My Journey to Immortality Begins with Hunting
Chapter 272 – The World Map, the Far Western Ice Folk, and Gains Before Retreat - Part 3

Chapter 272 – The World Map, the Far Western Ice Folk, and Gains Before Retreat - Part 3

Over the next few days, Li Yuan pored over maps of the realm and the Great Zhou. His worldview expanded at once.

He discovered that this world had no monolithic northern or southern powers—no equivalents of nomadic tribes or southern barbarians. The Great Zhou stood almost alone, surrounded only by minor tribes or territories controlled by individual sects.

It reminded Li Yuan of a line from a famous cosmic-horror novel he had read before crossing into this world—

“We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.”[1]

But this realm didn’t quite match that sentiment. Ghosts and demons had already begun prowling the Great Zhou, and strange territories full of horrors were rumored at the edges of the map. Indeed, Li Yuan knew from Yan Yu that some ghost domains were so pitiful they couldn’t even find humans to kill. So, they resorted to purchasing victims from Feng’er’s black market shop.

In other words, the more remote and desolate the region, the weaker the local ghost domain. With scarcely any living souls to devour, how would such a ghost domain thrive?

Still, that was just Li Yuan’s theory.

Beyond the Great Zhou, the landscape was stark. To the south lay the Sunset Rainforest, roamed by all manner of fearsome demonic beasts. To the east stretched the mysterious Eastern Seas. To the north was an endless wilderness so vast and uncharted that no one had ever claimed to reach its far end. To the west was a barren snowfield growing ever colder as one traveled on.

This world had no true south or north pole. Or if it did, that polar realm was far to the west—the so-called Western Extreme.

Li Yuan picked up a travelogue called Journey Through the Four Directions, which described that Western Extreme in only a few lines—

“An unimaginably cold land of eternal snow and darkness. We ventured as far as we could, but were forced to turn back, our strength exhausted, with the journey still far from done. None can say what lies further on.”

He then opened another book, Tales From the Frozen River. Its author introduced himself at the outset as a disciple of the Holy Tree Temple, one who had attained the apex of sixth rank but saw no hope of further advancement. Curious about the world at large, he had devoted his remaining life to exploration.

This text was composed over 360 years ago, back when ghost domains were far fewer in the Central Plains, and the world was nowhere near as perilous.

Tales From the Frozen River recounted this disciple’s remarkable experiences in the western regions.

According to the account, the author headed west and accidentally fell into an icy river. When he awoke, he found himself in a place with light—and more importantly, people. Their language closely resembled that of the Great Zhou but sounded somewhat awkward to his ears.

He gradually learned that this was a tiny settlement of around a thousand people, none of whom seemed to know anything of the world outside or about the Great Zhou. He called them the Ice Folk.

Over time, he came to realize there were others like them scattered across the west, all surviving by an inexplicable and ever-burning fire. This fire kept them warm and was the key to their existence in those endless snows.

For food, they relied on digging. Within the frozen soil lay countless creatures, fruits, and other foods—things that, in more civilized lands, one might find fresh in a marketplace. The tribe would haul these frozen items from the ground, then cook them over the perpetual flames. The taste, he noted, was surprisingly decent...if one could overlook the fact that these provisions might have been buried in ice for hundreds or even thousands of years.

In this strange land, his martial arts—especially his shadow blood—seemed to freeze up in the bitter cold, rendering him weaker than ever. He couldn’t even match the raw strength of the woman he took a liking to, who soon bore him a child. He stayed in the tribe for a time, learning about their culture and customs.

One tradition fascinated him above all, the Ice Folk’s funeral rites. They believed in a Deathless Tomb, a place so cold it would freeze both body and soul intact. At a certain time, tribe members would journey there, lie down in a comfortable position, and simply let themselves be frozen solid. Legend held that once the sunlight returned to these lands of Evernight, they would awaken to a new world.

Eventually, the author found life in these dark, sunless tundra unbearable. He tried to persuade his wife to leave with him, but the tribe would not allow it. Even if they were willing to let him depart, he would have no map and no guide. Only with his wife’s secret help did he make it to a hidden exit. She told him not to look back and to walk straight ahead. For seven days and seven nights he trudged onward, finally emerging into the Great Zhou.

When he returned, he reported his tale to the Holy Tree Temple, who sent people to investigate. None were able to find the path, however, and since there appeared to be no resources or cultivation technique to claim, the temple merely kept the account on file and moved on.

The man settled back into life in the Great Zhou, eventually marrying again. Later in life, he wrote down his experiences in Tales From the Frozen River, though almost no one believed him. Even his new wife dismissed his story as wild fantasy.

In his old age, he began to doubt himself as well, unsure whether his memories were real or only a dream. On his deathbed, he handed the manuscript to the Holy Tree Temple, hoping it might help his descendants gain more resources or even secure a place in the temple’s headquarters.

The very fact that Tales From the Frozen River existed in these archives suggested that the Holy Tree Temple found it credible...or at least deemed it worth preserving for reference.

Li Yuan set the book down and glanced at the sky; evening was drawing near. He rubbed his hands together to chase away the chill. Then he got up and left the vine-woven pavilion. His thoughts turned once again toward Cloudpeak Province.

It really did seem like a place far removed from all the turmoil in the Great Zhou, yet not entirely devoid of human presence. Once he arrived, he could send people to explore the Ice Folk.

