Unintended Immortality-Chapter 357: The Snake Immortal’s Aid

The Snake Immortal, having once been closely connected to Grandmaster Fuyang and cultivated for so many years, went straight to the heart of the issue. Yet, while Song You listened, he didn’t dwell too much on these points. Accepting the tea the Snake Immortal offered, he asked directly, “Then, in your opinion, what is the root of the problem?”

“The root of the problem?”

“Yes,” Song You said, holding the tea. “You forged ties with Grandmaster Fuyang during times of chaos, encountered many gods, and cultivated for years. You were even granted the title of Snake Immortal by the Great Yan imperial family, with people from the lower mountains coming to worship you. Your understanding of gods and your experiences far exceed mine.

“You are also one of the few elders of my sect left in the world. So I’d like to ask your perspective: Why does the Heavenly Palace frequently harbor gods who fail to act like gods, neglect their duties, and instead sow chaos in the mortal realm? In your view, what is the fundamental issue?”

The Snake Immortal glanced at him. “It seems you have some thoughts of your own.”

“Indeed,” Song You replied after a sip of tea. “Since coming down the mountain, I’ve encountered many incidents that make me feel the problems with the Heavenly Palace and its gods go beyond this. Without addressing these issues at their core, we will never fully rid ourselves of fallen gods.”

“What’s your take on it?”

“I think...” Song You paused and squinted slightly. “The path to godhood is a critical factor.”

“You’re bold,” the Snake Immortal remarked.

The sourc𝗲 of this content is frёeωebɳovel.com.

“The Heavenly Dao is indifferent—it can be discussed without reservation.”

“You’re bolder than your ancestors.”

“Perhaps,” Song You said with a faint smile.

But he believed it was because he had a different perspective. This allowed him to see the so-called “Heavenly Dao” more clearly than his predecessors might have.

The incense-fueled path to godhood represented the victors chosen by the Heavenly Dao from the chaotic ancient times. Faith and worship as a means of becoming a god was a pathway that had emerged in this world. Some believed that all the rules were set by the Heavenly Dao itself.

So when Song You criticized this path, it was, to the Snake Immortal, akin to questioning the Heavenly Dao—a bold move. After all, even ordinary people cursing the heavens feared retribution. How much more daring would it be for Hidden Dragon Temple, favored by the Heavenly Dao, to do so?

Yet, from Song You’s perspective, the Heavenly Dao was emotionless, devoid of feelings or anger. It didn’t function as an independent consciousness and did not stand in opposition to any living being. Rather, it was a framework, a system built upon the collective existence of countless beings in the world—a convergence of all unconscious wills, including that of the Snake Immortal and every person.

It would not feel anger from being cursed, nor joy from being praised. It likely didn’t even recognize emotions like anger or joy. To Song You, the Heavenly Dao didn’t react emotionally to a few critical words because it probably didn’t experience emotions at all.

Of course, this was just Song You’s conjecture.

In truth, everyone’s understanding of the Heavenly Dao was speculative.

Only a handful of Hidden Dragon Temple disciples, perhaps, had ever “encountered” or truly felt the presence of the Heavenly Dao.

“Faith creates gods, and incense molds their divine forms,” Song You said. “It’s indeed a clever system. Even the current Heavenly Palace is a vast improvement over the chaos of the ancient times. By tying divine power to the hearts of the people, gods can never exist independently of living beings. They are above the mortal realm but remain its dependents. It’s an intriguing arrangement.

“If this was indeed designed by the Heavenly Dao, it’s quite brilliant. But perhaps even the heavens didn’t account for one thing—the complexity of human nature. Sometimes, people’s thoughts are beyond their own control.”

He turned his gaze to the Snake Immortal. “Their thoughts might be controlled by others.”

The Snake Immortal’s brow furrowed slightly.

If Song You’s earlier words hinted at questioning the Heavenly Dao, this statement outright pointed a finger at the Celestial Emperor.

The will of the people and the focus of their faith came together to forge the divine power and form of a deity. It was a beautiful idea, but sometimes people's thoughts were all too easily influenced by others.

Take Duke of Thunder Fu, for instance. Daoist teachings extolled his greatness, righteousness, and unmatched authority as the commander of the Thunder Division’s legitimate gods, and the common folk believed it without question.

