Chapter 00235: The Strange Old Woman
# The Strange Old Woman
Chapter 235
Novel: After the Immortals Disappeared
Chapter 235: The Strange Old Woman
He Lingchuan looked up to see an old woman shuffling toward him with an inward-turning gait, her eyes darting around as she walked.
She was small and shriveled, her belly slightly swollen, reminding him instantly of a dried-up stump by the riverbank.
"You the shopkeeper?"
Her voice, surprisingly youthful for her appearance, caught him off guard.
He then noticed her teeth were all intact—maybe she wasn’t as old as she looked.
"Sort of," he answered honestly.
"Just took over this place. Might be a while before it reopens."
"What’re you selling?" The old woman didn’t stand on ceremony, poking and prodding at the clutter around the shop.
"Not sure yet."
He had no intention of running the shop in the dream realm himself and planned to lease it out through official channels, collecting rent by the season.
"What brings you here?"
"I—I collect things."
Her sharp eyes scanned the piles of junk, darting high and low without missing a thing.
For some reason, He Lingchuan was reminded of an otter on a dried-up riverbed—those creatures also loved nesting in heaps of their own gathered debris.
But she was far too thin, her eyes slightly bulging and bloodshot.
"You don’t want these anymore?" she rasped.
"If not, give 'em to me, eh?"
"Go ahead, take whatever you like."
The old woman immediately clasped her hands in gratitude.
"Kind soul, kind soul! Heaven will surely bless you!"
Her enthusiasm was almost comical.
Soon, He Lingchuan spotted a cart parked outside the shop—where she’d gotten it, he had no idea—and watched as she began hauling things out.
First, she lugged out a small jar.
The jar was coated in thick yellow mud, hidden beneath two nested tables that had been blocked by a folding screen.
He Lingchuan hadn’t even noticed it during his initial inventory.
How had she found it?
Curious, he asked, "What’s that jar for?"
"Fermenting... pickles."
It wasn’t large—maybe held five or seven pounds of liquor at most.
Every pickling jar he’d ever seen was bigger.
"Need help carrying it?" He meant it as a simple kindness.
But the old woman clutched the jar tighter, as if afraid he’d snatch it away.
"No, no!"
Next, she hauled out two incense burners, a few inkstones, and a row of crude ceramic figurines.
The figurines were crudely made, their expressions almost malevolent.
He Lingchuan suspected the previous owner had stashed them in storage to avoid their eerie glares.
But the old woman adored them.
"These are perfect," she cackled.
"My son will love playing with them."
He Lingchuan nearly asked how old her son was to still be playing with such things when a loud crash came from outside—the cart had been knocked over.
The old woman yelped and rushed out.
Several items had tumbled to the ground, the jar rolling a few times before stopping.
A large patch of mud had flaked off the jar, revealing a grayish-yellow surface underneath.
Jars of that color weren’t common in Panlong City, were they?
The old woman fretted, picking up the jar and turning it over to check for damage.
Only after confirming it was intact did she exhale in relief.
Just then, footsteps approached, and someone greeted He Lingchuan.
"A-Luo?" He Lingchuan blinked in surprise.
"What’re you doing here?"
"Picking up medicine from the apothecary."
A-Luo jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
"Ordered it days ago, just arrived today. So this is your shop?"
"Yeah."
"Only cleaning it out now? Must be nice not needing the money."
The sooner it was leased, the sooner the rent would flow in.
As they talked, the old woman stood up.
Maybe she’d crouched too long—she swayed unsteadily, nearly toppling over.
A-Luo instinctively steadied her.
Once upright, the old woman gripped the cart handle and began pushing it away.
"Granny, that’s all you’re taking?" The cart held only a handful of items.
"Can’t carry much," she muttered pragmatically.
"Leave the rest for others."
A-Luo’s expression turned odd.
"Are you... alright?"
"Fine."
She tried to leave.
A-Luo suddenly pressed a hand on the cart.
"You know you’re pregnant, right?"
The words hit He Lingchuan like a thunderbolt.
Pregnant? This old woman?
The old woman froze, then snapped, "None of your business! Keep your nose out of it!"
Her anger was palpable—and she clearly knew.
Reluctantly, A-Luo released the cart, letting her push it away.
She vanished around the corner without a backward glance.
He Lingchuan scratched his head.
"Did you just say she’s pregnant?"
"Mm. Felt her pulse—just for a second."
"Could it be... a mistake?"
But A-Luo’s look made him backtrack.
"How far along?"
He’d noticed her slightly swollen belly earlier but assumed it was just age.
