Unintended Immortality-Chapter 575: An Ancient Voice

The cave entrance wasn’t large, but the horse wasn’t tall—lowering its head, it just barely managed to squeeze inside.

Outside, the wind and snow were dark and heavy; inside, the cave was even dimmer.

“You’ve done well.”

Song You removed the pack from the horse’s back, then pulled out a small cloth mat. He touched it—it was icy cold—so he began to rub it hard with both hands until it warmed slightly. Only then did he place it in front of the calico cat. “The ground is cold. Come lie on the mat.”

The cat stared blankly at him, then lowered her head. After thinking for a moment, her expression still dull, she finally crawled up, took two steps forward, and lay down on the mat.

Then she turned her head to look at him again.

“...”

Seeing her like that, the Daoist simply smiled and went on with his work.

He took out wool blankets and mats one by one and laid them on the ground.

The swallow didn’t dare share a small mat with Lady Calico, but it could still burrow into the wool mats and blankets, which offered some protection from the cold.

Knowing there would be no firewood on the mountain, they had brought a bundle of wood on the horse. And since it was also difficult to use spells freely up here, Song You had come well prepared—he had fire-starting materials and tinder all ready.

Snap...

The sound of flint striking echoed in the cave.

Interestingly enough, after all these years, this was the first time Song You had ever used such a thing.

He had barely even seen it before coming down from the mountain.

He wasn’t very skilled, but he still managed to spark a flame.

A single spark ignited the tinder, and a red glow flickered to life in the dim cave. The Daoist cupped it carefully, then transferred it to the finer, drier wood shavings, blowing gently until finally, a flame rose.

The cat watched attentively, her expression serious, but still said nothing, showed no reaction at all.

It was as if she had truly turned back into an ordinary cat.

Whew...

At last, a campfire burned within the cave, casting its light across the surroundings.

The first thing the Daoist saw was the traces of many previous fires on the ground—not just one, but many, all overlapping after years of use. There were carvings and writings on the cave walls, and in the corners, some items left behind by earlier climbers.

The cave was irregular, its chamber winding, the walls uneven. Much of the firelight was blocked by the terrain, and the light barely reached the farthest parts.

Yet even so, it was faintly visible that there were bones in the cave.

The Daoist reached out and took hold of a corner of the mat the cat was lying on, dragging it closer to the fire. A soft rustling sound was made as it slid across the ground.

And during this whole process, the cat merely stretched her paws slightly to brace against the mat for balance, lowering her head to watch him pull at her bedding. Then she let herself be dragged forward, her body and head swaying gently with the movement and halt without making a single sound.

“Do you still remember who you are?”

“...?”

The cat looked up at him, tilting her head to one side.

“Then do you still remember who I am?” Song You asked while adding firewood to the flames.

“I’m not stupid.”

“Very good...”

Song You withdrew his gaze.

The cat, too, turned blankly to stare at the fire.

Bathed in firelight, the cave took on a subtle warmth—both visually and in reality.

Outside, the wind and snow still howled, but the cave entrance was small. With the dark red horse standing there, it blocked much of the wind, and the saddlebags placed at its feet provided further protection. In contrast to the storm outside, the interior of the cave felt especially peaceful and warm, a comforting refuge.

The cat and the mat beneath her quickly began to warm up.

The Daoist took out a piece of flatbread and placed it by the fire, setting the water pouch nearby as well. Then he reached into Lady Calico’s pouch and took out her dried mouse meat and dried fish, placing those by the fire too, letting them slowly heat up.

Normally, it was Lady Calico who prepared these things.

Today, he’d take care of her instead.

Then he went to the cave entrance and poked his head out, checking the wind and snow outside. The world was still a blur—wild winds stirring the snow, thick clouds flashing with strange lightning. The daylight had begun to dim, and judging by that, it must be nearing twilight and sunset behind the storm. Only then did he return to the fire.

But he didn’t eat right away, nor did he tend to Lady Calico just yet. Instead, using the fire’s bright glow, he began inspecting the drawings and writings carved on the cave walls.

The graffiti was varied—everything imaginable.