Take, for example, the Celestial Emperor, Great Emperor Chijin. He wasn’t entirely without virtue or ability—after all, someone truly lacking in both couldn’t have produced a figure like the Great Yan's founding emperor. That emperor, valued by the Daoist Master Fuyang, united the world’s heroes with his charisma and became undefeated in battle across the land. However, to claim Great Emperor Chijin possessed extraordinary virtue or remarkable capabilities was questionable.

What truly happened was that the Lin family of Great Yan seized control of the realm. During a period of upheaval and power struggles, the former Celestial Emperor lost influence. After the chaos subsided, the world stood in need of renewal. The Lin dynasty's court capitalized on this momentum, creating the figure of Great Emperor Chijin.

They proclaimed that he had endured countless tribulations and possessed immense power, making him the rightful ruler of the Heavenly Palace. In no time, the people across the land came to genuinely believe it, without the shadow of a doubt.

Gods who owed their status not to virtue but to imperial decree nonetheless held significant power in the Heavenly Palace. Over time, such figures inevitably became a source of trouble.

If these words were overheard by the gods of the Heavenly Palace, those of genuine virtue might pretend they hadn’t heard them. But if someone like Duke of Thunder Fu caught wind and relayed it to Great Emperor Chijin, it could spell serious trouble.

The Snake Immortal, however, merely appeared thoughtful, his expression growing a shade heavier.

“The gods you mentioned, those who achieve divinity without virtue or good deeds, are indeed the majority among disruptive deities,” the Snake Immortal said thoughtfully. “But in my experience, that’s not the whole picture.”

“Oh?”

“Gods are born from humans, and just as human hearts are prone to change, so too are gods. Many treacherous officials in the mortal realm were once idealistic, fearless heroes in their youth. Gods live far longer, and for those who achieved godhood at a young age due to an early death, it’s not surprising that their hearts might change over time.

“On the other hand, gods who maintain their virtue from youth to old age and beyond are far less likely to lose their original intentions—but even then, it’s only less likely, not impossible,” the Snake Immortal said. “In the past, we’ve dealt with such gods. When you read about their heroic deeds and virtuous acts during their mortal lives, and then see what they’ve become now, it’s hard not to feel a sense of lament.”

Indeed—

The Snake Immortal before him had witnessed the degeneration of many gods in the previous Heavenly Palace. Back in the day, he had followed Grandmaster Fuyang and participated in countless battles against corrupted gods who had descended to the mortal realm. He had also personally witnessed the transition between two eras of the Heavenly Palace. The former Celestial Emperor had been overthrown, both by the shifting tides of the mortal world and by the actions of Hidden Dragon Temple.

“You make an excellent point, Senior,” Song You said, nodding as he fell into thought.

But in the grand scheme, this wasn’t the most pressing issue.

The transformation of gods was a natural and inevitable occurrence—one the Heavenly Dao had likely accounted for long ago.

That was why, when the world underwent significant changes, the Heavenly Dao did not sever all ties to the legacies of ancient mortal cultivators. Instead, it allowed some to persist, with Hidden Dragon Temple receiving its special favor.

The incense-based path to godhood tied gods to mortal devotion. If a god lost virtue and ceased to serve the people with sincerity, they were still dependent on mortal faith. Such gods were often forced to resort to shady or corrupt methods to draw in incense and devotion.

However, this world did not allow gods to act with impunity. Above them, the Heavenly Palace and other virtuous gods oversaw their actions. Below, mortal cultivators and imperial authorities, whose legacies traced back to ancient times, also monitored them.

This way, on one hand, many deities who might wish to cause trouble or mislead people's hearts would be deterred. On the other hand, even if a deity chose to create chaos, they wouldn't dare escalate it too far, as they would be restrained and face the risk of being eradicated.

Song You held his warm tea, continuing his in-depth conversation with the Snake Immortal.

The two quickly grew engrossed in their discussion. Thanks to the connection between the Snake Immortal and Song You’s sect’s ancestors, this unspoken bond allowed their relationship to become familiar in no time.

Meanwhile, the calico cat lay nearby, pulling a small fish from the bucket. It gnawed on it contentedly, occasionally glancing at the two before returning to its snack.

