Unintended Immortality-Chapter 247: A New Year’s Eve Epidemic Eradication

The herbal prescriptions arrived first, even before Song You reached the city.

However, the pharmacies in Hansu had long been depleted. Only the wealthiest families still had leftover supplies, which they naturally used first to save their own.

A few days later, a small batch of medicinal herbs finally arrived, but it was merely a drop in the bucket.

Several more days passed before a complete treatment protocol was delivered from the county seat, accompanied by a few doctors dispatched from Pu Commandery. It wasn’t until ten days later that the first substantial batch of medicine arrived—barely enough to last a few days.

The reason it could last even that long was simply because the population of Hansu had already dwindled significantly. It was said that the news of Doctor Cai’s breakthrough had been urgently sent to the capital by Hezhou, requesting aid from Angzhou.

Gradually, those with milder symptoms began to recover.

At this point, some changes started to occur in the quarantine ward—

When there was a chance for a cure, naturally everyone hoped that they would be the first to receive it. If everyone could be cured, they still hoped to be treated first.

Some people claimed that the Daoist and the monk prioritized saving the wealthy and the influential in the city. Others argued that they avoided helping the rich and powerful altogether. There were even rumors that they could have helped more people each day but demanded bribes to do so.

When the monk asked the Daoist if he cared about these rumors, the Daoist responded with a question of his own. The monk smiled, and the Daoist smiled back—neither of them paid any mind to the gossip.

As the dawn drew closer, people's longing for the light only grew stronger.

It had always been this way.

Before they realized it, fifteen days had passed.

Though the quarantine ward in Hansu was still filled with many patients who had not yet recovered, the monk and the Daoist had done nearly all they could.

Master Yidu’s Mantra of Deliverance from Suffering was a simple Buddhist incantation, taught in most temples with a lineage of spiritual techniques. However, Master Yidu’s exceptional skill in using it made the effects extraordinary. With the help of Song You, Master Yidu’s mantra had reached almost every patient in the quarantine ward, regardless of whether their condition was mild or severe.

Those whose illnesses needed to be slowed had already had their symptoms delayed. In this regard, Master Yidu’s efforts had become less necessary.

The group no longer had any reason to linger in Hansu.

Yet, the patients in the quarantine ward still preferred to gather around Master Yidu, listening to his chanting and teachings. Despite his exhaustion, the monk remained endlessly patient, attending to the emotional needs of the people, and gently sharing lessons of Buddhist teachings, compassion, and the path of kindness.

Song You often stood off to the side, quietly observing.

Whether he was a pretend Daoist or a true Daoist, or even a deity of the Heavenly Court, there was nothing that could hinder this.

In Hansu, there was a monk; elsewhere, there were Daoists.

Who would thrive and who would fade in the future? It was impossible to say.

***

Early morning on the sixteenth day…

Swish!

A calico cat leapt down from a wall, paying no heed to the patients and passersby around her. She trotted nimbly through the crowd, quickly making her way back to the side of the Daoist.

The chubby monk was also sitting beside the Daoist.

“Ah, you’ve returned?”

“Yes,” she replied.

Song You tilted his head, looking at her. He reached out and gently patted her head, then glanced up at the sky.

Today’s weather was quite fitting for the occasion.

Before long, the meal rations arrived, distributed by a designated worker.

In the quarantine ward, those distributing meals and medicine were mostly former minor officials from the county office. The middle-aged man surnamed Jin was among them. Thanks to the care of Song You and the monk, he was still alive. 𐍂αNǑВËŜ

“Master, Daoist Master…”

When they reached Song You and Master Yidu, the two realized that today’s meal was different from usual.

Breakfast was typically thin porridge, but today it was much thicker, and they could see bits of minced meat in it. Each person also received a piece of white steamed bun. For the monk, who did not eat meat, the minor officials gave him two buns and a specially prepared vegetable-filled steamed bun.

The middle-aged man, Jin, glanced around and then pulled a piece of blood sausage and a few strips of dried meat from his sleeve, offering them to Song You. From the other sleeve, he pulled out a piece of dried persimmon and handed it to the monk.

“These were sent by my younger brother as a gesture of goodwill. Please, do accept them.”

“Thank you,” Song You said, accepting them without hesitation.

The monk initially intended to decline, but seeing the Daoist accept so readily, he begrudgingly took the offering as well.

Holding the two steamed buns and the vegetable bun, the monk looked left and right, then asked in confusion, “Why does today’s meal seem different?”

“Master, have you forgotten what day it is?”

“I’m afraid I have.”

“…”

Song You’s lips curved into a smile.

It seemed Hezhou’s hardships and the monk’s tireless efforts to help the people of Gui Commandery had made him forget the passing of time.

Song You gently reminded him, “Today is the thirtieth day of the twelfth lunar month, the fifth year of the Mingde Era. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

“Ah…” The monk was momentarily stunned, then a wave of emotion washed over him. “It’s already New Year’s Eve!”

“New Year’s Eve, a fitting time to banish the plague.”

“But the plague hasn’t been eradicated yet…” The monk’s brows furrowed with worry. He broke apart the bun in his hand, placing it down as he tried to offer it to the cat.

However, Lady Calico merely sniffed at it, gave the monk a glance, and decisively turned away. She trotted over to the Daoist and began nibbling on the dried meat in his hand. As she ate, she kept glancing back at the monk.

“When will you leave?” Song You asked.

“Today as well,” the monk replied.

“Then we shall travel together.”

“Haha.”

“Let’s eat up first.”

Song You divided the dried meat and blood sausage, giving a share to the swordsman.

