Chapter Thirteen: The Secret of the Land of Death

Seeing the old man suddenly ask so many questions, Lin Yanghao was momentarily stunned. It took him a while to regain his composure, organize his thoughts, and answer truthfully, "Ah, Grandpa Feng, I do know this is the Land of Death, but I don't know why it's called that. Apart from the name, I know nothing else about it." As he spoke, memories of that terrifying night flashed through his mind, and even now the fear lingered; if given a second chance, he would never have entered. It was truly a fate worse than death.

“That’s understandable. Most people know little of the history of the Land of Death. Now tell me, what is your purpose for coming here?” the old man pressed further.

“Grandpa Feng, would you be willing to hear my story? After you listen, you’ll understand why I ended up in the Land of Death… As for why I survived, I have no idea.” Lin Yanghao then recounted his life from childhood, the endless bullying he suffered from Tian Ergou, the breaking point when he could bear it no longer and killed Tian Ergou (for which he casually invented a reason), his encounter with Old Lin and receiving the White Tiger Sect’s letter of recommendation, his subsequent escape, and finally his journey to the Land of Death. Of course, he kept his identity as a transmigrator a secret—such a thing could only lead to being dissected for research.

Grandpa Feng listened to Lin Yanghao’s tragic tale, and his demeanor softened considerably. His face was now gentle, tinged with apology as he said, “Yanghao, I asked you so many questions because Hanhan and I have our own burdens—things I can’t share with you. Please don’t blame this old man for being talkative.” As he spoke, Lin Yanghao noticed a deep weariness in Grandpa Feng’s expression, despite his usual optimism. Whatever had happened to make this elder so sorrowful, Lin Yanghao could not guess.

“No, not at all, Grandpa Feng. I completely understand. You and Shihan living here in the Land of Death must have your own difficulties, so there’s no need to explain anything to me.”

Lin Yanghao saw that Grandpa Feng seemed to be lost in unhappy memories, his face clouded with melancholy and age. Quickly, Lin Yanghao tried to change the subject, hoping to lift the old man’s spirits.

But Grandpa Feng remained trapped in painful recollections, and Lin Yanghao was at a loss for what to do.

As Lin Yanghao fretted helplessly, Feng Shihan came over and addressed Grandpa Feng, “Grandpa, look at you! You’re like this again. What’s wrong? I used to ask you all the time why you were like this, but you never told me.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing. I’ve told you, it’s just an old ailment. You don’t need to worry about it.” Then, turning back to me, he continued, “Since fate has brought us together, you don’t need to go to that White Tiger Sect. Stay here—I can teach you martial arts.”

“What?!” Lin Yanghao was utterly shocked. He never expected this unassuming old man to say such a thing. It was as if a herd of wild horses stampeded through his mind. Someone like him, a martial artist? Even if he was, what level could he possibly be? How could he compare to the great sects? Living in this place, surely he knew nothing of the outside world. Lin Yanghao was at a loss for words, constrained by his debt of gratitude.

“What are you surprised for? Hurry and accept! My grandfather is a true Martial Emperor, a name known throughout the entire Dragon Martial Continent. He’s far better than that White Tiger Sect you mentioned!” The goddess-like girl beside him seemed to perceive Lin Yanghao’s doubts. Her beautiful face flushed red, not from shyness but from anger, as she sternly rebuked him.

“Ah… Greetings, Master!” Lin Yanghao was dazed for a moment before he snapped to attention, quickly kneeling in respect. Once again, it felt as if a herd of wild horses raced through his mind. He was indignant: how could such a peerless Martial Emperor look like this, dressed so shabbily? Who would ever guess his true strength? It was like a millionaire seeing a beggar by the roadside, approaching to offer charity, only to discover the beggar is even wealthier than himself. That was exactly how Lin Yanghao felt.

“No, you don’t need to call me Master. I swore never to take another disciple. I will teach you martial arts, but not accept you as a disciple. Is that acceptable?” Feng Batian’s words were completely unexpected.

“Very well, Grandpa Feng. No matter what, I will still regard you as a master.”

“Hmm, I see you have many questions. If you want to ask, ask quickly!” Feng Batian could guess Lin Yanghao’s mind was full of doubts, so he prompted him.

“Grandpa Feng, could you tell me about the Land of Death and martial artists?”

In truth, these were not the questions Lin Yanghao most wanted answered. Being naturally curious, he was most interested in Feng Batian’s past, the reason they lived here, and why he no longer took disciples. But Lin Yanghao was not foolish enough to ask—he knew it would only earn him a scolding, so he asked more general questions instead.

“The origin of the Land of Death goes back more than a hundred years. At that time, it was no different from any other place in the Chaoyang Mountains. Everything changed because of the great war between two nations a century ago. That war was earth-shattering, and the death toll reached a terrifying five million. Unexpectedly, the battlefield—the very place we stand now—was a natural site that nurtures souls and gathers yin. The souls of the dead lingered here, unwilling to depart even after all this time. During the day, the yang energy is strong and the spirits dare not appear, but at night they roam, just as you saw.”

“So that’s how it is!” Lin Yanghao was thoroughly stunned. He had never imagined that the Land of Death was created by a great battle. And when Feng Batian mentioned five million dead, Lin Yanghao was shocked again. Such a number meant tens of millions, perhaps more, had participated. Back on Earth, the Battle of Red Cliffs in the Three Kingdoms era saw only tens of thousands killed, which was considered catastrophic. Compared to the great war that formed the Land of Death, it was insignificant.

Feng Batian paid no attention to Lin Yanghao’s astonishment—it was exactly as he expected. If Lin Yanghao hadn’t been shocked, Feng Batian would have been surprised instead. He himself had been quite taken aback when he first learned of it, all those years ago.