Song You remained calm throughout, having already anticipated this level of interaction. The Snake Immortal, however, became increasingly animated.

For a fleeting moment, as he spoke with this young man, he seemed to glimpse another youth from a bygone era—one who had roamed the world, furrowing his brow at its chaos, hesitating before finally resolving to take up the legacy of ancient mortal cultivators, to challenge the gods on behalf of humanity, and to forge a new heavenly order.

The vision left the Snake Immortal momentarily dazed.

Those years felt so distant now.

But this young man before him appeared to be grappling with ideas even more ambitious.

And far more daunting.

“Earlier, I mentioned that your actions in the North aren’t insignificant compared to your ancestors. Now it seems your aspirations are even greater than theirs,” the Snake Immortal remarked with a shake of his head. “But if you want to restrain the gods and reform the path to godhood, how do you plan to do it?”

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” Song You admitted with a furrowed brow. For someone naturally inclined toward laziness, this was a particularly challenging issue. “The time isn’t right either.”

“Such grand designs require taking advantage of the times.”

“Borrowing momentum certainly makes things simpler.”

“But we live in an era of peace. Who could single-handedly oppose the entire Heavenly Palace in times like these? Even the greatest powers of the ancient world couldn’t achieve that. Besides, this isn’t something that can be accomplished overnight. It requires careful thought, extensive preparation, and an immense amount of time,” the Snake Immortal said.

“Exactly,” Song You replied.

“Why not start with Fengzhou to the south?” the Snake Immortal said with a slight smile. “The Ghost City has been established for several years now, and the underworld is taking shape. A million souls have gathered there—who knows who will become its ruler?”

“Indeed...”

Song You returned the smile.

Moments ago, they were discussing the dangers of gods ascending without virtue, and now a new underworld was forming. Who would its ruler be? Another “Great Emperor Chijin” or “Duke of Thunder Fu?”

“Coincidentally, I’ll be heading south after spring. Regardless, I’ll definitely stop by Fengzhou’s Ghost City,” Song You said, but then hesitated. “Though, for some reason, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s amiss.”

“What seems off?”

“I’m not sure how to explain it. Many little details make me suspicious. I’ll need to see it for myself to understand.”

“Seeing it firsthand is indeed best.”

“By the way—”

Song You turned the conversation back to its starting point. “I’ve heard that Doctor Cai’s Medical Canon contains a lifetime of Doctor Cai’s medical knowledge and insights into the nature of diseases. If it were widely circulated, it wouldn’t just benefit the people of this era but countless generations to come.

“Doctor Cai has already attempted to write it four times, which shows his determination. I can’t bear to see his efforts end in failure. I wonder, Senior...”

“What is it you’d like me to do?”

“Though the gods of the Heavenly Palace may be bold, they wouldn’t dare act brazenly here in your domain. Doctor Cai is elderly and may not have many years left. I’d like to ask your permission to let him finish the second half of his book in your hut,” Song You said, cupping his hands respectfully. He paused before continuing, “Once it’s completed, I will personally ensure it is disseminated widely.”

“Four attempts at writing it...” The Snake Immortal murmured, shaking his head in awe even as he poured tea from the clay pot.

A legendary physician writing a book four times only for it to be destroyed four times—it was truly remarkable. Whether Doctor Cai’s Medical Canon was eventually lost or preserved, the tale of his four attempts would be passed down as a story of legend. The ending, however, determined whether it was a tale of wonder or one of regret.

“I’ve only met Doctor Cai a few times,” the Snake Immortal continued, “but I was moved by his skill and character. That’s why I chose to shelter him. The last time he approached me about entrusting the manuscript, I saw his sincerity and agreed. Now that you, his junior, have come to me with this request, how could I refuse?

“Otherwise, my old friends’ spirits might scold me for being stingy. It’s a good cause, after all—let him write the book in my fishing hut.”

The Snake Immortal paused briefly.

“I don’t come here often, but this is still my domain. Ordinary yin gods and minor gods wouldn’t dare cause trouble here, and even gods of renown wouldn’t risk coming.”

His tone brimmed with confidence.

“Thank you, Senior,” Song You said sincerely, bowing in gratitude.