Chapter 62

“Don’t worry, big brother,” said the youngest of the trio. “They killed Second Brother, I’ll kill two immortals to avenge him. Two for one, we come out ahead.”
Came out ahead? What kind of logic was that?
Luo Han’s unease deepened.
This place’s spiritual energy was extraordinarily dense, possibly even richer than Sanqing Heaven itself, but the locals’ speech and mannerisms were...dissonant. Wrong.
If this were truly some hidden paradise within the Immortal Realm, how could it have remained undiscovered all this time?
Where in the world are we?
She was starting to panic. The situation was unclear, Ling Qingxiao was gravely injured, and she had no way of contacting the Heavenly Palace. But now wasn’t the time to think—those three were getting closer. Soon, they’d reach her hiding spot.
And if they did…
If it were just Luo Han alone, she could’ve slipped away unnoticed—but Ling Qingxiao was still unconscious. And those three demons clearly came with ill intent. She couldn’t let them get close to him.
Digging through her storage ring, Luo Han finally fished out a set of silver needles from the very bottom. They had bought these in Tianzhao City, back before heading to the Western Sea. They were originally meant to be spiritual weapons, but a flaw during the forging process prevented them from channeling spiritual energy. The shopkeeper had dismissed them as defective, but Ling Qingxiao had picked them up with a single glance, saying they’d make excellent concealed weapons.
She’d never had the chance to use them—until now.
One of the demons had entered the forest ahead of the others, widening the gap between them. Hidden in the brush, Luo Han carefully directed one of the needles to glide toward the back of his head. Sure enough, these needles had minimal spiritual fluctuations, and the demon didn’t detect a thing. As he stepped on a twig, he seemed to catch something from the corner of his ear and instinctively began to turn—only to see a needle silently pierce straight through his forehead.
In the dappled sunlight, the needle gleamed with a chilling glint.
Only then did a biting cold creep into the back of his skull. Agonizing pain followed. His brain had already been frozen and torn apart before he could utter a single word—his body convulsed and slumped silently to the ground.
Thump.
The sound of a lifeless body hitting the forest floor.
Another demon, hearing the noise, called out, “Little Brother? What are you doing again?”
He repeated the call several times, but received no reply. Cautious now, the demon gripped his blade and moved closer.
He neared the spot and, without warning, hacked apart the shrubs with a clean stroke. But instead of an enemy, he found his younger brother sitting silently against a tree, back turned toward him.
Relieved, the demon snorted and cursed, “Slacking off again? Hurry up, or Big Brother will come yell at us.”
But no matter how much he talked, the younger brother didn’t respond. Frowning, the demon strode over and grabbed his sibling’s shoulder—only to see a pair of wide, lifeless eyes staring back at him.
Every nerve in his body tensed.
He jerked back instinctively, but it was already too late. Another needle shot out from the dead man’s hair—point-blank.
The icy needle plunged into his eye, the demon’s most vulnerable point despite his refined body. It pierced his skull easily, twisting once inside to shred his brain.
There was no saving someone after that—not even a Great Luo Immortal Lord could bring him back.
In the blink of an eye, the second demon was down.
But Luo Han couldn’t repeat the same trick again. The second demon’s cry of pain gave them away.
Hearing the scream, the oldest of the trio charged forward, blade flashing as he hacked through the underbrush.
Luo Han’s hiding spot was now exposed.
The older demon spotted the bodies and howled in fury. Though they bore no visible wounds or bloodstains, he knew immediately—his brothers were dead.
Grief turned to wrath. With a roar, he lunged at Luo Han, his attacks wild and savage. There was no technique, only brute force.
Luo Han specialized in ranged combat—against this kind of chaotic brawler, she was at a huge disadvantage. She fought and dodged, scrambling to remember if she had any other useful weapons left.
Just then, a sword light sliced through the air from behind.
The demon froze, a blade of pure spirit energy piercing through his back, ending his life in an instant.
Luo Han turned, stunned.
Ling Qingxiao stood not far away, bracing himself with his sword. After unleashing the attack, he visibly faltered and collapsed.
“Ling Qingxiao!” Luo Han rushed to catch him, gripping his arm. “Hold on, don’t speak—I’m giving you medicine!”