This was... unsettling.
"About four or five months."
He Lingchuan sucked in a breath.
No way to tell from looking.
A-Luo shook his head.
"Her pulse was strong but erratic. The fetuses are so active they risk miscarriage—luckily, they’re still vigorous."
"Fetuses?" He Lingchuan gaped.
"She’s carrying more than one?"
"At least two."
A-Luo scoffed.
"You think I’m some immortal who can tell exactly how many with one touch?"
A voice chimed in from the side: "You sure about that? Granny Ji’s pregnant?"
They turned to see the neighboring furrier and his wife gaping from their shop entrance.
"Sure as death," A-Luo grumbled, never one to tolerate doubt about his skills.
"Believe it or not."
The furrier quickly apologized.
"No offense meant, sir. It’s just... hard to imagine. This is bizarre."
His wife was blunter.
"Granny Ji found herself a man? Never would’ve guessed."
He Lingchuan brushed debris off the steps.
"Old tree sprouting new shoots—what’s the issue?"
The wife snorted.
"She’s not that old—only four years my senior. But she’s been a widow for years, went half-mad after losing her sons. Never thought she’d take up with someone again."
She looked under forty, meaning Granny Ji was barely past it—far younger than she appeared.
"Lost her sons?" He Lingchuan recalled the row of ceramic figurines.
"How many did she have?"
"Two boys. Both died in battle."
A-Luo’s gaze dropped.
He Lingchuan sighed silently.
Such was the fate of Panlong City’s brave sons—none knew when their time would come.
Except He Lingchuan.
Losing one child was agony.
Losing two? No wonder the old woman seemed unhinged, talking about taking toys home for her sons.
As for the pregnancy—strange as it was, it wasn’t anyone’s business.
The furrier lowered his voice.
"She used to be my neighbor. At night, you’d hear her wailing. Folks tolerated it at first, out of sympathy. But half a year of that? She got worse—started trying to snatch other people’s kids. Eventually, the neighborhood drove her out. Heard she moved to the outskirts."
A-Luo frowned.
"How long since you last saw her?"
"Uh..."
The couple exchanged glances.
"Three years, maybe?"
Three years to age like that?
With that, the street fell quiet again.
The furrier and his wife retreated into their shop, and A-Luo turned to He Lingchuan.
"I’m heading to the Martial Hall for duty. Coming?"
"Sure, let’s go."
He Lingchuan locked up, pushing the odd encounter from his mind.
Panlong City had three martial grounds, but the Martial Hall near the West Gate was the largest and busiest.
It was where warriors tested their skills—friendly sparring in name, but everyone knew only the strongest prevailed.
After months of relentless training, pushing himself three or four times harder than most, He Lingchuan was eager to gauge his progress.
The Martial Hall had once been a horse ranch on the city’s outskirts.
As Panlong expanded, it was swallowed by urban sprawl.
The space remained vast, now enclosed by high walls, with only a fifth visible to the public.
The hall’s signboard was massive, its three characters bold and sweeping, signed by none other than Zhong Sheng Guang.
The City Commander himself had penned it.
He Lingchuan had never seen a white sign with black lettering before.
It was... austere.
A-Luo led him inside, where guards checked their tokens before granting entry.
This place wasn’t open to the public—only enlisted soldiers of Panlong City could enter.
Inside, the scale of the grounds struck He Lingchuan anew.
The Martial Hall was divided north and south by a two-story building called the Du Tower.
The southern section, near the entrance, had five training fields for regular soldiers and guards.
The northern section was reserved for the elite Windrider Corps—those in the south could only gaze enviously through the fence.
The Du Tower served as a hub, offering rest, weapon maintenance, and medical aid.
A-Luo was here to relieve the current physician on duty.
He needed the coin.
Dozens already filled the southern fields.
While the edges were for solo practice, the central areas were cleared for sparring.
He Lingchuan spotted six pairs locked in combat, wielding wooden swords and blades dusted with red powder.
Hits left crimson marks.
If neither fighter was decisively downed, the match was decided by the number and placement of these marks.
Scanning the crowd, He Lingchuan spotted a familiar face:
Skinny.
The man was waving a fistful of betting slips beside one match, shouting himself hoarse.
But he barely stood out—the roar of the crowd was deafening.
Bam! One contestant was knocked cold by a shield bash.
Booing erupted.
Some stalked off in disgust, while others crowed at Skinny: "I won! Pay up!"
Debts here were never delayed.
Skinny twisted away, batting off grasping hands while hastily marking his slips.
"Hold on, hold on! One at a time!"
(End of Chapter)