After the Immortals disappeared

If more pursuers arrive, they'll leave no evidence of their deaths.

This thought sprang unbidden into He Lingchuan's mind, startling even himself.

Such ruthless methods seemed perfectly in character for the original He Lingchuan, but for the current one, it was a heavy and intimidating prospect.

After a moment of deliberation, he said, "Tell the Red and White gang to lock them up somewhere safe. I'll report this to my father."

The biggest backing he could count on was his own father, He Chunhua, the governor of Qiansong County. Better to share the burden—it wasn't as if he was an adult yet, able to shoulder this alone.

Before He Lingchuan could even return home, he spotted one of the He family's servants running toward him. The man's anxious demeanor lightened when he saw the young master, and he quickly stepped forward to bow.

"Young Master, the Master requests your immediate return!"

The "Master," of course, was none other than He Chunhua, the Governor of Qiansong County.

He Lingchuan quickened his pace, hurrying to meet his father.

The He family estate spanned 25 mu (approximately 16,000 square meters)—neither too grand nor too modest among the wealthy. Its distinctive architecture stood out with black-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls, nestled within elegant gardens, a stark contrast to the rough, rugged aesthetics typical of Blackwater City.

As he walked through the courtyard, He Lingchuan passed under a vase-shaped garden gate, beyond which stood a 15-year-old plum tree. Every winter, its branches blossomed with vibrant flowers, creating a picturesque view when seen through the "vase mouth" from the garden's Treasure Pavilion. It was as though the blossoms were growing directly from the bottle, a touch of refined artistry found only in the estates of the elite in the heartland.

His father loved such refined touches.

Once, an unaware craftsman had pruned the plum tree's branches, ruining this seasonal masterpiece. Despite his usually mild temperament, He Chunhua had flown into an uncharacteristic rage.

The estate's whitewashed walls were another source of pride—and challenge. Transporting the materials from the Yuan Kingdom's central regions had cost more in labor than in raw materials. Moreover, Blackwater City's eight months of annual sandstorms made maintaining such walls an exercise in futility. To preserve their pristine whiteness, He Chunhua had even arranged for protective formations to guard against erosion.

Reflecting on his surroundings, He Lingchuan could see that his inherited arrogance and self-will came from somewhere.

As he crossed the courtyard, he spotted He Chunhua standing at the door to the storage room, with the ever-loyal butler, Old Mo, at his side.

The storage room was typically reserved for tools and miscellaneous items, not a place where the estate's masters usually ventured. Yet here was the governor himself, motioning for his son to approach.

He Chunhua had taken office seven years ago and was now thirty-four, still in his prime. A tall and strikingly handsome man, he often turned heads among women when he walked through the city streets.

It was only up close that one might notice the silver strands creeping into his jet-black hair, subtle reminders of the burdens he carried.

"Father, I have something to—"

He Chunhua cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Come inside. I have something to show you."

With a grim expression, he led his son and Uncle Hao into the storage room. Old Mo closed the door behind them, standing guard.

The mid-morning light illuminated a long table inside, cleared of its usual clutter and now occupied by a massive object.

It was...

"The Leopard King!" He Lingchuan exclaimed.

So his father had ordered it brought back!

Lying motionless on the table was an enormous dead leopard. Its size rivaled that of a rhinoceros, and even in death, it exuded an oppressive presence. Compared to this beast, the leopard demon he had encountered on Calabash Mountain seemed insignificant.

He could only imagine how fearsome this creature had been in life.

The corpse had a yellow coat with black spots, its fur pristine except for the large wounds that marred its body, leaving it bloodstained. One of its hind legs was broken, and the air around it was still thick with the scent of blood—yet there were no flies.

He Lingchuan pressed a hand to the beast's fur, finding it soft and supple.

This corpse had shown no signs of decay despite being dead for some time, proof of its formidable cultivation in life. Its body had likely reached the "Undying" stage.

And if such a creature had been slain, its killer must have been unimaginably powerful.

"How long has it been dead?"

"Nearly forty days," He Chunhua replied, lifting one of the leopard's front legs to reveal its abdomen, which had been cut open for examination.

"Forty days ago?" He Lingchuan calculated. "That lines up with the attack on me."

So the leopard demon hadn't lied. The West Mountain Leopard Den really had been wiped out.

"I've confirmed it myself," He Chunhua said. "The entire West Mountain leopard clan has been annihilated—from the Leopard King down to cubs barely two months old." He paused. "Recently, merchants passing through the West Mountains have reported seeing red foxes lounging in the sand, basking in the sun as if they owned the place."

He Lingchuan nodded. "The West Mountains were sand leopard territory. Foxes wouldn't dare invade unless something happened to the leopards."

"Exactly. That's why I sent men to investigate. Near the leopard den, they found thirty-four leopard corpses and over a dozen human bodies. Signs of battle were spread across two peaks."

"The humans were mostly unarmed and physically weak," he added. "Judging by their wounds, most were killed in a single blow. They were likely the sand leopards' servants."

It wasn't unusual to find humans in a monster's lair—they were either food or slaves, often kidnapped from nearby villages. Intelligent monsters enjoyed luxury, and humans were uniquely skilled at crafting and maintaining it.

The thoroughness of the massacre left He Lingchuan with only one thought:

Whoever did this wanted no witnesses.

"Father, why did news of the West Mountain massacre take so long to reach us? This is unacceptable!"

He Chunhua, accustomed to his son's complaints, replied calmly, "A sandstorm raged across the Coiling Dragon Desert for ten days. No one could get near the area."

The desert was treacherous enough in normal conditions; during a sandstorm, even the most skilled would-be investigator had no choice but to wait it out.

He Lingchuan stroked his chin. It made sense now—his father and the West Mountain leopard clan had likely been in secret communication.

It wasn't unusual. Blackwater City's position on the Red Cliff Trade Route required it to deal with desert bandits, both human and monster alike. The sand leopard clan was merely one of many factions in the area.

Qiansong County had long known that the Red Cliff Trade Route was a cash cow. Driven by profit, bandit clans were constantly wiped out, only to spring up again like weeds. He Chunhua had spent years balancing intimidation and negotiation with these groups, achieving a level of mutual understanding.

Whether their relationship went deeper, He Chunhua hadn't said, and the original He Lingchuan had never asked.