Unintended Immortality-Chapter 448: Lady Calico’s Treasure in the Mountains

“Greetings.”

“Well now! A Daoist priest!” The woodcutter immediately stopped his singing and looked at Song You with curiosity. “Where are you headed? Are you here to enjoy the scenery of Qiong Mountain? And why are you traveling with a cat?”

“More or less.” Song You returned the greeting and replied, “My surname is Song, given name You. I hail from Yizhou and am traveling the world. I heard that Qiong Mountain offers some of the finest views in Yangzhou, and I also heard of a rather unique deity, the Xiangle God, who was once worshiped at the foot of the mountain. So I came to visit. But it seems the god’s temple has long since fallen into ruin.”

“It’s been ruined for a while! Since last year!” The woodcutter sighed, setting down the large bundle of firewood he carried on his shoulder. He then gave Song You a once-over, scrutinizing him. “You don’t sound much like a Daoist, though.”

“Force of habit,” Song You smiled slightly. “And the lyrics you were singing don’t sound much like something a woodcutter would know, either.”

“I’m just a humble firewood cutter,” the man waved a hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. “But years ago, a Daoist priest from the county’s main temple came to live in the mountain shrine alone. He had no one to talk to, so every time I passed by, I would chat with him. Over time, I picked up a few verses here and there.”

“Oh? That priest enjoyed poetry?”

“He was quite the scholar!”

The woodcutter’s eyes widened in admiration before his expression turned somewhat melancholic. “But I haven’t seen him in many years... I wonder how he’s doing now.”

“Just yesterday, I visited Qingyun Temple and spoke with Daoist Qinghuaizi—that priest’s junior brother. He told me that the priest has cultivated his Daoist skills to an impressive level and is likely to take over as the new temple owner. So I’d say he’s doing rather well.”

“That’s great news!” The woodcutter grinned, waving his hand dismissively. “Back in the day, when I was cutting wood up in these mountains, I owed him a great debt.”

“Oh? What kind of debt?”

“What else? Us poor folk, working ourselves to the bone out here in the mountains, we’re lucky if we can even find a place to get a sip of water. And sometimes, when we got bitten by snakes or insects, or twisted an ankle slipping down a ridge, that Daoist priest knew some herbal medicine. If not for him, I probably wouldn’t even be able to climb the mountain anymore.”

“He sounds like a truly kind-hearted man.”

“Who’s to say otherwise? If he does become temple owner, he’s more than deserving of it!”

“Heh...” Song You chuckled lightly and withdrew his gaze from the woodcutter’s face. After a brief pause, he asked, “You come up here every day to cut wood—do you happen to know when the deity’s statue in the ruined temple was broken?”

“The temple’s god statue?”

“Precisely.”

“Ah... now that’s a long story...”

The woodcutter took the opportunity to rest and chat, “Years ago, the government suddenly built a temple here, saying they had appointed a deity to watch over us. Supposedly, this god would bring us blessings. But in reality, no one ever seemed to receive any protection. Instead, some of the villagers who ventured into the mountains ended up getting frightened by the god.

“For a few years, I was even too scared to come up here to chop wood. Especially in the later years—whenever the villagers weren’t diligent enough with their offerings, the god would appear in their dreams, urging or even threatening them to make more tributes.

“Then, last year or maybe the year before, the government sent people again, saying they had demoted the deity and that we were no longer to worship him.”

As the woodcutter spoke, he gave Song You another once-over, this time with narrowed eyes. “Daoist, you aren’t here looking for that god too, are you?”

“Hmm... from the way you say that, it sounds like someone else has already come looking?”

“Heh! You’re quite the sharp one, young Daoist!”

“...” Song You said nothing and simply smiled warmly, continuing to ask, “Would you be willing to tell me about it?”

At his feet, the calico cat lifted its head, first glancing at her Daoist, then turning to stare intently at the woodcutter’s face.

“Not long after the government banished the deity, I was up in the mountains chopping wood, and a mysterious old Daoist came by, asking for directions. He wanted to know where the god most often appeared.”

As he spoke, the woodcutter’s voice grew quieter, yet his eyes gleamed with excitement.

