Chapter 504: Half-night Gift Delivery

As it turned out, the Hundred-Faced Nightmare had been personally dealt with by the red giant outside the Panlong Dreamworld, leaving He Lingchuan with nothing to do. When he arrived to pursue the spellcaster, he was in peak condition, both powerful and enduring.

He Lingchuan's opponent was meticulous and cautious, capable of summoning the Hundred-Faced Nightmare, enlisting the Fan brothers, and laying elaborate traps. For anyone else, it would have been a death trap. Yet, He Lingchuan managed to escape with his life. To Zhongsun Mou and the others, this was a case of one wrong move leading to a cascade of errors—a series of mistakes that felt terribly unjust.

“Although the spellcaster has likely fled far, we should still attempt to pursue him,” He Lingchuan said. He pulled a chair leg from his storage ring, pointing at the bloodstains on it. “Smell this. Which way did he go?”

“...” How many times had he treated it like a dog? Jiao Yu was too weary to count, simply sniffing intently. “This person chews too much tobacco; his blood smells of smoke.”

“No, no, I just retrieved this from the fire,” He Lingchuan corrected, wondering how reliable the creature truly was.

“I was just making a point,” Jiao Yu coughed, circling the inn and sniffing as it moved.

He Lingchuan was terribly anxious but refrained from rushing it. Fortunately, Jiao Yu finally found the direction. “This way,” it indicated.

The man and the tiger headed northwest. The small houses along the road gradually gave way to sprawling mansions. Their exquisite gate walls and imposing architecture remained impressive even in the darkness. Finally, Jiao Yu stopped before a large estate. He Lingchuan had passed numerous dwellings, but this was the only one with a seal on its door.

“No way,” He Lingchuan muttered, though he knew it might offend the tiger. “Are you certain you didn't lead us astray?”

It was the Jiao Residence, Fu Songhua's former dwelling before his arrest. How had the spellcaster fled to this place?

The tiger sniffed twice vigorously. “Indeed,” it affirmed. “The scent of blood is very strong; it leads directly here.”

“And then?”

He followed the tiger, scaling the wall and entering a side room. The tiger sniffed its way through the front hall, finally stopping by a clump of bamboo. “The scent vanishes here,” it stated.

“Here?” He Lingchuan drew his blade, making two swift, empty slashes forward. The blade's qi vibrated, causing the bamboo grove to rustle and startling birds and bats into flight from nearby trees. But aside from that, there was no other movement.

“There's no one here,” he concluded. Otherwise, they couldn't hide from a tiger enhanced by primal energy.

He Lingchuan slowly sheathed his sword. “Someone must have met him,” he surmised. There were numerous ways to erase a scent and conceal one's tracks. He had learned at least three or four such methods during his time as a patrol guard. However, for the injured spellcaster to have fled here, it had to be because someone was waiting for him.

The two circled the house, front and back, several times, finding nothing new. They had no choice but to turn back.

Jiao Yu grumbled resentfully, “No wonder that Zhongsun Mou fellow was so composed; he must have been certain we wouldn't catch anyone.” It then asked He Lingchuan, “You were ambushed by him, and you’re perfectly fine?”

“That spellcaster summoned a nightmare into my dream to harm me, but I shattered it. He must have suffered a significant magical backlash.”

“A nightmare?” Jiao Yu exclaimed in surprise. “Such a creature truly exists? I’d only ever heard tales of them.”

“Nightmares harm people, completely undetected,” He Lingchuan mused, suddenly stopping as something came to mind.

The tiger stopped and waited for him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” He Lingchuan replied, shaking his head as he continued toward the inn. “I just remembered a strange incident from the past. Thinking back, perhaps that too was the work of a nightmare.”

A few days before He Chunhua arrived in Dunyu to take office in Xia Province, old Master Li, the patriarch of the four great families, suddenly died. Old Master Li, known for his robust health and hearty appetite, passed away in his sleep with no marks on his body. It was said that all the protective talismans were still in place but had proven ineffective. Looking back now, could that have been the work of a nightmare?

He Lingchuan sighed, realizing he wasn't surprised in the slightest. Perhaps, deep down, he had always known what had happened. After all, the moment old Master Li died, the newly appointed Governor of Xia Province quickly gained control of the entire Dunyu.

Upon returning to the inn, He Lingchuan clutched his abdomen. “It’s still early before dawn,” he said. “I need to heal my injuries quickly.”

“Good night,” Jiao Yu said, wagging its tail. “They shouldn’t make another move tonight, should they?”

He Lingchuan closed the door securely, drank some water, and applied medicine to his wounds. He had even acquired a souvenir in the dream; he needed to quickly check it out.

Following a habit he had developed over several months, he unfastened his sword and placed it beside him; otherwise, it would be uncomfortable whether he was meditating or sleeping. However, when He Lingchuan reached for his scabbard this time, he suddenly noticed the weight felt off. He looked down to find only the empty scabbard clipped to his waist. Fusheng was gone.

“Huh, where’s my sword?”

Having been inseparable companions for months, the sword’s presence was as natural as breathing. He Lingchuan stood stunned for a few moments before his expression drastically changed. Didn't it stick to him like a divine bone, automatically returning even if thrown? Could this sword actually be lost?

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from outside, a disturbance beyond the paper window. He Lingchuan’s heart tightened. He rushed to the window and pushed it open, only to see a starling struggling desperately, its wing caught on a branch. Night flights are prone to mishaps. He Lingchuan effortlessly severed the branch. The bird, now free, flapped its wings and flew away.

“Hmm? Cut?”

