Unintended Immortality
Chapter 474: The Changing World

Chapter 474: The Changing World

“What brings you here in the rain, fellow Daoist?”

“A devout believer requested my presence in the city today to investigate some disturbances in their home. They were quite anxious, and I didn’t want to delay, so I braved the rain and came into town.” Wenpingzi explained. “Since your residence wasn’t far, and it’s been some time since we last met, I thought I’d pay you a visit. I hope you don’t mind my unannounced arrival.”

“For those who follow the Dao, it is only natural to go with the flow. There’s no need for such formality, fellow Daoist.” Song You lifted a teacup and gestured toward him. “The weather outside is cold—please, have a cup of hot tea to warm yourself.”

“Thank you.”

Wenpingzi accepted the tea with both hands and took a small sip. The tea was a deep, clear red with a rich, woody aroma.

“Excellent tea! Truly fine tea!”

“It’s Longtuan Gongcha. Back when I was in Changjing, an old acquaintance received it as a gift from His Majesty and shared some with me. They said it improves with age and is best after three to five years. I rarely drink it myself, but the remaining half-bunch I have should be at its peak flavor now.”

Song You lifted his own cup, first inhaling its scent before taking a delicate sip.

He had brewed this tea simply, without adding too many unnecessary ingredients. Some preferred to add dried plums to enhance the flavor, which was a fine choice, but he had used them sparingly, preserving as much of the original tea fragrance as possible.

The first time he pried open the Longtuan Gongcha for brewing, he had recognized its quality immediately. However, at that time, the aroma was still somewhat murky—faintly tainted with the warehouse-like scent of mold and dust, something that only the most discerning palate could detect.

But now, time had carried away all impurities, dispersing them into the wind. What remained was a clearer, purer fragrance—a complex yet refined woody aroma. It had indeed reached another level.

“Fellow Daoist, your brewing method is excellent as well.”

Wenpingzi took another sip and held the cup in his hand, feeling the warmth seep through the porcelain and into his cold fingers, a welcome comfort after walking through the rain. Yet his brows remained slightly furrowed with concern.

“Since the beginning of this year, lifeless objects have been awakening, emerging from the earth after gaining sentience. The number of demons and spirits appearing has increased dramatically. Just among those I know of and exorcised, there have been more than a few. This is not a good omen.”

“Indeed.”

Song You placed his cup down as well.

He had already guessed that Wenpingzi’s sudden visit must be to discuss this very matter.

“What do you think, fellow Daoist?”

Wenpingzi fixed his gaze on him.

“Throughout history, the world has never been static—it constantly rises and falls, shifting between order and chaos. In times of peace, demons and spirits lie dormant, but when an era of turmoil approaches, they emerge in increasing numbers. Every few centuries, the cycle repeats, unchanging. It almost seems as if they can sense the changes in the world more keenly than we can.”

Song You nodded. “This is indeed a bad omen.”

“So it truly is as I feared...”

Wenpingzi had suspected as much, but hearing confirmation from Song You still left him shaken. He murmured to himself in disbelief, “And yet... we are living in an era of unprecedented prosperity...”

“Indeed.”

“Now... now that ghosts are growing in number—if war breaks out, and the land is littered with corpses, won’t the world be overrun with ghosts?” Wenpingzi spoke with deep concern.

“I will be leaving Yangdu in a few days, setting out to resolve this matter as quickly as possible.” Song You’s expression remained calm, though he paused for a moment before continuing. “But before that, if any demons or malicious spirits cause harm, I must trouble cultivators like yourself to step in—to uphold order and purge the evils of this world.”

“That is my duty as a Daoist!”

“Teaching a man to fish is better than giving him fish. You are highly skilled, fellow Daoist, but constantly rushing from place to place will take a toll on your health. The method of summoning divine aid is not difficult to learn—if you could pass it on and spread its teachings, that would be even better.”

“If chaos is truly approaching, how could I selfishly keep such knowledge to myself?”

“Your noble character is admirable.”