The dried meat was nothing special—just ordinary jerky. The blood sausage, however, seemed to be a local specialty of Hansu, likely something only eaten during the New Year or special occasions. But being an outsider, Song You wasn’t particularly accustomed to the taste.

He quickly finished his meat porridge and then handed the blood sausage to some elderly patients in the quarantine ward. Returning to his room, he packed up his belongings and, together with the monk, prepared to leave.

The quarantine ward soon became lively with activity.

The Daoist and the monk had been staying in a small room in the middle of the ward. From there to the entrance was only a few dozen zhang, but along the way, a large crowd had gathered—patients as far as the eye could see, and the number kept growing.

Anyone who could still manage to walk lined the street, standing on either side to see them off.

“Sir, are you leaving?”

“Where will you go from here?”

“Thank you, sir and Master…”

“You must be a divine immortal, sir…”

“Master, you’re a true Bodhisattva…”

“Let me bow to express my gratitude to the Master and Sir,” one person called out.

“Your great kindness, Sir and Master—I fear I will never be able to repay it in this lifetime,” an elderly woman said tearfully.

The crowd’s voices rose in a chaotic chorus from both sides.

The monk and the Daoist responded in their own ways.

The monk was patient and took time to answer each person, explaining why he was leaving and where he was headed next, offering words of comfort. He bid farewell to each individual, bowing in return to those who saluted him.

When someone knelt to express their thanks, he quickly stepped forward to help them up, tireless and unfailingly kind. When people tried to offer their jewelry as gifts, he politely declined, instead giving away the vegetable bun he hadn’t eaten that morning to a young child who had only recently fallen ill.

The Daoist, on the other hand, was much quieter. He simply walked through the crowd, looking calmly at the people on either side, absorbing the moment with a thoughtful expression. This was an experience he seldom encountered.

The road wasn’t long. Even at a slow pace, it didn’t take long to reach the end.

“Amitabha. It’s cold outside; please don’t linger here for too long. I ask you all to return home now,” the monk said, turning to face the crowd at the entrance of the quarantine ward. He pressed his hands together and gave a deep bow.

He added, “I will take my leave first. May all of you find healing. May the Buddha bless you with a life free of illness and misfortune. There’s no need for further concern—under this vast sky, the hearts of those who do good are naturally united.”

“I will also take my leave,” the Daoist said, his words much more concise by comparison.

The two turned and left, one resolute and decisive, the other glancing back every few steps. Gradually, they disappeared from view.

***

Even on New Year’s Eve, the streets of Hansu remained quiet, with snow from the previous night still blanketing the ground.

The Daoist and the monk walked at a leisurely pace ahead, while the swordsman followed behind with the two horses. Lady Calico roamed freely, sometimes in front, sometimes behind, sniffing here and there with curiosity.

It was comforting to see that although most of the streets were covered in snow, there were a few doorsteps where the snow had been cleared away. Occasionally, as they walked through the alleys, they could hear the sound of someone shoveling snow.

The direction of Lady Calico’s head would reveal the source of the scraping sound, shhh-shhh-shhh, echoing through the silent ancient city after the snowfall. It gave the sensation of not only clearing the snow but also cleansing the ears, making everything feel exceptionally pure.

“From what I’ve heard, you've been cultivating on the mountain since childhood?” the monk asked.

“I was found by my master as a child.”

“No wonder your cultivation is so profound.”

“…” Song You did not deny it with modesty, but instead asked, “And when did you take the vows to become a monk?”

“I entered monastic life at the age of twenty-two,” the monk replied.

“Twenty-two?”

This answer took Song You by surprise.

Though the monk often appeared helpless against the Demonic Plague and frequently referred to his own cultivation as shallow and his power as weak, his cultivation level were far from low. In fact, many of the cultivators Song You had encountered couldn’t compare to him.

While one’s cultivation level mattered when dealing with ailments, it also depended on whether one was skilled in such matters.

“I was originally from a wealthy family,” the monk began. “In my youth, I was reckless and made many mistakes. It wasn’t until my master enlightened me that I realized my wrongdoings and chose to become a monk.” As he spoke, his expression remained calm, a gentle smile on his face. “So I took my vows later in life.”

“To recognize one’s mistakes and change is the greatest virtue,” Song You remarked.

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“That’s what I believe as well,” the monk replied serenely despite his exhaustion. “This life is what it is and cannot be changed. Therefore, I strive to do as much good as possible, hoping that in the next life, when I attain enlightenment, my body will be like pure crystal—inside and out, flawless, and radiant.”

“Where will you go next?” Song You asked.

“Hansu’s people are not only within the city; most still reside outside the city walls. Now that I’ve done all I can within the city, it’s time for me to head out,” the monk explained. He paused briefly before continuing, “Though the plague is less severe outside the city, I imagine that the villagers there will find it much harder to receive treatment. I plan to make my way there slowly.”

“I see…”

Song You nodded and continued walking. After a moment, he remarked, “Master’s Disaster-Relief Incantation is quite profound. You can only perform it once a day; using it more often might harm your core essence.”

The monk responded with a gentle smile, calm and composed, and replied using a Buddhist saying, “I once heard of a flower before the Buddha called the Udumbara. It takes a thousand years to sprout, a thousand years to bud, and a thousand years to bloom. In an instant, it withers—its brief blossom a fleeting moment of brilliance, yet it leaves a lasting impression on the world.”

“…” Song You listened but said nothing further.

Just then, a shout came from behind.

“Sir! Master!”

They all stopped and turned around, only to see the minor official, Jin Er, running towards them.