She quickly fumbled for the Bodhi Essence again, but before she could uncork it, Ling Qingxiao’s expression changed. His cold hand shot out and pressed over hers.
The chill in his palm startled her, but before she could ask what was wrong, the air filled with the sound of drawn bows.
“Don’t move.”
Luo Han froze. Ling Qingxiao’s gaze sharpened as he scanned the area, hand tightening on his sword.
Figures emerged from the trees and grass, all armed, all dressed oddly. The outermost ones had arrows trained on them.
As Luo Han watched warily, the group suddenly parted—and a woman who looked like their leader stepped forward.
She caught sight of the two and blinked in surprise. “Immortals?”
Luo Han tensed. Why phrase it like that?
But the woman didn’t wait for a reply. Her eyes landed on the lingering spiritual energy around Ling Qingxiao’s sword, and her expression cleared.
“Immortals,” she repeated firmly. “Lower your weapons. They’re one of us.”
Just like that, everyone dropped their bows.
They had been seconds from bloodshed—yet now they were treating them like friends. Several of them even crowded forward eagerly.
“What are you doing here? What clan are you from?” someone asked with a grin.
Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao exchanged a wary glance. Something was definitely off.
Still supporting him, Luo Han replied cautiously, “We were just passing through. Somehow ended up here, and were attacked as soon as we arrived. I had no choice but to strike first.”
A tanned youth waved dismissively. “No problem, no need to be nervous! See a demon? Kill a demon. Either they kill us, or we kill them. Once you get used to it, you can even trade kills for merit!”
Luo Han helped Ling Qingxiao to his feet, but the movement tugged at his wound. He turned away and coughed, a trace of blood at his lips.
The female leader’s brows knitted. “How did you get hurt so badly? What household are you from? How could your elders leave you in such a state?”
Ling Qingxiao wiped the blood from his mouth and didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “May I ask...where are we?”
The youths exchanged confused looks, but one of them cheerfully answered, “Xiangshi.”
Ling Qingxiao’s eyes widened. “The Xiangshi Campaign?”
The youth scratched his head. “We’re at war, yeah, but it’s not the main front. Doesn’t feel all that epic. But that name—‘Xiangshi Campaign’—sounds pretty badass!”
Luo Han blinked. Her grasp of immortal-demon history was poor, and she didn’t recognize the name at all.
Quietly, she leaned toward Ling Qingxiao. “What’s the Xiangshi Campaign?”
Just as Luo Han finished asking, the people around them suddenly erupted in cheers. Startled, she looked up—and saw a figure flying across the sky. The distance was too great to make out the face, but the long serpent tail trailing behind her was unmistakable.
A human torso and serpent’s tail—such a form was only ever recorded for one being in all the historical texts of every race.
The Creator Goddess, Nuwa.
Luo Han stared, mouth agape. Even Ling Qingxiao looked up toward the sky, his voice low as he finally answered her earlier question: “Xiangshi. The ancient texts describe it as a battleground in the southern seas. Its precise location has long been lost to time.”
The Xiangshi Battleground...touched by divine echoes, where immortals and demons met only in bloodshed…
The answer was clear as day now. Ling Qingxiao exhaled softly. “We’re on the battlefield of the Great War.”
Each word made sense on its own, but together, Luo Han could hardly process what they meant.
After Nuwa’s shadow passed overhead, the surrounding immortals seemed to catch a second wind, as if injected with pure fire. They whooped and surged ahead, chasing after her departing silhouette. Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao, both injured, remained at the rear. Taking advantage of the brief moment of calm, Luo Han leaned closer and whispered, “Isn’t the Great War...in the past?”
“Yes.”
Luo Han felt her brain short-circuit. It seemed like such a foolish question, yet it was one of dire importance. She struggled to phrase it differently. “Weren’t we just on Huaiyin Island...in the South Sea?”
“Correct,” Ling Qingxiao replied with a sigh. “But seas rise and fall. In this era, what you know as the South Sea is still just untamed wilderness.”
He added seriously, “You have quite a few gaps in your education.”
“…That’s what you’re focusing on right now?” Luo Han looked devastated. “So we’ve traveled back in time? To the Great War—the most chaotic and brutal period in all of history?”
