Aside from the He father and son having their bait snatched twice by other sand wyrms beneath the surface, which caused a bit of chaos, everything proceeded smoothly.

The three walnut boats cruised steadily across the desert. Their speed was about half that of a galloping horse, but the key advantages were stability and relative safety.

Occasionally, the boats would cross paths with bizarre desert creatures, some of which would initially give chase. However, as soon as they got a whiff of that overpowering stench of the cured meat, they would recoil in horror and flee, tails tucked, desperate to escape. Whatever interest they had in the humans on board was instantly forgotten.

Most of the people on this journey had grown up near the desert, but few had ever seen it from this point of view. They were wide-eyed with wonder.

He Lingchuan murmured to himself, “So this is a thing now?”

Riding a sea of sand on a boat—this was a first for him in either of his lives. It brough him a whole new perspective.

The only real drawback was the lingering stench drifting from the bait at the prow. The smell clung to the air, making it hard to breathe.

The helmsmen of each walnut boat were being exceedingly cautious, doing their best to steer around the towering sand dunes.

The larger the dune, the deeper the shadow it casts.

And every soul from Heishui City knew that in the Panlong Desert, shadows were to be avoided at all costs. Scorching sun, burning wind, thirst, sand bandits, monster attacks—all of them combined were less frightening than the shadows here.

Still, no matter how skilled the helmsmen, after another two hours or so, a structure slowly emerged on the distant horizon.

As they drew closer, broken walls and a collapsed gate came into focus.

It was clearly a satellite city once located southwest of Panlong City, built to form a pincer-like defense with the main stronghold.

Of course, it had been abandoned for a century. Now, the only regular visitor was the windblown sand.

Yet the walls still stood high, and the city gate lay shrouded in thick shadow.

If one were to peer through the gate, one would glimpse the remains of collapsed buildings, stubbornly resisting being completely buried.

The sun behind them cast long silhouettes, casting shadows upon shadows.

At this point, there was no way around. The only way forward was through the gate, straight through the heart of the ruined city.

Standing on the prow of the lead boat, Nian Songyu turned and blew three long whistles.

It was a prearranged signal, something they had agreed upon back at a desert relay station.

It was time to activate the next phase of their strategy.

The He father and son stood at the front of their boat and shouted to their subordinates, “Ignite your life fires!”

Despite the keyword being ignite, the soldiers each pulled out a small red pill and swallowed it.

Moments later, a wave of acidic, spicy heat roiled upward from their stomachs. However, no one dared burp. They had to suppress the urge to do so.

Their eyes burned, their noses swelled, and their mouths flooded with bitter saliva. Yet their bodies began to tremble with cold. Under the blazing desert sun, many began to shiver uncontrollably.

Thankfully, these symptoms only lasted for roughly a dozen heartbeats before settling.

Everyone glanced around and realized the same thing. Each person now had three ghostly fires lit above them—one hovering over their head, and two resting on either shoulder.

Most of the flames glowed a pale green, though some leaned more yellow, others more blue, some bright, some dim. Regardless, each was no larger than a fingertip-high wisp, flickering gently in the air as if a light breeze could snuff them out.

Yet despite the fierce desert wind whipping against their faces, none of the fires even wavered.

More incredibly, the moment each person ignited their three fires, the surrounding temperature dropped several degrees. The scalding desert air no longer felt quite so oppressive.

This was life fire, also known as a life lamp. These were flames that resided within the human spiritual hearth, and they were also known as the fire of life or vitality. As long as this fire burned, a person would continue living. However, as soon as this fire went out, so did a person’s life.

That was where the saying “a man dies the way a lamp goes out” came from.

As soon as the life fires were ignited, the captains aboard each walnut boat turned their backs to the bow and shouted at their men, “Don’t look back!”

Across all three boats, the soldiers roared in unison.

“Don’t look back!”

“Don’t look back!”

“Don’t look back!”

They roared three times in total. It was a warning to others, but also to themselves.

It was a firm reminder never to look back.

Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back!

He Chunhua stood just ahead and to the right of He Lingchuan, who leaned in and asked, “Father, did you know your life fire’s kind of yellow?”

He Chunchua had just started to shake his head when he froze, remembering just in time that moving his head was dangerous. He shot his son a sharp look instead. “You brat.”

He Lingchuan grinned and said, “Might as well rehearse before the real danger hits.”

And to be fair, he had a point.

“Yours is yellow with a hint of red,” He Chunhua said with a chuckle. “Youth really is a blessing.”

A person’s life fire reflected a person’s physical state—the healthier and stronger the body, the deeper and more vibrant the flame. The fire of the young burned hotter and wilder as they were full of energy.

At this point, none of them could risk turning their heads anymore. Otherwise, He Lingchuan would have dearly liked to see what color Nian Songyu’s and State Preceptor Sun’s life fires were.

As the boats glided under the looming walls, He Chunhua drew a deep breath and shouted, “Don’t move! No one move!”

The same command echoed from the other two boats.

The helmsmen made their final flicks of the guiding rods, nudging their sand wyrms to align with the path through the gate.

The ravages of war and the scouring of sandstorms had left the city walls warped, their initially upright posture leaning more and more as time passed. Now, they looked as if they might collapse at any moment.

And yet they had stood here for a hundred years, silent, defiant, unbowed.

As they got closer and closer, the gaping entrance loomed like the yawning maw of some silent beast.

He Lingchuan could even make out faded stains on either side of the gate. They were perhaps once vibrant blood spatters, now blackened, then bleached by time and wind. All that remained was a ghostly residue, like a dying ember.

All that was once bustling and vehement had been reduced to utter dullness.

The world dimmed as the boats passed under the gate’s shadow.

A chilly wind pressed in from all sides.

Thanks to the ignition of their life fires, the soldiers could now see what ordinary eyes could not. Wisps of smoke rose from the shadow, and they silently drifted toward the boats.

As they neared, the smoke began to take shape. They formed vague human forms, but while they had torsos and limbs, their faces were absolutely blank.

These things ignored the sand wyrms pulling the boats, but seemed utterly fascinated by everything else—every piece of wood, every person aboard.

In the blink of an eye, each soldier found themselves surrounded by four or five of these wisps of smoke. They slithered around bodies, brushed past shoulders, and loomed behind backs. Though they had no eyes, every man and woman felt a cold, unwavering gaze boring into their flesh. Goosebumps bloomed across every inch of skin.

These were the legendary Three Corpses Worms!

According to the tales of the Panlong Desert, they were the lingering souls of the dead, ghosts that hid in shadow. A traveler might survive the beasts and the heat… but one step into the wrong shadow, and these would strike.

To those without visible life fire, these things were invisible. They were completely undetectable and thus impossible to defend against.

After Panlong City vanished, the people the Three Corpses Worms had once loved most were all gone. Left without their favored hosts, they began to invade other life forms instead. Imperfect substitutes, but sufficient. That influence had twisted much of the desert’s wildlife, such as the sand wyrms now hauling the boats.

Despite this, Sun Fuping and Nian Songyu remained undaunted. In fact, they were delighted. The appearance of the Three Corpses Worms was evidence, indirect but compelling, that the Generous Pot still existed. This journey was already bearing fruit.

Then, at every soldier’s ear came whispers. These whispers were soft, slithering, and fragmented. It was as though someone was murmuring right beside them, someone who should absolutely be there.