Unintended Immortality

“This... U-Um...” The young Daoist was thrown into a panic, utterly at a loss.

Suddenly, he felt a burning heat in his chest pocket, likely from the coins he’d just pocketed. Alarmed, he quickly reached in and took them out.

Sure enough, the coins were scalding. The heat was intense even through his clothing, so how could he hold them bare-handed?

“Ah!” In desperation, the young Daoist threw the coins away.

The coins were truly burning hot.

With considerable force, he flung the handful into the air. The coins scattered, some hitting the red cloths and ceremonial robes, others landing on the altar, while a few clattered and rolled across the floor. Each coin that touched anything flammable would immediately ignite with a bang, bursting into flames.

Bang…

Bang…

Bang…

One fireball after another erupted throughout the temple, illuminating every corner in the twilight. The young Daoist now fully realized—it was the work of the Daoist standing before him.

“You… Y-You...” The young Daoist turned to look at Song You, wanting to accuse him, but a moment's thought made him realize that this was someone he couldn’t afford to provoke. So, he quickly ran out.

“Fire! Fire!”

“Master! Someone set the temple on fire!”

“Senior Brother! I’m going to get Master!”

“Master!”

“Master is missing!”

Two young Daoists, both in their teens, met in the courtyard. They were frantic and panicked. The older one looked not only fearful but also increasingly furious.

“How did it catch fire?”

“Someone set it on purpose.”

“Who would dare set fire to Leiqing Temple?”

“It was that Daoist who came in earlier...”

By this time, the main hall was already engulfed in flames. Somehow, the fire had spread rapidly, and in just a short while, the entire hall was ablaze.

The temple's wooden structure was close to collapse, and the clay statues had turned a bright red from the heat. Illuminated by the flames, the statues of Duke of Thunder Fu and the Great Emperor Chijin seemed to radiate a newfound sense of power.

Song You stood at the temple’s entrance, facing the blazing statues.

The calico cat had also made her way from the courtyard to the doorway, resting her two front paws on the high threshold and lifting her head to gaze up at Song You. She seemed worried that he might get caught in the flames, yet unwilling to call out to him.

Crash!

A burning column collapsed, scattering embers in all directions. Only then did Song You turn, meeting the eyes of the two young Daoists standing outside.

“You...” The older of the two, his courage fueled by indignation, summoned the nerve to question Song You at the temple’s entrance. But amid the intense firelight, as sparks flew and the wind whipped around Song You’s robes and hair without singeing him in the slightest, he could only see the devastation behind him—the sacred statues, crumbled and collapsed in ruin.

The young Daoist's words caught in his throat.

“Yes?” Song You asked calmly.

“Y-You…!” The young Daoist finally gathered himself. “We let you in with good intentions, fellow cultivator. What enmity do you bear toward Leiqing Temple that you would set it aflame?”

“Do you know,” Song You replied, “that your master has committed countless murders, all for the sake of his cultivation?”

“That’s impossible!” The elder Daoist’s eyes flared in anger. “My master has cultivated here for many years, helping countless villagers below. How could he commit such vile acts?”

“Absolutely not!” The younger one joined in. “We study the sacred texts of the Dao, and we serve the righteous Thunder Gods. My master’s abilities are cultivated naturally; there is no question of murder for the sake of cultivation!”

“It’s more than just murder—he meticulously planned deaths to stir up resentment in his victims.”

“Stop slandering him!”

“Yes, my master charges for his services, but that’s for peace of mind! Each year, he goes down the mountain at least ten times to help those troubled by spirits. How could he be the villain you claim?”

Though clearly frightened, the two young Daoists stared defiantly at Song You.

Song You looked steadily at the two young Daoists, then, after a moment, smiled faintly.

“I see.” With that, he stepped forward, leaving the burning temple behind. The calico cat gazed up at him and quickly followed.

“There should be some money in the temple. Take what you need and leave. But don’t touch anything you’re not supposed to.”

The man and the cat walked across the courtyard, passing by the two young Daoists.

Boom!

The flames inside the temple surged, nearly bursting through the doors. For a moment, the entire temple was engulfed, the heat radiating fiercely, lighting up the mountainside in the night.

***

A short while later, behind the temple.

A middle-aged Daoist, dressed in clean robes, lay collapsed on the ground. His face deathly was pale as he was barely clinging to life, his eyes closed. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, he might have been mistaken for dead. His right hand had been cleanly severed at the wrist, blood steadily dripping from the wound.

A swordsman stood nearby, his sword in hand. His robe at the waist was torn, and a large patch was stained red with blood. A jujube-red horse grazed quietly not far away, while a black horse stood obediently behind its master.

Song You approached and glanced at the swordsman’s side.

“You’re injured?”

“It’s just a minor injury,” the swordsman replied calmly, gesturing toward the middle-aged Daoist on the ground with his sword.