“That night, people saw golden light erupting from the mountains. When I came back the next day to chop wood, I saw that the god’s statue in the ruined temple had been shattered into pieces, and many of the trees on the mountain had been snapped and broken.”

“I see.”

“If you ask me—that old Daoist must have been an immortal, descending to exorcize the evil god!”

“Most likely...”

“Then why are you looking for that evil god?”

“I'm just curious. And I thought I’d take in the view while I’m here.”

“Sounds like you’ve got too much time on your hands...”

“Haha, well then, many thanks for your help.” Song You cupped his hands in farewell, smiling as he continued up the mountain.

Dense forest stretched ahead of him and behind him. After a while, the woodcutter’s singing rang out once more, his voice shaking the treetops.

“Do not say that time turns all to dust, That all will fade, as dreams must. For before they vanish, lost in the stream, All things exist—but as a dream.”

The Daoist walked onward, his expression serene, his pace steady.

A mountain spring trickled down the rocks, forming a small stream, its water flowing clear and pure.

When Song You grew tired and thirsty, he reached down, cupped a handful of water, and took a sip—cool, crisp, and refreshingly sweet.

“Young Daoist!”

“...”

Hearing the voice, Song You looked up, only to see his cat crouched at the stream’s edge, lapping at the water.

But instead of drinking, she had turned her head to look at him.

The stream’s reflection captured her delicate features, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and confusion, as pure and clear as amber.

“Why does he call you ‘young Daoist’?”

“Maybe because I look young—probably a local dialect,” Song You whispered back. “No need to dwell on it.”

“Heh! Young Daoist, you’re pretty clever!”

“Lady Calico, you don’t need to learn things like that...”

“I want to learn!”

“...”

“The god of this mountain was already beaten to death by that old Daoist. Are we still going up?” The calico cat asked seriously.

“Of course.”

“Sounds like you’ve got too much time on your hands!”

“Lady Calico...”

“Hm?” The cat tilted her head, gazing at him in confusion.

“...Sigh.” Song You shook his head helplessly, let out a small sigh, and said, “Lady Calico, hurry and finish drinking. Then we can set off.”

“Alright!” Lady Calico finally settled down, lowering her body even further and dipping her head to lap up the cool stream water.

She seemed to be thinking about something, as if something was bothering her—but the thought slipped away before she could grasp it.

So, she forgot about it just as quickly.

“I’m done drinking!” The cat stood up, walked back from the stream, and tilted her head up to look at the Daoist.

“Let’s go, young Daoist!”

“...”

One man and one cat continued up the mountain. Overhead, a swallow glided through the sky.

Below them, the river wound through the valley, and in the distance, the city of Yinhua could be seen, small and quiet from this height.

With each step higher, the air turned cool and crisp—they had already feasted their eyes on endless autumn scenery.

Gradually, they reached the mountain depths, where spiritual energy was at its strongest.

Ahead lay a cascading waterfall, behind them, an orchard of fruit trees.

Here, one could listen to the sound of flowing water, sit and gaze upon the winding river, and breathe in the mist-filled, fragrance-laden air. Birds sang continuously, and the entire place felt like the dwelling of an immortal.

“Hss... hss...”

The cat had already started sniffing through the grass, her whiskers twitching in curiosity.

Meanwhile, Song You strolled leisurely, observing the surroundings.

Among the scattered stones lay gnawed fruit pits, neither buried in soil nor rotting away. They had not sprouted new life either—just blackened and decayed, likely remnants from at least a year ago.

It seemed to suggest that the Xiangle God had once lived and cultivated here. A year and a half was not enough to erase all traces of a battle between cultivators.

At the very least, the broken trees nearby had not yet fully regrown—only small buds had sprouted from the severed stumps. In fact, the length of these fresh shoots could be used to estimate when the trees were first broken.

Song You reached out, gently touching the jagged break in the tree trunk, then running his fingers over the newly sprouted branches.

It had likely happened last spring or summer.

Some trees had been snapped or crushed, while others bore clean cuts. Some trunks even had piercing wounds, though most had already healed into knotted scars.

“Golden Needle Talismans...”