Ling Qingxiao nodded. “That appears to be the case.”
Luo Han’s entire worldview collapsed.
She thought she’d simply been knocked to another place by the heavenly tribulation. Who would’ve thought she’d crossed time itself?
For the rest of the walk, Luo Han remained uncharacteristically quiet. She thought of the Devourer Beast she had sent to Fusang Island before they parted. Of Ye Zinan, who had promised to accompany her on a tour through Yunzhou. Of Ling Zhongyu and Yun Menghan, whose tangled mess of a relationship still hadn’t been resolved. And of the two slices of night-blooming cake she’d left untouched on her table that morning, thinking she’d eat them later.
They’d just been talking and laughing together not long ago—and now, had she become their long-lost ancestor, destined only to be remembered in ancestral shrines?
Ling Qingxiao noticed her prolonged silence and, suppressing a cough, asked hoarsely, “What’s wrong?”
Luo Han’s voice was full of bitter regret. “The sages never lied: ‘Pluck the flower while it blooms, lest the branch be bare when you seek it again.’ I should have eaten that night-blooming cake this morning. I left two pieces, thinking I’d come back for them. Foolish.”
Ling Qingxiao had not expected this line of thought. He paused, unsure how to respond. “…It’s all right. You’ll have more.”
After a beat, he began to seriously analyze the possibility of her getting more: “The main ingredients are moon-bloom petals and violet glutinous rice. Moon-bloom is native to the boundary near Guazhou, and its earliest appearances date to the late Middle and early Ancient periods. It’s a bit far from Xiangshi, but several localized ceasefires occurred during the later Great War. With the right route planning, it’s not entirely impossible. As for the violet glutinous rice, that’s a product of the modern era, so it's rare here. But we can substitute with white spiritual rice—similar in consistency.”
Luo Han clicked her tongue in disbelief.
“What?” Ling Qingxiao asked, puzzled.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Some people really do earn their single status.”
“You’re still injured—stop talking.”
Soon, they exited the forest. Ahead, mountains rolled gently under a bright sky, and trails of cooking smoke curled from distant homesteads. Fields crisscrossed like a grid, roosters crowed and dogs barked—it was hard to tell whether this was the immortal realm or the mortal world.
As the villagers spotted their group returning, voices rose from afar in greeting. The young ones in the party responded eagerly, waving back and calling, “Mother! Father! We’re home!”
In the Great War, the entire population took part in war. The same person who held a blade on the battlefield might also be someone’s son, someone’s wife, someone’s parent. Many of these fighters were barely past childhood—already blooding themselves in combat while still learning what it meant to grow up.
As the village neared, some of the younger ones couldn’t hold back their excitement. They took off at a sprint toward their waiting families, some laughing, some scolded mid-run. The female leader allowed it all with a tolerant eye.
It was already midday. At the village entrance, the leader called for everyone to disperse. She turned back and caught sight of Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao still standing there, and her brows furrowed. “He’s badly wounded. He can’t afford to delay—he needs healing immediately. Do you remember the way back to your tribe? Or what your tribe is called? I’ll have someone escort you.”
It had been a long time since Luo Han had heard the word tribe used seriously.
And it brought the truth crashing back—this was the Great War. A time of chaos and bloodshed. Populations had dwindled, but culture and brilliance still flourished like wild fire. A dazzling, terrible era.
They had no tribe.
Quickly, Luo Han arranged her expression into one of pitiful grief. “We...have no home anymore. Our tribe was destroyed in the war. Only my...brother and I are left. We’ve been wandering ever since. We don’t know where we’ll go next.”
The tribal leader’s expression softened. In this era, such stories were commonplace. Children lost their parents. Wives lost their husbands. Everyone bore grief, everyone nursed vengeance.
Ling Qingxiao frowned subtly and glanced at Luo Han. Brother and sister?
Luo Han immediately shot him a look: Play along! Even a fool knew better than to blurt out they were from the future. In a time this unstable, announcing such a thing was as good as courting death. So Luo Han had spun a quick orphan story, conveniently casting them as a brother-sister pair.
Their origins didn’t matter. What mattered was finding a safe place to recover. Ling Qingxiao’s condition was critical. A wounded man and a weak girl appearing out of nowhere—posing as siblings was the most believable option.