Wenpingzi hesitated before asking, “Daoist Song, with your immense divine powers and magical abilities, can you prevent this era of turmoil?”

“...”

Song You was silent for a moment before finally responding, “I can only delay it, only try to make life better for the common people. But the fate of the world—such a grand cycle—is nearly impossible to stop.”

“Even you cannot?”

“No.”

Wenpingzi fell into silence, his face darkened with thought.

He sipped his tea again, then instinctively glanced around the room.

All he saw was the little girl squatting by the tea stove, carefully adding firewood, and the swallow still tucked under the eaves.

Finally, he spoke again, “Fellow Daoist, have you heard? The Emperor has finally named his heir.”

“Oh?”

Song You turned toward him.

So it had happened... It seemed that old emperor’s days were numbered.

“It was just at the beginning of this month, about ten days ago. A believer from Changjing came to offer incense at Tianxing Temple, and that’s how I heard about it. The news should spread more widely in the coming days.”

“Was the heir His majesty’s son with His majesty’s legitimate wife?”

Wenpingzi squinted slightly. “How did you know?”

“Just a guess.”

“Indeed, it is the young prince—Lin Shi.” Wenpingzi’s voice carried a note of intrigue. “I met the young prince before, back when I was in Changjing. He is the son of His majesty’s legitimate wife, his claim undeniable. Refined, scholarly, and well-mannered, he is widely supported by both civil and military officials, as well as the noble families. Why, then, would his succession bring chaos to the world?”

“I have not been in Changjing for a long time—I wouldn't know.”

Song You gently turned his teacup between his fingers, his gaze momentarily unfocused.

Although he did not possess the foresight of Grandmaster Tiansuan, for a fleeting moment, Song You felt as if he could glimpse the future.

If the Crown Prince did not die young, then it would be because the old emperor had delayed the matter for too long.

“Sigh, then I’ll have to trouble you, fellow Daoist.”

“And likewise, I’ll have to trouble you as well.”

The two Daoists merely exchanged bows in silent understanding.

The little girl remained crouched by the stove, fully absorbed in tending to the fire and boiling water.

***

The heavy rain continued for another three days before finally stopping.

Exactly three days.

Outside the ruined temple, the torrential downpour kept everyone away. Rumors spread that the roads had been washed out and that the Yangjiang River had risen dramatically, turning into a surging flood.

For three days, Huo Erniu did nothing but drink rainwater from the eaves to quench his thirst. He had no food, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to eat. There was no one to talk to, and he himself could not make a sound. With nothing else to do, he was left alone with the sound of rain.

The rain was noisy, yet it was all just rain—

There were no other sounds.

Since the day he was born, the world had never been this silent for so long.

No one spoke, and he could not even talk to himself. At first, he could still make some noise to break the monotony, but as hunger set in, his strength dwindled. Eventually, he curled up in a corner, entering the longest period of silence in his life.

And yet, in these silent days, Huo Erniu found himself thinking. He thought about all sorts of things, things he had never considered before.

Most of all, he thought about the different versions of himself—the Huo Erniu who took money to ward off disasters for others; the Huo Erniu who once spent a night in a graveyard for a mere hundred wen; the Huo Erniu whom people mocked for being simple-minded; the Huo Erniu who, just like now, sat at home with an empty stomach; the Huo Erniu who nearly froze to death one winter.

The Huo Erniu who, under the influence of wine, dreamt of becoming a great demon-slaying hero, got carried away by a story, and, in a rush of excitement, stole a divine artifact before running out of the city, thrilled beyond measure; the Huo Erniu who was treated with honor by county officials; the Huo Erniu who was warmly welcomed by villagers, who cheered for him and poured him endless drinks.

And now, the silent, starving Huo Erniu.

***

The weaker his body became, the more active his mind grew.

Drowsily, he drifted into sleep. Even in his dreams, Huo Erniu found himself thinking about many things.

It seemed that, gradually, he was beginning to understand why—despite obtaining a divine treasure, gaining fame, and reaping material rewards—he still felt uneasy. Yet, he couldn’t quite put it into words.

