Unintended Immortality-Chapter 495: The Last Return to Changjing

After hearing that General Chen had successfully marched south to restore order, bringing the Crown Prince and the Emperor back to Changjing, Song You no longer felt the need to rush.

The wind fox had been right.

Had Prince Shun emerged victorious, his rule would have been inherently illegitimate. This was something all those with political insight in Great Yan understood.

Given the empire’s complex state—rife with internal strife yet still strong and beloved by its people—even if the Crown Prince had died, countless so-called righteous armies would have continued to rise in rebellion against Prince Shun, all under the banner of restoring the rightful heir. Such uprisings would have been relentless.

Unless Prince Shun had been able to swiftly prove his capability, securing the throne through sheer force and crushing all dissent, his rule would have been precarious.

And even if he had succeeded, it would have set a dangerous precedent for the future.

But with the Crown Prince’s victory...

As the rightful heir, the Crown Prince had the support of the scholar-official class and the recognition of most regional governors. As long as Prince Shun’s rebellion was quelled and the Crown Prince took the throne, stability would likely last a while longer.

With that, Song You resumed his usual pace.

Just like in Yangzhou, Bozhou, Yuzhou, and Luozhou, supernatural disturbances in Luzhou had noticeably increased over the past year. At first, people did not connect these strange occurrences to the broader turmoil.

But once news of Prince Shun’s rebellion spread from Changjing, fear swept through the land.

Everyone said that it was precisely because of Prince Shun’s rebellion—disrupting the peace of the realm and disturbing the fate of the Great Yan Dynasty—that supernatural disturbances had become so prevalent.

Such rumors were dangerous. The influence they carried was far greater than most people imagined.

Luzhou, however, was relatively fortunate. Most of its disturbances were caused by minor demons and spirits—creatures that harassed civilians and spread fear but posed no true threat.

This was largely due to its proximity to Guangzhou, lying directly to the south.

Everyone knew that Guangzhou was home to Mount Wu—and Mount Wu was home to the Thunderstrike Sword Sect.

The sect’s master, a legendary swordsman known as the Swordmaster, had entered the Dao through martial arts. His disciples were all highly skilled and utterly fearless in the face of demons and ghosts. To them, slaying evil spirits was not just duty—it was an honor.

Because of them, Guangzhou remained untouched by supernatural unrest.

If any dark forces ever grew too powerful in Luzhou, and neither the local authorities nor independent cultivators could suppress them, the people only had to collect some silver and make a pilgrimage to Mount Wu.

Even if the journey spanned hundreds or thousands of li, the Swordmaster and his disciples would travel south, using their blades to cleanse the land.

As Song You and Lady Calico traveled, they heard many stories of this legendary swordsman.

Perhaps the coming era of chaos would be their stage.

Luzhou was also close to both Guangzhou and Fengzhou.

So, along the way, Song You made a brief detour to Fengzhou’s Ghost City—visiting old friends, checking on its operations, and discussing a few matters.

Slowly, step by step, he finally reached Angzhou. By the time they neared Changjing, deep autumn had already arrived.

To return to Changjing, they first had to cross Mount Chang.

“Lady Calico, do you remember six years ago, when we went to see the apricot blossoms outside Changjing?” Song You paused at the mountain peak, turning to the cat beside him and asking softly.

“Six years ago?”

“More than six years have passed.”

“More than six years!”

“Yes...”

“It’s been that long, meow?”

“It has.” Song You withdrew his gaze and looked ahead.

“I remember. I remember,” the cat's delicate voice reached his ears. “The fox even painted a picture for us.”

“Yes...”

Back then, it had been spring—when apricot blossoms covered the mountains like soft clusters of white and pink cotton.

That was also the day they first met the fox. The day they first met General Chen.

Now, more than six and a half years later, it was late autumn. The trees and grass on the mountains had withered, giving the land a sense of desolation.

The autumn wind lacked the warmth of spring. Standing atop the mountain, gazing around in the wind, Song You thought of those days.

The girl Wanjiang who once painted for them had long since passed away in Changjing.

Only an eight-tailed fox demon remained—turned to stone, guarding the depths of the Ghost City.

And the general they had once encountered outside the city had been pulled into the imperial struggle, swallowed by the depths of power.

After suffering serious injuries, he had been bedridden ever since. His condition, it was said, was grim.

“The world changes so quickly.” Song You’s face had remained the same, untouched by the years.

He leaned on his staff and stepped forward.

Years ago, in the apricot-blossomed spring, this place had looked like a painting.

Now, under the cold autumn wind, with ink-dark clouds stretching across the sky—it was another painting entirely.

Leading his jujube-red horse, the Daoist walked into it. They descended the mountain, heading toward Changjing.

Soon, the eastern gates of Changjing came into view. The bodies were long gone, and the air no longer carried the stench of blood.

Only the damaged city walls and gates bore silent witness to the siege that had consumed the imperial capital that summer.

At the city gates, the flow of people remained as lively as ever—carriages rumbled by, merchants bustled to and fro. At a glance, it seemed as though nothing had changed.

For a fleeting moment, Song You almost thought he saw that same general again—dust-covered, riding his speckled warhorse, returning to the capital from afar.

“Lady Calico.”

“Meow?”

“This may be the last time we return to Changjing in our twenty years of wandering the world.”

“Meow...”

The cat turned to look at the Daoist.

Compared to six or seven years ago—when she couldn’t even recognize her own silhouette in a painting—Lady Calico had grown immensely.

But the Daoist said no more.

He simply followed behind a group of traveling merchants, retrieving his ordination certificate from his pouch and queuing up at the city gate.

The cat could only shake her head, padding after him with quick little steps. She stayed close, careful not to get pushed or stepped on, saving herself the trouble of dodging the crowd.