Some were well-drawn: just a few lines with charcoal or a sharp stone could outline the vast mountain and the small, lonely traveler walking upon it, or a divine figure gazing down upon the earth from atop the sacred peak.

Others were crude—indistinct sketches that gave no clear sense of what they were meant to show. Perhaps those travelers, unsure if they’d make it to the summit, had just wanted to leave behind a trace of their presence for those who came after.

The writings were just as diverse.

Even just judging by the scripts, there were clearly several different languages. Song You found some written in Great Yan’s characters, each in a different style—but many were in languages he couldn’t recognize at all, proving that those who came here weren’t just from Great Yan or the Western Regions, but included climbers from even farther lands, across a vast span of time.

The more Song You looked, the more deeply absorbed he became.

He even walked to the deepest part of the cave to examine the remains of those predecessors who now lay in eternal rest.

There were a total of seven corpses—six men and one woman.

Two of them bore the facial features and dress of Great Yan, though their clothing styles were different. Even if they were both from Great Yan, they likely came from different dynasties—one earlier, one later. One couldn’t help but wonder how it felt for the one who came later to encounter the remains of a fellow countryman here, knowing they too would die in this place.

The two were lying close together.

Perhaps the later one, realizing they were trapped by snowstorms, hunger, and altitude sickness, and would never make it out, had deliberately crawled over to the other Great Yan person before death, choosing to sit beside them in their final moments. Or perhaps they had died elsewhere, and when another traveler later came to seek shelter from the storm, they moved the body to the cave’s deepest, most hidden spot, and seeing the other Great Yan corpse, placed them together.

Either way, it was deeply poignant.

As for the remaining five, their clothing and appearances were all different. No one knew what brought each of them here. Most likely, they had all simply wanted to climb the mountain.

It wasn’t until the cat picked up her now-warm dried mouse meat, left the comfort of her blanket, and padded over to him—tugging at his pant leg with her paw to urge him to eat—that he finally snapped out of it. He realized he’d been standing there, staring, for quite some time. Lowering his head, he looked at the cat.

She held the dried mouse meat in her mouth and looked up at him, eyes sincere, full of that familiar, clear-eyed foolishness. Her paw was still gripping his pants.

It seemed she had forgotten that he didn’t eat mice.

Or perhaps she just didn’t feel like thinking about that anymore.

Song You had no choice but to gently refuse her offer. Then he picked up his now-warm flatbread from beside the fire, tossed another log into the flames, and pulled a stick from the edge to use as a torch. While eating his flatbread, he continued examining the walls.

Outside, night had already fallen, but the wind and snow raged on, thunder rumbling ceaselessly.

Boom...

Lightning streaked across the night sky, seeming to strike right at the cave’s entrance.

The Daoist held his flatbread in one hand and the stick of firewood in the other, using it to illuminate the carvings on the wall one by one, attempting to communicate—across who knows how many years—with those who had come before.

The cat lay on her mat beside the fire, earnestly gnawing her dried mouse meat. From time to time, she would glance at the Daoist, then at the swallow beside her, nudging fallen bits of meat toward it with her paw.

Rumble...

Thunder rolled again, deep and unending.

The lightning outside lit up the cave’s entrance for a brief instant.

Even the calico cat couldn’t help but flinch. She froze mid-bite, instantly turning her head to look outside.

But the flash was fleeting, and darkness returned outside once more. Only the sound of wind and snow remained.

Yet within the cave, a strange new sound suddenly emerged.

It was a human voice—a voice unfamiliar and speaking in an unintelligible language—accompanied by sharp, whimpering cries that made one’s scalp prickle. The eerie, abrupt sound echoed through the cave.

“...”

“Meow!?”

The calico cat immediately became alert, nearly bristling.

She had just whipped her head toward the outside, but now she snapped it back just as quickly, staring into the cave—in particular, at the corpses deep inside the cavern.

That sound was far too terrifying!

The Daoist, holding his torch, also froze for a moment.

Like her, his first instinct was to look toward the cave’s depths.

“...”

The obscure, unintelligible voices continued to echo.

They sounded like whispers, or perhaps a quiet conversation.

