Unintended Immortality-Chapter 326: Returning to the Capital in Winter

This time, there was no need to traverse all of Hezhou again, nor even to pass through the entirety of the region. They merely cut through a small corner of Hezhou, taking a shortcut into Angzhou.

From there, they followed the familiar path back toward Changjing.

On the last day of autumn, the group arrived once more at the Yuqu River and the plank road along the cliffs.

The last time they had passed this way was in the early spring of the fifth year of the Mingde era.

Now, it was late autumn in the seventh year of Mingde.

Nearly three years had passed, missing by just one season.

During their previous journey, the river was full of spring water, and the light spring rain fell like fine silk, covering the water’s surface with delicate ripples. This time, the autumn waters were tranquil and jade-green, reflecting the blue sky and white clouds. The river ran alongside a nearly vertical cliff face, where humans had carved out a plank road.

The Daoist walked ahead, leaning on his staff. The jujube-red horse followed behind, while the calico cat darted freely, sometimes running ahead, sometimes lagging behind. The swallow skimmed along the river’s surface, its wingtips grazing the water and leaving a fine trail across the emerald expanse like a ribbon being gently parted.

Suddenly, the crisp sound of clank clank clank echoed through the air.

The Daoist listened as he walked forward, looking ahead.

The sound was clearly not from horse bells but resembled the clear, rhythmic chisel strikes on stone. The sound was melodious, reverberating across the river between the two mountains.

The swallow flew ahead to investigate but returned without a word.

The sound grew clearer as the Daoist approached.

When he arrived, he saw workers carving stone caves and inscriptions into the inner wall of the cliff along the plank road.

The clanking of chisels striking stone continued uninterrupted, filling the entire river valley with its resonance.

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There were many laborers and craftsmen on the plank road. Some were chiseling the cliff face, others were clearing away loose stone, and still others were cooking meals in makeshift kitchens. Overseers watched over the work. When they noticed a man with a jujube-red horse and a calico cat walking along the plank road, they turned their curious gazes toward him.

Faces looked up at him from every direction—some standing on the plank road itself, others on wooden scaffolds, some tossing stones into the river, and others holding chisels and hammers mid-carve—all turning to observe the stranger.

The Daoist kept walking steadily, leaning on his staff, meeting their gazes one by one as he passed.

At the same time, his gaze swept across the numerous newly carved grottoes and statues along the path.

Some statues were only as tall as a person, while others reached several zhang high, requiring craftsmen to work from wooden scaffolds.

The grottoes varied greatly in size. The smallest were no bigger than a basin, while the largest spanned one or two zhang in height and reached depths of seven or eight chi, resembling small rooms.

The grottoes reflected Buddhist culture, with carvings primarily featuring Buddhist imagery.

Various depictions of Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, Arhats, and Dharma protectors adorned the cliffs. Some were seated, others standing; some large, others small. Each figure was vivid and lifelike, appearing almost animated as they lined the riverside cliff along the plank road.

In this era, divine statues were neither deliberately imposing nor excessively gentle. They didn’t aim to project an overwhelming sense of sanctity or proclaim the boundless power of deities. Instead, they mirrored the contemporary people of the time, reflecting the image of divinities as envisioned by society—closely resembling humans in their form and demeanor.

This indicated a peaceful and balanced mindset among the people of Great Yan, along with a healthy sense of aesthetics. They viewed themselves as the best possible representation of their time, with no need to embellish their ideals through divine figures. This attitude demonstrated a rare and profound cultural confidence.

Centuries later, these carvings would come to represent the stone-carving culture of Great Yan, capturing its societal aesthetics and worldview.

Among the carvings, some were not depictions of Buddhas but of people.

These were images of those who had commissioned and funded the construction of the grottoes and statues.

The Daoist walked slowly through the scene, coming face-to-face with these creations.

Long ago, he had encountered similar large-scale grottoes and statues, but back then, he had viewed them from the perspective of a person from a distant future.

