He gestured towards a large tree by the roadside. "Now, forget about plucking island eggs; just try cutting a branch here! You'd probably get whipped a few times."

"Look at the young people in the city; they don't want to go back," the coachman continued. "They've lived here their whole lives, believing Panlong Wasteland is the best place in the world. Plus, they've heard that the homeland is rife with corruption and that the common people struggle, so they have no desire to go anywhere else."

"So, you're eager to return?"

"I don't dare to go back," the coachman said, shaking his head. "I've been away from my old home for thirty years; if I returned, I'd be a stranger in a strange land. I've heard the homeland is overrun with bandits, so I doubt I'd have an easy life there. And besides, how simple can that journey back truly be? How many will die along the way?"

"But didn't they say Baling would open the Jinxi Corridor to us? Shouldn't that make the journey easy?"

"Ha, Baling!" The coachman pointed to the knife scar on his hand. "This very wound was inflicted by a Baling person; I nearly lost my arm back then. How many of our good soldier boys have died at the hands of Baling and Xianyuan? If Baling were trustworthy, a sow could climb a tree!" He sighed. "This whole business, whether we ultimately return or not, is going to stir up the entire Panlong Wasteland for quite a while."

On the way, as they passed Yunling Island, the chubby man was still at his storefront, chatting with customers. He Lingchuan decided to get off temporarily and replenish his supplies, such as sleeve darts and medicines, at the shop. After receiving the payment, Bai Guo seemed to hesitate, as if he had something more to say. He Lingchuan, putting an arm around his shoulder, chuckled, "Still worrying about that, are we?"

"You really haven't heard?" Bai Guo sighed. "It's all over the city! Just look at the atmosphere outside; it's as if we're setting off for home tomorrow." He had hoped to gain an advantage, but it seemed he hadn't.

"Then why don't *you* go back?" He Lingchuan asked, giving the chubby man a pointed look, sensing he wasn't being entirely truthful. "Don't use your shop as an excuse. You could sell it to someone else or have someone manage it for you; you could slip away first." He Lingchuan knew just how flexible merchants could be, having learned from Shi Er and his own steward, Ding Zuodong. Could a mere shop truly prevent the chubby man from leaving?

Bai Guo was speechless. He was uncertain of Panlong City's true intentions, wasn't he? If this news proved false and he had already abandoned his business, what would he do then? Without the protection of the Panlong City army, who knew how many perils they would face on the journey back home? Who could guarantee safe passage through Baling's Jinxi Corridor?

However, his claim of "all over the city" was no exaggeration. He Lingchuan's keen hearing picked up two tables of guests on the second floor of the teahouse across the street also discussing the Return to the East. It was clearly the hottest topic of discussion. He Lingchuan patted Bai Guo's shoulder. "Relax, and keep running your shop. We definitely won't be leaving."

Bai Guo stiffened. "How do you know? Do you have inside information?"

He Lingchuan gave him a mysterious smile. "That, I cannot tell you." In truth, he knew this because he was from the future. He was well aware that the people of Panlong City never left the Panlong Wasteland before its ultimate destruction. Although the course of the dream might not entirely align with historical events, to his knowledge, nothing significant enough to alter the main timeline had occurred yet. Therefore, most likely, no one here would be able to leave.

This thought struck him. If the Xiluo Kingdom were truly to issue a relocation order, and the Panlong military and civilians were to obey and return east, would they then escape their ultimate fate of slaughter? This idea grew like wildfire in his mind, relentless and unstoppable. He wasn't sure when it started, but he had begun to worry deeply about the city and its inhabitants, utterly unwilling to accept the coming of its final days. He had been a witness to the final moments of Qianxing City's collapse. The tragic, hopeless, and poignant heroism he witnessed was impossible to describe adequately with words. He Lingchuan was wholeheartedly unwilling for Panlong City to suffer the same fate, especially since this city had begun to give him a growing sense of belonging.

Back in the carriage, He Lingchuan planned to make a stop at the Morale Boost Office first, as it was on his way. He had accumulated enough military merits once more, and this time he intended to exchange them for a spear technique. The saying "an inch longer, an inch stronger" had gained a deeper meaning for him after the Battle of Hanhe River. Opportunities for mounted combat were surely abundant in the future, and while his Floating Life Blade was excellent, it remained a short weapon. He had observed the spear techniques of General Hong, Xiao Maoliang, Hong Chenglue, and even Zhao Pan, and had been filled with envy.

