Chapter 61: "Now That’s a Hammer Blow."
The canyon carved a savage wound through the mountainside, its sheer rock walls thrusting skyward as though split by a giant’s axe—reaching straight into the swirling thunderclouds above.
The rain intensified without warning.
Sheets of water hammered the cliffs, cloaking the world in ghostly mist.
Far overhead, on the thousand-foot precipices, a handful of black specks darted through the storm and fog—just a few hardy birds braving the gale, wings beating furiously against the wind.
And beneath those fleeting shadows—
Astonishingly, a few ancient pines clung to the nearly vertical cliffs on either side of the gorge, their twisted roots sunk deep into stone and soil where nothing else dared grow.
“There are actually still birds out here?”
Zhou Mo, riding near the front of the convoy, sounded genuinely surprised. For ages, they’d seen nothing alive—nothing but Ghostbeasts. The sight of these birds brought everyone a fleeting comfort, a reminder that they were not entirely alone in the desolate Wasteland.
“Before we entered the mountains, I saw quite a few trees up there. Maybe there are even wild boar. We could try hunting some game.”
“Keep the bones for soup in the Winter,” someone added. “That’d be a treat when the cold comes.”
“Sounds amazing,” another replied, wistful.
“...”
Chen Fan didn’t join in the idle conversation. He stood a little apart, brow furrowed, watching the rain drum against the ground and rise in swirling mist. Something about it unsettled him.
The Wasteland had its own strange way of dealing with floods.
Normally, with rain this heavy and relentless, flash floods should have been unavoidable.
But here, the ground was riddled with countless tiny cracks and fissures. The rain simply vanished into them, drawn away as if by an invisible hand—leaving the surface bone dry.
Yet here, things were different.
As soon as they entered the canyon, the ground changed. The cracks vanished, replaced by dense, tightly packed earth—nothing like the porous ground outside. Still, the rain disappeared the moment it touched down, dissolving into mist without a trace.
It simply vanished.
He’d watched for some time now. There was almost no standing water anywhere.
It didn’t add up.
Logically, the rain should collect and flow down the canyon, draining out to The Sea.
...
After trekking nearly a kilometer, they finally reached the hidden village nestled deep in the mountain.
The place was vast—much wider than the canyon itself. Only a short while remained before the Eternal Night would fall; less than the time it took to finish a cup of tea.
Already, a golden glow was rising, spreading outward like the shell of an egg, enveloping the entire village. Its protective reach was far broader than the radius of his own Level 4 Ghostfire Camp, shielding every abandoned house and crumbling wall within its embrace.
“...”
Chen Fan stood at the village’s edge, head tilted back as he studied the cliffs encircling them.
Steep didn’t begin to describe it.
Sparse, ancient pines and other hardy plants clung to the cliff faces, as if the whole settlement sat at the bottom of a dried-up well. Still... he couldn’t shake the sense that this place reminded him of something.
Then—
Zhou Mo’s voice cut through his reverie.
“Station Master, come take a look at this.”
Zhou Mo pulled a hammer from one of the convoy crates, strode over to a nearby earthen mound at the village’s edge, and—without warning—leapt up and brought the hammer down with all his might.
When he yanked it free, a deep, round pit yawned in the mound, soil scattered everywhere.
“Doesn’t this hammer pit look a lot like where we’re standing?”
“It does,” Chen Fan nodded. At last, he understood what this place resembled: as if a giant had swung an enormous hammer from above, smashing the mountainside and leaving behind a crater.
“Hey, you know, it really does look like that,” Wang Mazi chimed in, crouching by the mound in surprise. “See, the pit from the hammer is just like this valley. And that gouge from the handle—that’s the canyon itself. Straight as an arrow, no twists or turns.”
“Gotta admit, Level 2 Practitioners have some real strength,” someone muttered.
“Yeah, you cracked the ground all around with that swing.”
“Now that’s a hammer blow.”
The words hung in the air.
Suddenly, a chilling thought struck him. He looked up at the others, only to find everyone had gone silent, each lost in the same uneasy realization.
The Wasteland was laced with fissures.
Where had they come from? No one knew.
There was rain every year; the Rainy Season was simply a fact of life, and storms were hardly rare. Drought hadn’t caused the cracks. But from the moment they’d entered the canyon, all those fissures had vanished.
“No way,” Zhou Mo finally breathed, after a long, tense silence.
He drew a deep breath, steadying himself, then shook his head, voice resolute. “I’m a Level 2 Practitioner. I know exactly how much strength you gain with each level. If someone could really smash a pit into this mountain with a single blow—enough to fill the Wasteland with cracks—”
“They’d have to be what, a Level 100 Practitioner?”
“I don’t even know if there’s an end to the Practitioner’s path, but I’m sure there’s no such thing as Level 100. Even if Ghoststones were limitless, no human lifespan could reach that far.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Chen Fan said, breaking the uneasy silence. He stood in the rain, his voice quiet but sure. “And if it were true—wouldn’t that be something? At least it would mean there’s a bigger world out there, something more to discover.”
“Wang Mazi, didn’t you always dream of seeing the outside world? Maybe this place is just what you’ve been hoping for.”
“And besides...”
“This is all just speculation. If this really was a crater made by some mighty hammer, the ground here would be packed solid, wouldn’t it? The mountain itself would have been compressed into the earth—not soft enough for you to break open with a single blow.”
“True,” Zhou Mo replied, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish grin. The mood eased, tension melting away.
Behind him, Big Fish hesitated, then spoke up in a small, uncertain voice. “That mound you hit... it’s my father’s grave. When I built it, I mixed tree sap into the soil so it wouldn’t wash away in the rain. The earth around the grave is the same.”
“The ground’s really hard here. You’d never break it anywhere else.”
“Before I left, I gathered scraps of everyone’s clothes and built a grave for them too.”
“...”
“...”
Everyone froze, mortified. Zhou Mo was the first to react, dropping to his knees and knocking his forehead on the dirt three times, mumbling apologies as he hurriedly pushed the scattered soil back into place.
“Big Fish... I...”
“It’s alright,” Big Fish shook his head, surprisingly unruffled. “If my father could see me now, with a new family who treats me well, he’d be happy for me. He wouldn’t mind.”
“All right, enough of that,” Chen Fan called out, already heading deeper into the village. “It’s almost dark. Let’s get moving and set up a temporary Camp for the night.”
Crippled Monkey rushed to grab a crate from the wagon and hurried after him.
At the rear of the group, Wang Mazi clapped a still-stunned Zhou Mo on the shoulder, grinning as he teased, “Listen, I’m no saint—I’ve done plenty of rotten things in my life.”
“But even at my worst, I never smashed someone’s ancestral grave right in front of them.”
“Impressive.”
“Now that’s a hammer blow.”
Zhou Mo could only grimace, at a loss for words. He stared at Big Fish’s back as the boy got to work, feeling more awkward than ever. There hadn’t even been a marker—how was he supposed to know it was a grave?
...
Night fell.
Darkness swallowed the world as the Natural Ghostfire Zone’s light expanded, wrapping the entire village in its golden safety.
It was a sizable area.
In the center of the village, a few sturdy walls rose up, forming a makeshift fortress.
Within the silent ruins, only the soft patter of rain could be heard.
The storm had eased.
No longer wild and furious, the rain fell gentle and steady—peaceful, at last.