At that time, the grottoes and statues he had seen were already marked by the passage of countless years. The grottoes were merely grottoes, the statues merely statues, often surrounded by various rectangular holes of unclear purpose. Visitors walking beneath them in those days could only wonder what those holes were for.

But now, it was clear—

At this moment in history, the grottoes and statues all had doors, beams, and roofs.

The rectangular holes seen in later times had once housed beams and pillars, supporting intricately designed roofs. These roofs were exquisitely crafted, adorned with carved beams and painted rafters. The grottoes didn’t resemble bare stone carvings but instead appeared as temples embedded in the mountainside. It was a stark contrast to how they would look in the future.

Craftsmen were currently installing doors for the grottoes.

Others were laying tiles on the rooftops.

The Daoist occasionally slowed his pace, leaning in to peer inside.

“Hey, hey...” Finally, an official dressed in formal robes called out to him, “Sir, why are you walking through here?”

“Hmm?” Song You turned to him. “Isn’t this the plank road leading to Changjing?”

“This plank road has long been sealed off. The new official road is on the other side of the river. This area is now under an imperial decree to carve grottoes and statues. There should have been someone guarding the entrance. How did you manage to walk through?”

“So that’s the case. I wondered why I didn’t encounter a single person along the way,” Song You replied with a smile. Bowing slightly, he explained, “I had no intention of trespassing. When I left Changjing, I used this plank road, and now I’m simply retracing my steps. Along the way, I didn’t encounter anyone blocking the path.”

“Those lazy yamen guards must be shirking their duties again!”

The official cursed under his breath before turning his gaze back to Song You, frowning slightly.

“Well, it doesn't matter. Since you’ve already come this far unintentionally, asking you to go back and take the long detour wouldn’t be reasonable. I won’t make things difficult for you,” the official said, waving his hand.

People in Great Yan generally respected monks and Daoists, and this Daoist in particular seemed quite extraordinary. “Just be careful not to wander around too much. You might accidentally damage something. Follow this path out, and it’ll be fine.”

“Thank you for your understanding.”

“Would you like some water or food? We just steamed some vegetable dumplings. Would you like to take a couple with you?”

“That would be most appreciated.” Song You accepted the offer without excessive formality.

The official chuckled and went to fetch the food.

As Song You followed him, he struck up a conversation.

The official explained that ever since the assassination attempt some time ago, the Emperor’s health had been ailing. Those below him knew little of his exact condition, but vague rumors often circulated in Changjing, suggesting the Emperor was weakening day by day.

Though Great Yan had become increasingly aligned with Daoism, Buddhism was rising rapidly. The Empress herself was a devout Buddhist, and it was under her influence that the Yuqu Grottoes were being constructed to pray for the Emperor’s health and longevity.

The Daoist thanked the official again before continuing forward.

As he walked, he continued to observe.

He took in the sight of these newly created statues and grottoes, passing by the craftsmen working on them. Some of the workers greeted him with bows, and the Daoist immediately returned the gesture.

The grottoes were still in the early stages of construction. Before long, he reached the end of the carved section, leaving the craftsmen and their rhythmic clank clank clank sounds behind him.

The calico cat, who had been holding back her energy, finally trotted ahead of him in small, quick steps. As she walked, she frequently turned her head to look back at him, lifting her head high as she said, “I remember walking here before.”

“Lady Calico, you have an impeccable memory.”

“It was different back then.”

“It will change even more in the future.”

“Why are they building temples here?”

“You’d have to ask them.”

Perhaps fearing she might retort with another you’re not very clever, the Daoist bent his head to meet her gaze. Seeing her tilt her head so far back, he couldn’t help but feel a bit concerned for her. “Lady Calico, you could walk farther ahead of me. That way, you wouldn’t have to tilt your head back so much. It might be more comfortable for you.”

“But I’m small, with a soft, small voice. If I’m too far away, people with poor hearing won’t be able to hear me,” she said.

“Wouldn’t that be tiring?”

“Not for a cat.”