The chief sighed. “What a pity. Since you’ve nowhere to go, you’re welcome to stay in our village. When your brother heals, if you wish to remain, we’ll welcome you into the tribe. If not, you’ll be free to leave. We won’t hold you. How does that sound?”
The tribe leader’s willingness to take them in was no small kindness. Luo Han quickly expressed her thanks: “Many thanks, Chief. We’re willing.”
The tribe leader led them to an unoccupied wooden house. It was clear no one had lived there in quite some time—dust coated the doors and windows. As expected of the Great War, the structure was extremely simple. The yard had a single wooden house on the north side, likely three rooms wide, and on the east and west ends stood two thatched huts. A small open-air stove leaned against the southern wall. That was it.
Compared to the grandeur of the Celestial Palace or the solemnity of Mount Zhong, it was nothing—and even a basic inn on the middle heavens outshone this place. But when measured against the rest of the village, this courtyard was already considered quite decent. For a pair of outsiders, the chief had been exceptionally generous.
Neither Luo Han nor Ling Qingxiao had anything to complain about. As the chief led them inside, she said, “This yard isn’t large, but everything’s functional. You two are siblings, and few in number—this should be more than enough. If there’s one downside...it’s a little out of the way, far from the neighboring houses.”
In wartime, such isolation could be deadly. But for Ling Qingxiao and Luo Han, it was actually a blessing. Luo Han immediately replied, “It’s not far at all. This is already more than enough. Thank you, Chief!”
“As long as you’re comfortable,” the tribe leader said with a kind smile. These two children were clearly raised with great care—everything from their mannerisms to their accessories spoke of refinement. The chief had initially worried they might not adjust to this simple life, but seeing how well they were taking it, she finally relaxed.
Just then, Ling Qingxiao raised a hand to his lips, brow faintly creased—silent, but clearly in pain. The tribe leader instantly realized he was suppressing his injuries. She didn’t dwell on it, merely said, “Enough standing around—your brother’s hurt. Get him inside and let him rest.”
Luo Han nodded and helped Ling Qingxiao into the room. He eased onto the bed frame, sitting upright with her support. The tribe leader pulled over a stool and reached out to take his pulse.
After a moment, her brows knit together. “You encountered a Demon Lord?”
Luo Han answered, “Yes. We couldn’t match him...he took a strike for me.”
“Good thing you’re a dragon,” the chief muttered. “With a body like that, you can survive injuries that would’ve killed anyone else.” As she spoke, she pulled out a bamboo slip and quickly etched a prescription into it with spiritual energy. “We’re always fighting demons here. We keep plenty of external remedies on hand. I’ll give you some to decoct for him—morning and evening, one dose each. Internal medicine will be trickier. I’ll need to gather herbs from the mountains.”
Since Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao had introduced themselves as siblings, and the chief had identified Ling Qingxiao as dragon, she naturally assumed Luo Han was the same. Luo Han didn’t correct her and instead asked carefully about the specifics of brewing the medicine.
Ling Qingxiao leaned against the bed, watching the chief as she wrote on the slip. He seemed to hesitate, words on the tip of his tongue.
Zili bamboo. It was nearly extinct—an incredibly rare material for refining weapons. Just one node added to a sword embryo could drastically improve its resilience. Blades made with it could bend to sharp angles and rebound without a scratch. And this woman...had just casually carved a prescription into an entire, pristine slip of Zili bamboo?
Even Ling Qingxiao felt a pang of pain.
Once the chief was finished, Luo Han accepted the bamboo slip and thanked her with sincere gratitude. She walked her to the door and accompanied her to the medicine storehouse.
Just as the chief had said, the remedies were all readily available. The villagers didn’t even wait for her instructions—they grabbed what was needed instinctively.
Years of war had turned every household into self-taught healers.
The chief handed Luo Han a full set of external remedies and said, “I’ll need more time to prepare the internal ones. For now, boil these twice daily and feed them to your brother. There’s also a topical salve—not essential, but very helpful for his recovery. Want it?”
“Of course,” Luo Han replied without hesitation.
The chief handed over another bundle. “Apply it twice a day, morning and night. These herbs spoil quickly, so I’ll give you five days’ worth first. Come back for more when you run out.”