Yet the corpses lying deep within the cave—far from the reach of the firelight—remained completely still. And the eerie, garbled voices weren’t coming from their direction.

They were coming from within the cave itself—from the cave walls and from everywhere in the cave.

The voices echoed all around them.

There were whispers, murmurs, and conversations. At first, one or two voices. Then three or four. Then five or six. One strange language was joined by another, equally incomprehensible tongue. All of it mingled with the ghostly howling of the wind and the drum-like rumble of thunder.

Mixed in were gasps and shouts.

As if even the owners of the voices were frightened themselves, even more so than the startled, puffed-up calico cat.

The sounds grew more and more numerous, more chaotic.

Cries and shouts erupted frequently.

Often, after a scream or shout, a new voice would join in—indistinct, unclear—rising with the wailing wind and booming thunder.

The Daoist stood there, torch raised, gradually stunned. Because among the chaos, he began to hear voices he could understand.

“What’s that sound?”

“Who’s making that noise?”

“Ghosts?”

“What kind of demon or spirit is this? Show yourself!”

That was probably exactly what Lady Calico wanted to say right now.

And likely what those various other voices, speaking in different tongues, had once said too.

“...”

The Daoist’s furrowed brow gradually relaxed—he understood now.

Rumble...

Thunder continued to roar outside. The clear rumbling came from beyond the cave. The muffled, jumbled sounds echoed from within.

The voices grew more numerous, more chaotic.

Some expressed surprise, while some were lost in thought. Some tried to speak with the whispers, while some ignored them completely, continuing to converse with their companions.

Some chanted invocations to gods, hoping to warn off whatever demon or spirit was behind this—that they were not to be trifled with and weren’t afraid.

Some recited poetry with reverent passion.

Countless languages overlapped, carrying the voices of who knew how many people from around the world who had reached this place over the course of centuries. But amidst the noise, now and then, one could still pick out a phrase or two that was clearly understood.

“We are but wanderers through mountains and streams,

When have we cared for power or kings?

The universe lies before our eyes—

What more could joyless longing bring?

Will those who come after hear my voice,

As I gaze at azure seas by dawn, and dusk on southern peaks—

Reaching for the sun, beneath the endless skies.

I walk until the waters end,

And sit to watch the clouds arise.

I came with no trace, and leave no sign—

My going and coming, one fleeting line.

Why ask again of life’s drifting dreams,

When life itself is but a dream unseen?”

“...I fear I may die in this very place... I am Chen Huaqing of the Yin-Yang Mountain in Yizhou, a Daoist of the Yin Dynasty! I came here to climb and gaze far. I will ascend tomorrow. To those who hear my voice in the future—what year is it now, I wonder?”

“Hahaha...”

Song You found himself slightly agape, frozen in place, listening to these voices from the upper reaches of time’s river.

These were voices that had crossed the ages, now echoing in the present.

From ancient times to now, there had never been a shortage of mountain climbers.

This sacred mountain—this cave—had preserved the voices of all those who had come during storms and thunder, and now, in a storm of its own, it played them once again for those who came after. It marked their presence and left behind the openhearted spirit they carried when they stood upon this mountain.

Song You was filled with emotions too complex to express—waves of awe, reverence, and reflection surged within him.

He was moved by the openheartedness of those who came before him, astonished that he could now hear words spoken thousands of years ago, and filled with a deep sense of awe at how grand the mountains were, and how small humans were in comparison—how eternal the rivers and landscapes, and how brief a human life.

Who by the river first beheld the moon? And in what year did moonlight first touch man? Are any of those elders still in this world today?

Life passes, generation upon generation, without end— Yet year after year, the river moon looks ever the same.

To this sacred mountain, all those who came before—including himself now—were likely just fleeting passersby.

Did those predecessors, too, once feel the same emotions he now felt?

The Daoist stood quietly, saying nothing.

Yet in his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder—if he left behind a voice now, who would hear it many years from today?

Indeed, the sacred mountain was hospitable. With this rare autumn storm of wind, snow, and thunder, it had introduced him to so many who had come before, letting him hear voices that had crossed the river of time.