He slowly lowered his gaze to the long blade in his hand. The feel was undeniably Fusheng, but where had it just come from? As if to answer his unspoken question, Fusheng vanished the next second.

Could it be…?

He Lingchuan paused, as if understanding. He silently thought, “Blade, come.” The moment the thought formed, the long blade reappeared in his hand. The grip felt perfectly natural.

He Lingchuan grinned widely. “Man and blade united?” In the middle of the night, what a surprise to receive such a grand gift. Why so generous?

In truth, "man and blade united" was an exaggeration; the Fusheng blade had merely been absorbed into his body. Ancient and medieval immortals could use their own bodies as sheaths, nurturing magical artifacts with their true energy. Unfortunately, the spiritual essence of magical artifacts dwindled over time, making this method of absorption increasingly costly. Later cultivators simply stopped using it, opting to wear their weapons like ordinary iron at their waists. In this era, it was likely only possible for quasi-divine artifacts or higher to merge with their masters.

“What's going on? Have you advanced again?” He Lingchuan murmured, stroking the blade. He recalled the powerful nightmare the Great Square Pot had consumed earlier that night. “Could it be that you’ve all been nourished this evening?” Given that even the red giant had personally appeared, that nightmare must have been a powerful supplement for them, right?

The Fusheng blade, of course, offered no response, but He Lingchuan, upon inspection, noticed a slight change in its characteristics. “Army Breaker”: Penetrates the opponent’s primal energy, restoring the damage it was meant to inflict, though the chance of this effect manifesting was extremely slim. Now, that “extremely slim” chance had changed to “possible.” In other words, the likelihood of him activating the “Army Breaker” characteristic in the future had increased significantly. It truly was his treasured blade; a little nourishment brought a clear response. Unlike the Great Square Pot, which remained aloof no matter how many rare treasures it consumed.

He Lingchuan felt he would surely wake up laughing from his dreams tonight!

A knock sounded on the door, and the tiger demon’s voice drifted in. “What’s going on?” It had heard He Lingchuan open the window again. Why was there so much commotion, repeatedly, in the middle of the night?

“Nothing,” came the reply.

But the tiger continued to scratch at the door. He Lingchuan had no choice but to let it in. The tiger immediately leaped onto the bed and settled down. “Alright then,” it declared. “I’ll stand guard for you.”

As He Lingchuan lay down, the tiger began to lick its fur. Being a nocturnal creature, it was naturally more alert after dark. He Lingchuan looked up and saw it lying in the moonlight, its two eyes glowing like lanterns.

This time, his meditation led him directly into the dream, and He Lingchuan found himself once again standing beneath the Guluo Tree. Clearly, the Panlong Dreamworld understood his needs perfectly. The net pouch was still securely wedged in the tree’s fork. To the people of Panlong City, the pouch merely contained a large rock, and even mischievous children showed no interest in it. He Lingchuan took down the net pouch, only to find the nightmare’s head had shriveled by another half, desperately screaming for help.

He asked the Guluo Tree, “Did you take a bite?”

No sooner had he spoken than a root detached from the grotesque head. He Lingchuan was left speechless; it was a bit late to destroy the evidence now, wasn't it? The Guluo Tree, being still young, had been unable to resist sneaking a bite and was now clearly feeling guilty.

He Lingchuan turned into a deserted street corner, then lifted the nightmare’s head and asked, “Answer my questions obediently, or I’ll bury you under the tree as fertilizer.”

With its life in his hands, what else could it say but, “Ask away.”

“Who sent you? Name.”

“I told you I don’t know…” It still harbored resentment deep down.

He Lingchuan held it and started walking away. “Never mind,” he said. “You can be tree fertilizer.”

“Stop, stop, stop, I’ll talk!” the nightmare’s head shrieked repeatedly. “That spellcaster is named Cheng Yu. He has worshipped us for years, and whenever he encounters a tricky situation, he calls upon us for help.”

“So, you’re that particular? You grant every request?”

“Not exactly, but opponents Cheng Yu can’t handle usually possess very powerful and delicious souls.”

“What’s the background of this Cheng fellow?”

“That, we truly don’t know,” the grotesque head cried out as He Lingchuan moved his hand. “I’m serious. We don’t pay much attention to the real world.”

“What about the Fan brothers?”

“What brothers?” the grotesque head asked, looking utterly confused. “Who?”

He Lingchuan grabbed it, feigning a throw toward the Guluo Tree. The grotesque head shrieked, “I swear, I don’t know any Fan brothers! I’ve never even heard of them.”

Never mind, He Lingchuan had only asked out of curiosity. He was also quite curious about a nightmare that even the Great Square Pot had personally dealt with. “Why ‘us’?” he pressed. “How many faces does your true form possess?”

“One hundred and twenty-seven. Our name is the Hundred-Faced Nightmare, but we actually have more than a hundred faces,” the grotesque head explained. “Each time an awareness awakens, a new face is born.”

“So, how did the original ‘hundred faces’ come to be?”

“When it was in the human world, its true form was named Bai Zhu, an immortal. Many years ago — I can no longer recall the exact time — it was critically injured and near death. Unwilling to simply vanish from existence, it exhausted every means to escape into the dream realm, where it has resided ever since.”

“Why was it so severely injured?”

“That, too, I don’t recall,” the grotesque head replied. “When we nightmares consume the vital essence of humans or monsters, we also absorb their memories. These jumbled memories gradually overwrite our own original ones. Over time, we forget even our origins. It’s the same for the true form; it only remembers its original name; everything else has been forgotten.”