The guards at the gates were noticeably stricter.

Each certificate was scrutinized, flipped back and forth, accompanied by questioning.

Fortunately, though Song You was only a pretend Daoist, his temple was a legitimate one, and his certificate was entirely authentic. The seals, the issuing authority, and the officials who had signed it—nothing was fake. He passed through without issue.

Outside the city, he hadn’t noticed it as much.

But inside, the subtle changes in Changjing became clear.

The city felt... quieter.

The Eastern District—home to high-ranking officials and nobles—had always been peaceful within its courtyards and alleyways. But its main streets had once been thriving with activity.

Now, some shops along the once-crowded commercial avenues were shuttered. Storefronts that had always been in high demand now had occasional vacancies. Even some of the grand archways that once adorned the streets had vanished.

One street had nearly burned down entirely—now under reconstruction, filled with silent, focused craftsmen rebuilding what had been lost.

Song You walked westward, leading his horse, observing everything carefully.

The cat stayed close, also turning her head this way and that, taking it all in.

Then, suddenly, the Daoist stopped.

He was looking across the street.

He turned and asked the shopkeeper behind him, “Is this... Yunchun Restaurant?”

“Yes, that's Yunchun Restaurant.”

“Why is it closed?”

“Hah! What else could it be?” The shopkeeper sat back in his chair, shaking his head with a sigh. “This summer, when Prince Shun entered Changjing, the imperial guards raided the city for three days. The proprietor of Yunchun Restaurant thought he had powerful connections in court and refused to bow to the soldiers.

“Well, that was the end of him—every last one of them was slaughtered! Now, the building’s contract isn’t up yet, but by next year, I reckon even that signboard will be torn down.”

“Did Prince Shun have no restraints?”

“What, you think there were no restraints? If there weren’t, do you think there’d be any common folk left in Changjing?” The shopkeeper’s tone turned sarcastic. “The real problem was that the proprietor was too stubborn. If he’d been more obedient, he might’ve saved his own life.”

“I see...”

The shopkeeper waved a hand dismissively and half-closed his eyes.

Song You said nothing more and turned away, continuing on his path.

The jujube-red horse followed silently, its hooves tapping softly against the stone road, the bells on its harness swaying gently.

Upon closer inspection, Changjing bore even more subtle changes.

The city had grown messier.

Previously, though the streets were cluttered with banners, shop signs, and elaborate archways, everything was kept in order—restricted to designated areas, giving the capital a unique charm.

The streets themselves had remained tidy, with shopkeepers required to keep their storefronts clean. Horse riding was forbidden on main roads, and all business transactions followed clear regulations, reflecting the firm governance of the imperial authorities.

Now, though the signs and archways remained, the streets were noticeably filthier. Piles of horse and ox dung had begun accumulating in various corners.

From time to time, someone would gallop recklessly through the alleys, startling pedestrians.

Occasionally, heated arguments erupted along the roadside.

Song You said nothing.

He walked silently through the city, from the Eastern District to the Western District, retracing the familiar streets from memory—until he arrived at Willow Street.

Thankfully, the small building was still standing.

Compared to the Eastern District, the Western District had suffered far less damage.

Perhaps even the marauding soldiers had known that the Western District was far less profitable than the Eastern one. The only place that had truly been hit hard was the Western Market.

Allowing their own troops to plunder their own capital...

Prince Shun was truly something else.

Song You shook his head as he approached the small building.

Noticing that the lock on the door was still intact, he reached into the depths of his pouch and pulled out a key.

“Click...”

The brass lock snapped open.

“Creak...”

Pushing the door open, he was met with the thick scent of dust.

A layer of it coated the floor and tables, and as sunlight streamed in, it sent motes swirling through the air.

After unloading his pack from the horse’s back, Song You propped open all the doors to let the stale air out. But instead of tidying up right away, he first fetched a small wooden stool, dusted it off, and sat by the doorway.

He basked in the rare warmth of the autumn sun, watching the steady flow of people passing through the street.

A great change was approaching.

As the imperial capital, Changjing would inevitably undergo countless shifts—some visible, others too subtle for the eye to see.

One had to sense them, just as one would with the spiritual resonance of mountains and rivers, with the mysteries of heaven and earth.

“Mr. Song!”

“How have you been?”

“Mr. Song, you’ve returned?”

“I have.”

“When did you come back?”

“Just now.”

“Just in time to avoid the worst of it...”

“Indeed.”

From time to time, old neighbors and acquaintances—those who still remembered his face—would recognize him and call out in greeting.

Though Song You remained seated, he responded to each of them warmly.

Then, from across the street, the scent of something steaming and fragrant drifted over. He turned his gaze toward it and saw a familiar shop and a familiar shopkeeper.

After a brief moment of thought, he stood up and looked over his shoulder—

While he had been sitting idly, the two little demons had already transformed into human form.

One had conjured a breeze to clear the floating dust from the room.

The other had taken up a broom, sweeping the floor clean before unpacking their belongings.

Now, one of them had brought over a wooden bucket, seemingly about to fetch water.

The other had found a cloth, preparing to wipe down the room in detail.

“You two...” Song You sighed helplessly, shaking his head to stop them. “There’s no need to be so diligent.”

“We’ve got nothing else to do anyway.”

“And you! Don’t be so lazy!”

“...” Song You didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he turned back toward the street and said, “It’s getting late—we should eat dinner. Let’s go across the street for a bowl of lean pork porridge.”

“It’ll be dark soon!”

“Then we’d better eat quickly.”

With that, Song You had already taken two steps forward.

The taller and shorter figures exchanged glances, sighed, and put down their cleaning supplies.

Then, without another word, they followed him.

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