“But I might be afraid of stepping on you, Lady Calico.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a capable cat.”

“Then, do as you like.”

The Daoist chuckled, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and resignation.

The plank road was quite long, and the Daoist didn’t plan to leave it entirely in one go. When he reached the spot where he had spent the night nearly three years ago, he noticed faint traces of burnt firewood still visible on the ground. Deciding to stop there, he unloaded his pack and prepared to rest for a day, planning to walk straight back to Changjing the following day.

It was here that he had once encountered Xing Wu. At that time, Shu Yifan had also been with him.

But now, the old friends who had shared that night in this place had gone their separate ways. One was likely still serving as a guest talented eccentric in the northern military, while the other was in Mount Wu of Guangzhou, now a renowned grandmaster in the jianghu, having founded his own sect.

Today, there was an additional companion: a swallow.

Lady Calico’s memory was sharp, and she still remembered the fish soup from that night. So, the Daoist asked her to catch fish from the river again and sent the swallow to gather firewood. By nightfall, they had built a fire in the same spot as before and cooked a pot of fish soup. With the vegetable dumplings gifted by the official, they had their dinner for the evening.

The night was quiet, the river’s cool waters occasionally breaking the silence with the sound of splashing.

The Daoist waded into the river to bathe.

The cat did the same in her own way—sitting on the riverbank with her back to the Daoist, carefully raising her paw to groom herself. She licked her paw with focus, then rubbed it across her face, repeating the process.

By the time they were all cleaned up, they were ready for tomorrow’s return to Changjing.

***

Changjing had just entered the early days of winter.

If one were to ask who was currently the most famous figure in Changjing, or even all of Great Yan, it was undoubtedly General Chen Ziyi, who had recently returned victorious from the north.

This was a victory unparalleled in history, as it marked the army’s triumph in regions no prior dynasty’s forces had ever reached.

It was a military achievement for the ages.

In early spring of this year, Chen Ziyi had been summoned back to the court and bestowed the title of Marquis of Wuan[1].

This was the highest honor a military officer could achieve in Great Yan’s history. Over centuries, only a handful of individuals had ever been granted the title of Marquis of Wuan.

At this time, Chen Ziyi was naturally at the center of countless gazes in Changjing. Whether or not the true powerholders of the court consciously kept their distance from him, and regardless of whether the fearless reformist scholars admired his fame and sought him out, the overt and covert attention directed his way was unrelenting.

It was likely that every small detail—who entered the marquis’ residence, what ingredients, medicines, or fabrics the steward purchased—was quickly disseminated among Changjing’s many powerful families through various channels.

Yet in recent days, Chen Ziyi’s movements had been unusually enigmatic.

For reasons unknown, he left his residence every morning at dawn, accompanied by only a few personal guards. He would head out of the city and stand in one spot for the entire day, returning only after nightfall. The next day, he would repeat the routine.

It was as if he were waiting for someone.

But in today’s Great Yan, aside from the Emperor—whose health was rapidly deteriorating—who else could warrant the Marquis of Wuan’s personal, daily vigil outside the city?

The nobility of Changjing was deeply puzzled.

However, the Marquis of Wuan’s reputation as a fearsome and imposing figure preceded him. Civil and military officials alike, even those prone to prying, only dared to investigate discreetly. Most limited themselves to idle chatter over tea, speculating based on unverifiable rumors from some unknown source about the happenings within the marquis’ residence.

None dared to confront him directly at the city gates or join him in his vigil outside the city.

At most, they sent trusted confidants to keep tabs on his movements in the city. Some pretended to be enjoying an autumn excursion outside the city or a scenic river outing, hoping to “accidentally” bump into General Chen upon their return.

Finally, at dusk on the day of the start of winter—

A Daoist appeared on a hillside outside Changjing. He was accompanied by a calico cat and a jujube-red horse. Standing against the biting wind, he gazed down at the sprawling city below before stepping forward and beginning his descent.

1. The title "Marquis of Wuan" is a marquisate name that has been used across several dynasties. ☜