All the while, he’d do whatever he could to help Yan Yu absorb more ghost domains, making her even stronger. With her power growing, the meat fields would also evolve.

His ideal plan was to hide her ghost domain somewhere no one could find it, even deep in ice and snow, so that no matter what chaos befell the Great Zhou, he could hold fast in the borderlands and create a peaceful sanctuary.

Venturing westward would grant him greater distance to vanish into the tundra, while helping Yan Yu merge with more ghost domains would guarantee all the resources they needed.

Yes, that was the plan.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

“Master Li! Master Li!!”

Just as Li Yuan descended from the pavilion, a disciple came running from afar. Upon seeing him, the disciple bowed and said respectfully, “Master Li, the temple master is looking for you; it seems urgent.”

The temple master? Li Yuan’s expression shifted. “Then let’s go quickly.”

The disciple led the way, Li Yuan right behind.

Before long, they reached a small assembly hall near the White Bamboo Hanging Bell Tower. Inside, a man in brightly colored robes lounged in a large chair, shirt partly unbuttoned and muscled torso half-exposed.

Oddly, his face had a smooth, almost feminine quality. He sprawled there with a hint of roguishness, red veins threading his eyes from sheer exhaustion. But when Li Yuan arrived, his gaze sharpened with interest.

The disciple bowed toward the extravagantly dressed man. “Master Gong.”

Li Yuan had never met Master Gong before. Ever since Li Yuan had come to reside behind the Holy Tree Temple’s third gate, Master Gong had been away, locked in a drawn-out rivalry with his father-in-law. But now, for whatever reason, he was back. NovelFire

Bowing politely, Li Yuan greeted him. “It’s an honor to meet you, Master Gong.”

Rumors were just rumors; old grudges belonged to the previous generation. Li Yuan wasn’t about to assume any enmity. Master Gong remained silent for a moment, sizing him up. Then he said, “I asked the temple master to send for you. I’m the one who wants to see you.”

Li Yuan looked curious. “May I ask what you need of me?”

Master Gong let out a short, harsh chuckle. “I want to talk about weaponsmithing. Tell me all about Heavensense, the secret art Zhu Ban taught you.”

“Oh,” Li Yuan said casually, launching straight into it. His immediate compliance startled Master Gong, who had half-expected a tense standoff.

“You...you’re just going to tell me?”

“Weaponsmiths may have their rivalries,” Li Yuan replied evenly, “But the art of weaponsmithing itself has no enemies.”

A certain fervor shone in his eyes—a zeal any seasoned smith would immediately recognize.

Master Gong stared, dumbfounded. The remark clearly struck a chord.

After a few seconds, he shook off his surprise, waved the disciple at the door away, and shut the hall’s doors. Then, settling in, he listened intently as Li Yuan explained Heavensense in detail. NovelFire

Before long, Master Gong couldn’t help but share his own secret art, Earth Appraisal.

Though both Master Gong and Zhu Ban had been stationed near the Holy Tree Temple, they had never interacted, let alone exchanged smithing philosophy. Now Li Yuan, as Zhu Ban’s successor, stood in his place.

The two forging aficionados were in lively conversation, clearly engrossed in each other’s insights.

Night fell, and still they talked, refusing to part.

Master Gong had dinner brought in; Li Yuan sent a message to the Jing Clan to let Jing Shuixiang know he wouldn’t be back that night. They talked by lamplight, then popped a few fasting pills and headed to the nearby forging hall to continue discussing and testing their ideas.

Their discussion lasted half a month.

Li Yuan truly learned a great deal, while Master Gong seemed to gain fresh inspiration of his own. Initially, they might have become bitter enemies. But instead, they parted like old friends who had only just met.

On the day they finally wrapped up, Li Yuan bowed respectfully. “Thank you for your guidance, Master Gong.”

Master Gong waved a hand dismissively. “No need for thanks.” Then, after a moment’s pause, he asked, “Say, Li Yuan, you wouldn’t be in the market for another wife, would you? I’ve got plenty of lovely descendants. I could pick one for you, and we’d become in-laws.”

Li Yuan’s face turned solemn. “I’ve devoted myself to the art of weaponsmithing. Women would only slow my hammer strokes.”

Master Gong burst out laughing. “Wonderful! I humbly concede. At least that brat Zhu Ban knew how to pick a son-in-law better than I could. I’ll admit defeat. Once I head back to the front lines, I’ll make sure to tell him. Haha!”

A bit embarrassed, Li Yuan said, “Maybe best to keep quiet. If my father-in-law finds out I shared his secret art with you, he might cough up blood in anger.”

“He’s not that petty,” Master Gong said with a dismissive snort. “Yes, we’re at odds, but each of us is aiming to craft a true fourth rank spirit formation. And if I can exchange knowledge with you, who’s to say he won’t be trading notes with other weaponsmiths from the Lotus Cult?”

1. Honestly, I thought this was going to be a quote from some popular contemporary Chinese novel in the eldritch horror genre. But after translating it into English, I thought it sounded vaguely familiar. Turns out it’s a Chinese translation of an excerpt taken from the first passage of H.P. Lovecraft’s The Call of Cthulhu—now translated back to English for your reading pleasure, I guess. Hah hah. ☜