Luo Han agreed readily. But something the chief said made her pause. Herbs...spoiling? In her time, spiritual herbs were kept in storage bags—where time stood still. Spoilage had never been an issue. So this meant...they didn’t have spatial pouches here?
She glanced around and sure enough—there was not a single item resembling a storage device in sight.
A silent alarm rang in her mind. She discreetly tucked her own pouch deep into her sleeve.
The Great War’s cultivation world was a far cry from the one she knew.
She couldn’t risk revealing she had a spatial item. So Luo Han hugged the bulky bundles to her chest and made the slow trek back. Only once inside did she shut the door and slip the herbs into her storage bag.
Only now, after time-traveling, did she fully realize just how convenient the tools of the Tianqi era truly were.
In the celestial realm, one epoch equaled ten thousand years. Much like dynastic eras in the mortal world, the time they came from—Huaiyin Island—belonged to the Tianqi Epoch.
Luo Han returned to the room and found Ling Qingxiao out of bed, holding the bamboo slip and studying it intently. Alarmed, she asked, “What’s wrong? Is there a problem with the prescription?”
“No.” Ling Qingxiao shook his head, sighing. “It’s the bamboo. This is Zili.”
Luo Han blinked. “Zili bamboo is…”
“A precious refining material,” Ling Qingxiao replied, unusually verbose. “Especially ideal for sword forging. There are less than ten stalks left in all the celestial realm. Every new node is a major event. When a segment grows, it’s cut under strict supervision and distributed with utmost precision. Even so, growth has slowed—give it a few millennia, and it may go extinct. And here...they’re writing prescriptions with it?”
Luo Han understood. This was like discovering that an endangered sacred tree in her time was being chopped up and used for firewood here.
She dragged over the medicine bundles and said dryly, “Then you might want to take a look at these, too. I bet there are even more rare species in here.”
Ling Qingxiao only skimmed the herbs and had already spotted several extinct legendary spiritual plants. The value of this single batch wasn’t merely "precious"—it was priceless.
He had already been through so many shocks today that his heart could barely take it anymore. Luo Han had originally planned to use the spiritual medicines given to her by the Bodhi Tree to treat him, but now...maybe she could save those.
The Great War was rich in spiritual energy, and its plant life flourished. What the later generations considered rare and sacred were, here, no more than weeds on the roadside. Plus, Xiangshi had been locked in battle with the Demon Realm for years—they had their own secret prescriptions for treating internal and external wounds. Using the chief’s medicine might actually be better than anything the Bodhi Tree had given her.
Better to save the Bodhi Tree’s gifts for emergencies. What lay before them now were genuine ancient formulas and ancient medicines. Why not use them?
In later generations, cultivators would kill and bleed each other over a fragment of a lost prescription. Yet now, mountains of medicinal ingredients and handwritten prescriptions were piled in front of them. If they didn’t understand anything, they could just go and ask the original creator.
Such fortune...if word ever got out, it would make half the Celestial Realm cough blood from jealousy.
But time-traveling to the Great War had its drawbacks, too. Luo Han whispered to Ling Qingxiao, “I don’t think they have storage bags here.”
Ling Qingxiao nodded. “Spatial formations were invented by Immortal Lord Ming Wu. After sealing the Devourer Beast in the Western Sea, he devoted the rest of his life to refining space-based arrays. Storage bags, spatial rings—those were created much later by scholars studying his legacy. No one knows when he was born, but it’s well recorded that he only rose to power after the end of the Great War War. He didn’t imprison the Devourer Beast until ten thousand years into his reign, and only began developing spatial theories late in life. Since the war hasn’t ended yet, Immortal Lord Ming Wu might not even be born. So naturally, spatial artifacts don’t exist yet.”
“Ohh.” Luo Han thought for a while and asked, “Then...doesn’t that mean we can’t use a lot of our magical items?”
“Exactly.” Ling Qingxiao sighed. “For the time being, avoid using your storage bag or ring—and the items inside too, if you can. The gap between this era and the Tianqi Epoch is massive. Even basic furniture is different. Your bed, your pillows, your cups—they’ll all look out of place.”
Luo Han was stunned. Overnight, her standard of living had regressed from pampered perfection to the stone age?