Perhaps because he wasn’t good with words.

Because this understanding hadn’t come from books, nor had he heard it from others. It was a realization that had arisen naturally at a certain moment—an insight that belonged solely to him. And only those who were eloquent and skilled at articulating their thoughts could express such things clearly and pass them on to others.

Huo Erniu did not have that ability. Nor did he have the mind to dwell on it.

After all, he was mute now and would remain so for a month. Even if he wanted to say something, he couldn’t. He didn’t know how to write either. Besides, his stomach was empty, gnawing at him with unbearable hunger. When he finally awoke from his sleep, three days had passed.

His most pressing concern now was to fill his belly.

The mantou he had brought with him had already gone stale and sour, but he still forced them down. As expected, his stomach handled them just fine. After resting for a moment and regaining some strength, he stepped out of the ruined temple that had nearly collapsed under the storm.

He looked around.

The world after the rain was impossibly fresh and clean. Clouds or mist lingered among the mountains and over the Yangjiang River below, adding a crisp clarity to the landscape.

The ground, however, had been softened by the water, and there were no footprints anywhere.

Huo Erniu took a step forward, sinking into the mud with each step.

As he had expected, the mountain road ahead was destroyed.

Landslides had washed away parts of the path. Fallen trees, broken and carried down by the flood, now blocked the way.

With great difficulty, Huo Erniu made his way down the mountain, intending to inform the villagers that the evil ghost had been vanquished. But just as he was about to speak—he remembered he could not.

Fortunately, the villagers were the first to ask him.

“Is the ghost gone?”

Huo Erniu nodded repeatedly. Hearing the voices of people again, he felt strangely moved.

“That’s wonderful!”

“Finally, it’s been dealt with!”

“Now we can live in peace again!”

“But Sir Huo was up in the mountains for days... That ghost must have been difficult to handle. He must have gone through so much trouble...”

“Sir Huo, why aren’t you speaking?”

“Eh?”

Huo Erniu could not answer them. He could not even laugh along with them.

With no energy spent on talking, his attention was freed to focus on something else—the joy and gratitude of the villagers.

And somehow, even after three days of hunger, that alone made him feel a little happier.

As expected, the villagers welcomed Huo Erniu with great enthusiasm.

They provided him with hot food and drink, laid out fine dishes and meat, and even heated water for him to bathe. The silver they had promised him earlier was handed over in full, not a single coin missing.

Yet, countless people asked him why he had suddenly stopped speaking. Each had their own theories, but he could neither confirm nor deny them. He couldn’t explain, nor did he know how to explain.

Some also noticed that his treasured bamboo staff was missing and curiously inquired about its whereabouts, speculating in all sorts of ways. He still could not answer—and in truth, was too ashamed to answer.

When he finally left the village, his hands felt empty.

Without the bamboo staff, he had lost his ability to exorcise demons and spirits. A sense of loss weighed on his heart.

He lifted his head and gazed at the mountains in silence for a long time.

Then, as if remembering something, he turned around and returned to the village.

Using gestures and rough sketches in the dirt, he borrowed a hoe and an axe from the villagers before heading back up the mountain.

The road needed to be repaired. Fine, then. He would fix it.

How hard could it be?

These past days, he had earned more than enough—whether it was money, food, wine, or fame, none of it was something that could be gained just by repairing ten roads. If he fixed just one, he could consider it as working for him.

A good deed, at the very least.

Would repairing a road even exhaust his strength? Could fixing a path possibly be harder than slaying ghosts?

Sir Huo was here to save the day...

With his stomach full and his energy restored, the rough-handed jianghu man climbed the mountain again.

His thoughts played endlessly in his head, keeping himself entertained in silence. Without speaking to anyone, he simply focused on clearing the obstacles, moving rocks, and repairing the path.

Meanwhile, down in the village, the townsfolk could only watch in bewilderment—

Speculating, puzzled, unable to make sense of it all.