Song You traced one such scar with his fingers, silently making a guess. Then, he turned his head and looked into the distance.

At the base of a cliff, faint claw marks remained visible, yet to fade away. Some rocks still bore traces of blood and monkey fur, untouched by rain.

“Meow...”

The cat had found two treasures.

One was a spiritual herb, bearing mature spiritual fruits that had ripened in this season. Their fragrance was irresistibly sweet, and to cultivators and demons alike, they even glowed faintly with spiritual light.

The other was the corpse of the Xiangle God. It was a massive mountain spirit, sitting against a tree.

Mountain spirits like this naturally had cultivated Daoist powers. And as a deity enshrined within this land, the entire Qiong Mountain was once its domain. Thus, within its own territory, its body did not decay.

But not rotting did not mean it would last forever.

Song You stepped closer, stopping about a zhang away, gazing at its lifeless form.

The spirit sat slumped against a tree, its posture eerily human-like. Its entire body was covered in scars, yet aside from those injuries, its fur had begun to fade in color.

At first glance, one might mistake it for a beast covered in dust and dirt. But upon closer examination, it was clear—the spirit was slowly turning into stone.

It wouldn’t take more than a few years. If no one moved it from this mountain, it would soon become a rock.

Perhaps in the future, when travelers stumbled upon it, they would notice its monkey-like yet human-like shape and give it a name, turning it into one of Qiong Mountain’s many wonders.

It was clear now—the Xiangle God did not possess the abilities of the Anle God. It had not been able to turn the State Preceptor’s chosen executioner against him.

The State Preceptor, ever shrewd in his calculations, had sent a different cultivator this time—and this one had not failed.

Song You stood there, staring at the fallen deity, his heart heavy with emotion.

The State Preceptor had once enshrined it as a god here, and Qingyun Temple had sent Daoists to serve as temple caretakers, helping it gather incense offerings and secure its divine status.

In return, it had sent dreams of gratitude, offering spiritual fruits in thanks. It had known to repay kindness—a simple, honest demon with a sense of propriety.

From what he had heard, it had lived quietly and dutifully for years after, never causing trouble.

Causing trouble... that only came years later.

A mountain spirit enshrined as a god—within a few years, it would inevitably fall into corruption. Did the celestial gods of the Heavenly Palace fall the same way?

Song You pondered this question for a long time, lost in silent thought.

“Daoist priest, look at this!” A soft, delicate voice pulled him back to reality.

Song You shifted his gaze away from the fallen mountain spirit and turned toward the cat and the spirit herb nearby. He spoke calmly, explaining, “This is just a wild mountain fruit. But because the spiritual energy here is abundant, it has absorbed this energy and transformed into a spiritual herb. It’s what people down in the world call a spiritual fruit, a rare and precious natural treasure. If you like, you can pick a few to taste. It might even benefit your cultivation.”

“It might even benefit my cultivation!”

“Then go ahead, pick a few and try them.”

“So many!”

“Just pick a few to fill your stomach. spiritual fruits are rare treasures—better to leave the rest for fated ones.”

“Rare treasure!”

“Such treasures shouldn’t be traded for money—that would only waste their true value,” Song You explained patiently. “Instead, it’s far more meaningful to leave them here and let them be discovered by someone destined to find them.”

“A destined one!”

“Lady Calico, you’re a destined one, too. But you alone can’t eat them all.”

“A destined cat!”

“Yes...”

“So how many should I pick?”

“Three should be enough. Any more, and they’ll only serve as food and drink rather than something truly beneficial.”

“Three!”

“Yes...”

“One, two, three. I get three, the horse gets three, the swallow gets three, the young Daoist gets three...”

As she counted, the cat transformed into a little girl, but her greedy nature remained unchanged.

She tugged up the hem of her robe to make a pouch, then stood on tiptoes, stretching her small hands to pick fruit from the tree that wasn’t much taller than herself.

She gathered every single one into her makeshift pouch.

This tree had borne more than twenty fruits—

Each one red as fire, as large as a clenched fist, fully ripened. As she picked them, a hazy mist of spiritual energy swirled around, proof of their extraordinary nature.

And just like that—half the tree was emptied.