Unintended Immortality-Chapter 584: Time

“With just a single bolt of lightning, that arrogant, domineering demon was instantly struck down and left paralyzed! If you ask me, no one compares to the immortals of Great Yan! As the saying goes, ‘in the North, evil spirits have always run wild, but a single thought from an immortal subdues the demons!’“

On stage, Old Old Mr. Zhang’s voice rang out clear and forceful, full of passion. It painted vivid images in the hearts of the audience, echoing the flair of the storyteller from years past.

After delivering the final line, he immediately paused and gave a respectful bow to the listeners below, “Ladies and gentlemen, that’s all for today. My throat is dry from all the talking. If you’ve enjoyed it, come back tomorrow and we’ll continue.”

He then raised his teacup and took a long drink to moisten his throat. But the audience didn’t disperse. Instead, they grew more relaxed and lively, murmuring among themselves, chatting with familiar faces, discussing the story’s events, current affairs, and strange happenings from nearby regions.

This scene hadn’t changed much from the past.

After the storyteller finished, the crowd didn’t rush off. The pavilion naturally became a gathering place for common folk who enjoyed tales and sought a bit of leisure. In fact, it seemed even more lively than before. Some folks whispered about court politics, others gossiped about major news from Changjing.

Meanwhile, Song You remained seated, quietly listening.

His journey in the Western Regions had taken over three years. Though the West was technically part of Great Yan and had a steady stream of merchants, it was far and remote. Central authority was weaker, and after passing through the West, Xingzhou was nothing but endless grasslands and deserts, and it was sparsely populated and home mostly to nomads. During those three years, Song You had heard little of the court’s political or societal shifts.

Take for instance the rebellion of King Wenhan in the western territories.

True, King Wenhan was merely a tribal leader from the highlands of western Yizhou, a vassal of the Great Yan court that was not very powerful. In such remote regions, there were several kings like him, enfeoffed to rule alongside officials appointed by the imperial court. But for a local king to openly rebel, had Song You not been in the Western Regions, he would surely have caught wind of it sooner.

He had only heard that Yu Jianbai was still prime minister, and that the Emperor had appointed a new State Preceptor, following the example of the late Emperor. Now, sitting here, he could finally catch snippets of current events and piece together some understanding of the current situation.

Taxes had increased, and the common people were suffering.

The Emperor was obsessed with massive construction projects, such as building imperial palaces and stargazing platforms, and demanded rare timber from King Wenhan’s domain. The pressure was intense, and King Wenhan suspected the Emperor had long harbored fears about him and was simply using the projects as an excuse to bring him down.

Emboldened by Yizhou’s booming economy and new strength, and further encouraged by support from the Snowy Plains, he lost his mind and killed the imperial envoy outright.

There were likely even more details to it all. Tales of monsters and ghosts were on the rise, so much so that people increasingly loved telling stories about the supernatural, and were ever more devoted to burning incense and praying to gods.

Even Chen Ziyi’s family in Changjing had repeatedly submitted petitions, requesting to return to their ancestral home in Zhuyu County, Angzhou. Rumor had it that life in the capital was harsh for them, and that they were being snubbed and neglected.

The Emperor refused their request, and word spread that he feared the Chen family’s influence and prestige back in Angzhou, and didn’t want them leaving the capital so easily.

Lady Calico sat upright, holding her teacup with both hands, just as properly and primly as one should, but she didn’t take a single sip. Her expression was solemn as she listened intently to the buzzing conversations filling the storytelling pavilion.

When she heard the guests discussing the tale just told on stage, she would turn her head to glance at the Daoist beside her.

Song You would nod at her.

When she heard the guests talking about Chen Ziyi, she would again turn to him, her eyes silently conveying something.

Though the Daoist didn’t look at her, he still gave her a small nod.

At that moment, the old master on stage finished his tea. He smacked his lips twice, and finally spoke while glancing toward a few guests seated in the front row, “You gentlemen just mentioned the descendants of the Imperial Guardian Duke from Changjing, I’ve indeed heard some news about him.”

“Oh?” The crowd instantly perked up, all eyes turning toward the old storyteller. “Is there some new information?”

Even the Daoist sitting in the back, and Lady Calico beside him, immediately looked toward the front upon hearing that. Clearly, even in her heart, that general was considered an “old friend.”

“There is indeed new information,” the old man confirmed.

“Don’t keep us in suspense, tell us! We know your throat’s dry, good sir. Here, consider this an extra bit of tea money!”

A few copper coins were tossed onto the stage, clattering as they rolled and bounced.

“Many thanks, many thanks,” the old man quickly expressed his gratitude.

He bent down to collect the coins, then straightened up and continued, “It’s said that a cousin of the Imperial Guardian Duke from the North sent a personally written letter. The letter reached the court, and though no one knows exactly what it said, the Emperor finally relented and agreed to let the Duke’s descendants leave Changjing. However, they weren’t allowed to return to their ancestral home in Angzhou.”

“They weren’t sent back to Angzhou? Then where? Up north?”

“Everyone’s heard the rumors about why the Duke’s family wasn’t permitted to leave the capital. Whether those rumors are true or not, this old man dares not say,” Old Mr. Zhang said, pausing briefly before continuing, “But this time, it’s said that the new State Preceptor was the one who spoke out. He claimed the northern part of Angzhou is currently unstable, and not suitable for the Duke’s descendants to live in, so they were to be relocated elsewhere.”

At this, a murmur of outrage rippled through the crowd.

“If the northern part of Angzhou is unstable, if the Chen family is dissatisfied with the court, doesn’t the court know why? If the Duke’s descendants were allowed to return to Zhuyu, wouldn’t the unrest settle itself?”