The spear technique granted to him by the Morale Boost Office had a simple, unembellished name: "Rushing Thunder Spear Art." This implied that the spear's thrust should be like a burst of thunder—not merely swift, but also possessing the might of a lightning bolt. With his increasing combat experience, He Lingchuan profoundly understood that "speed is the only unbreakable martial art" was a paradox. Didn't hummingbirds flap their wings incredibly fast? Yet what threat did they pose to humans? On a hot day, they might even provide a bit of a breeze. Speed combined with stability, accuracy, and ruthlessness—speed without sloppiness—that was the true essence of victory.

He had just finished committing the spear technique to memory and was about to return the jade slip to Official Liu when a guard burst in, asking, "Who is He Lingchuan?"

"That's me."

"General Hong has ordered you to report immediately to the Gan Ge Hall for duty."

A mission? He Lingchuan set down the jade slip and followed the messenger soldier.

The Gan Ge Hall was one of the primary locations where Panlong City's high command discussed crucial military matters. Not only was it difficult for ordinary people to approach, but even Great Wind soldiers required a special token to enter. He Lingchuan followed the messenger, moving north through the government offices, and soon passed by Zhong Shengguang's residence. The Gan Ge Hall was conveniently built directly behind his house, allowing the city's leader to convene meetings at a moment's notice.

The place was devoid of any greenery, with bluestone floors and walls, making it feel empty and cold. Though called a council hall, He Lingchuan felt it resembled a prison; a chilling, stark atmosphere immediately enveloped him upon entering. The actual meeting area consisted of two halls, one large and one small. Their exteriors were perfectly square, with all masonry gaps meticulously filled. Even a pale green grasshopper would stand out conspicuously on these walls. And if one were to land, it would immediately slide to the ground, indicating that the building itself was protected by a barrier that prevented any living creatures from perching on its surface. There had originally been trees in the courtyard—their thick stumps were still visible—but they had been cut down. Trees could easily conceal people or other devices, especially given the myriad forms of surveillance in this world. As soon as He Lingchuan entered, he detected the presence of several layers of barriers. Any forced entry or infiltration would undoubtedly trigger an alarm. These arrangements alone indicated that any matter discussed within the Gan Ge Hall was far from simple.

The messenger soldier stopped at the entrance to the smaller hall. "Wait here," he instructed before turning and departing. His task complete, he was not permitted to enter the hall himself.

Even the wind that swept into the Gan Ge Hall felt colder here. He Lingchuan had been standing for only a short time when several more Great Wind soldiers entered from outside. Shortly after, Zhong Shengguang and General Hong appeared. General Hong casually indicated two individuals, one of whom was He Lingchuan. "You two will be on duty inside the hall," she commanded, then addressed the others, "The rest of you will guard outside." Everyone followed her orders.

He Lingchuan entered the smaller hall, which was only about fifty square meters. Most of this space was taken up by a large sand table in the center, limiting its capacity to at most twenty people. General Hong stood at the sand table and manipulated it. The loose sand began to form shapes—hills, towering mountains, lakes, rivers, and valleys—each appearing in turn. In just under a quarter of an hour, the sand table was fully formed.

From He Lingchuan's vantage point, he could distinctly see the majestic plateau and the rock forest, resembling a fleet of dry sails. The sand table depicted the Chipa Plateau and also the Ghost Needle Stone Forest, Zhu Erniang's old stronghold. General Hong was wearing a mask again. This time, it was an eagle-head mask in shades of brown, gold, and red. Its craftsmanship was equally intricate, and its style retained an abstract quality. It had to be said, General Hong's aesthetic sense was always impeccable. He Lingchuan couldn't help but wonder who made her masks.

Zhong Shengguang also stood by the sand table, gazing down at the miniature Panlong City. A vertical furrow marked the space between his brows, a tell-tale sign of frequent frowning. The responsibilities and burdens of a Commander of the Panlong Wasteland were more than most people could bear. Moreover, He Lingchuan recalled King Yuan's dying wish. The very "calamity" that had led to the tragic downfall of the mighty Yuan Kingdom was now in Zhong Shengguang's possession. Should its existence be leaked, the repercussions would be unthinkable. This fact alone meant Zhong Shengguang carried an unimaginable psychological burden.