“The Duke was born in Zhuyu County, that’s his ancestral land! He died defending the country. What reason is there to bar his descendants from going home?”

“Damn that wicked priest!”

To forbid someone from returning to their homeland, this was no small matter.

Perhaps people dared not speak ill of the Emperor, but a cultivator like the State Preceptor? They had no qualms about cursing him outright.

It seemed the new State Preceptor’s reputation among the common folk was far worse than his master’s.

“Do we know where they’ve been sent, then?”

“I’ve heard the State Preceptor wanted to send them to Yaozhou. But the Prime Minister opposed it, saying Yaozhou was a place of miasma and illness, and relocating them there would stir discontent among the northern troops. So in the end, they were sent to Ke Commandery in Yuzhou.”

“Yuzhou?” That left the crowd stunned, and everyone’s brows furrowed immediately.

Song You, too, was caught off guard. He remained silent for a long moment.

“What kind of place is Yuzhou, anyway? It’s not exactly remote or destitute, but it’s not what you’d call prosperous either.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than Yaozhou...”

“How infuriating!”

“This world... it's just not like it used to be...”

The crowd was in an uproar, the pavilion filled with clamor and heated discussion.

Song You still sat quietly, saying nothing.

Yuzhou, Ke Commandery...

Fuyao County...

He had been to those places.

In that moment, the mountains and rivers of that region, the small city haunted by demons, the strange fox that came drifting in on the wind, and the fox’s prophecy, all of it came flooding back to him.

Time passed. Gradually, the listeners began to disperse.

Seeing that someone still remained in the pavilion, a Daoist with a strikingly beautiful young girl by his side, whose looks hardly seemed mortal, Old Mr. Zhang, who had been about to leave, paused. After a brief moment of thought, he respectfully walked over.

“Sir, may I ask why you’ve yet to leave?”

Song You rose as well, returning the greeting courteously. “I hoped to speak a few more words with you, sir.”

“Oh?” Old Mr. Zhang studied his tone, then looked at him a second time. “You seem unfamiliar. Do we know each other? Or... have you perhaps been here before?”

“I have been here before, yes, but it was many years ago,” Song You replied truthfully. “Back then, there was another Old Mr. Zhang on this stage. He told stories just as well as you do. Might I ask... is he still around?”

“And how many years ago was this, if I may ask?”

“Twelve, maybe thirteen.”

“Twelve or thirteen years!”

Old Mr. Zhang was momentarily stunned. He glanced at Song You again, then quickly lowered his head, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

This man’s appearance clearly didn’t match anyone he recognized.

But at first, he'd assumed the man might be one of those spirits, demons, or local deities who had once come to listen to his father’s tales years ago. After all, storytellers often found themselves tangled in the very legends they told.

Back when his father was at his peak and Yidu was flourishing, countless such beings, such as spirits, demons, minor gods, had taken human form to sit and listen to tales of myth and mystery. After his father retired and the stage was passed to him, especially in the early years, many still came in search of the former Old Mr. Zhang. Some of them, he was quite certain, were not human.

He had grown used to this, and so didn’t lose composure. He simply bowed respectfully, just as it gave him a reason to avert his eyes from the Daoist, and replied, “To answer your question, sir, that was my father. He grew too old to continue, and retired from the stage twelve years ago. I took his place.”

“May I ask... is your father still living?”

“He passed away eight years ago.”

“Eight years...” Song You murmured softly with a sigh in his heart.

“Did you know my father personally, sir?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say we were acquaintances, exactly,” Song You replied. “But I once lived in Yidu, and when I was idle, I often came here to listen to stories. Your father was a wonderful storyteller, and I came almost every day. Before I left, I even asked him for advice about the strange and supernatural things of the world.”

He smiled faintly. “Now that I’ve returned, I simply wished to visit once more and offer my thanks.”

“...”

The current Old Mr. Zhang furrowed his brows slightly.

Now that he thought about it, he did vaguely recall that his father had once said about a Daoist who’d lived in Yidu for half a year, and came to listen to his stories every single day. His father had said the Daoist was no ordinary man.

Thirteen years had passed, yet this man’s face hadn’t aged a day. While he himself had nearly grown as old as his father was back then.

“May I ask... are you human or... divine?”

“I’m a man, one who cultivates the Dao.”

“Then... why go out of your way to offer thanks?”

“You may not know this, Mr. Zhang,” the Daoist said patiently, “but when I first descended from the mountain, I understood little about the world. I simply wished to travel, to visit its great rivers and mountains, and to seek out places of the strange and divine. Much of what I know, I first learned from your father’s stories. In the thirteen years since, I’ve sought out most of those places myself. I’ve gained a great deal from them, and so, I came back to offer my gratitude.”

“...”

Old Mr. Zhang stared at him in stunned silence.

He had long stopped being surprised by whether his listeners were spirits, ghosts, mountain gods, or river sprites; it had simply become part of life for a storyteller in this city.

But this was something else entirely.

“You’ve visited all those wondrous places he spoke of?”

“All except Yunzhou.”

“Then... may I... may I ask you a few questions?”

“Ask anything, just as in the old days.”

“Then, tell me, sir, does a phoenix truly dwell north of Yuezhou?”

“The divine bird roosts there at the winter and summer solstices.”

“And on Yunding Mountain, are there immortals?”

“There once were.”

“In the Western Regions, does the Terraflame Village exist?”

“The flames there never die, even in winter.”

“And the deep mountains of Pingzhou?”

Long ago, on a cold winter night, a young Daoist and an old storyteller had stood here talking.

Now, it was still the same young Daoist, but it was now a new old storyteller. Similarly, they stood here talking. Only now, the roles of teacher and student had switched. Their respect for each other, however, had not.