He added, “This man is cunning. Though he didn’t expect us to actually pursue him, he had prepared in advance, leaving some poisonous insects on the hill behind the temple. When I intercepted him, I was focused on slashing down the insects in front of me and neglected to check the grass behind, where a few more were hiding.”

“These insects are venomous.”

“No need to worry, sir,” Shu Yifan replied with composure. “Thanks to your guidance, I’ve made some progress in my swordsmanship. I’m not yet at the level of merging swordsmanship with the Dao, but I have gained some resilience. I knew the insects were venomous, but the toxins haven’t spread. I’ve immediately cut out the affected area; it’ll heal in a few days.”

“Good,” Song You nodded, then looked at the Daoist lying on the ground.

“I’ve heard you’ve cultivated at Leiqing Temple for many years and even helped the villagers nearby. So, what led you down this path?”

The Daoist on the ground kept his eyes closed and spoke weakly, “Having fallen into your hands, I don’t expect you to spare me… So, kill me or torture me as you will...”

“Any regrets?” Song You asked.

“What use is there in asking...”

“Fair enough.” Song You nodded. “Your actions are truly unforgivable. Strictly speaking, I have no right to judge you. But since you’re now in my hands, I can’t risk handing you over to the authorities with your skills. Besides, given your current injuries, you likely wouldn’t make it to the officials anyway.

“Considering your years on this mountain and the occasional help you’ve given the villagers, I’ll let you choose—would you rather your soul scatter, or a natural death?”

“...”

“Aren’t you going to choose?”

“...” The Daoist was silent for a long time, his head resting on the ground, gazing at the distant flames in the temple. Finally, he said, “I’ve spent half my life cultivating on this mountain. Let me die here...”

From this angle, he couldn’t see the faint smile on Song You’s face.

“So, are you truly a mountain Daoist priest?”

“Could it be otherwise?”

“I am merely curious.”

The Daoist on the ground grew weaker but still replied, “Since childhood, I cultivated here under my master’s guidance on this mountain. Though we at Leiqing Temple knew no magic, we sincerely served the Heavenly Palace gods and devoted ourselves to studying the Daoist scriptures.

“But then, the northern frontier army invaded repeatedly, creating countless refugees. These refugees were more destructive than locusts, and our temple suffered greatly. My master starved to death...”

He paused, exhaling slowly.

“Afterward, I left the temple, wandering the land like a weed adrift in water, and stumbled upon some cultivation techniques and spells. After many twists and turns, I returned to the temple, maintaining it while continuing my own cultivation...”

The grave-digging Daoist’s voice was faint. Some of his words were barely audible, and others almost completely lost. But Song You heard it clearly.

“I see.” Song You nodded, then asked the question that interested him most. “Does the Chief Officer of the Thunder Division know of your dark practices?”

“How could he possibly know...”

“Then why do you only worship the Chief Officer of the Thunder Division?”

“Heh...”

The Daoist on the ground sneered faintly, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “The Thunder Gods are all paragons of righteousness, loathing evil and excelling in exorcism and demon-slaying. They would easily see through dark practices, so we only worship the Duke of Thunder Fu of the Thunder Division.”

“I see...” Song You nodded again, understanding more clearly.

Though the gods of the Heavenly Palace were portrayed as grand and mighty, each with immense powers and virtues, in truth, there were many complexities within their ranks—not unlike the earthly courts.

Take, for example, the Thunder Gods…

The Thunder Gods were among the most ancient gods. People may have begun worshiping beings that controlled thunder long before the dawn of civilization, sensing an awe-inspiring power in the rolling thunder that felt divine. At some point, deities managing thunder punishment emerged, probably older than most gods.

Within the Thunder Division, there were many who were ancient figures. However, age did not always equalled power among gods; if it did, the Great Emperor Chijin’s Heavenly Palace would never have come to be.

A deity’s influence grew with the breadth of their followers and the strength of their reputation.

Duke of Thunder Zhou, one of the youngest officials in the Thunder Division, had many predecessors from former dynasties. Yet the current chief officer, Duke of Thunder Fu, was not particularly ancient himself.

Duke of Thunder Fu held the position of chief officer of the Thunder Division in the previous dynasty, though his rise to power differed from that of other Thunder Gods. He became the chief officer of the division because he was a renowned founding general of the previous dynasty, with an impressive record of military achievements.

As a trusted general of the former emperor, he was posthumously honored as the Thunder God. Generations later, successive emperors, for various reasons, elevated him to Chief Officer of the Thunder Division. With the court’s endorsement and scholars’ promotion, the people eventually accepted him as well.

In truth, he might not embody the utmost righteousness or detest evil as fiercely as legends said. His skills in discerning spirits and demons might be limited, and he might have suited to be the divine officer of the War Division better than Thunder.

Song You looked again at the grave-digging Daoist lying on the ground. The Daoist waited patiently with his eyes closed, either resigned to die or merely hoping Song You would leave.

Song You, too, waited patiently—waiting for him to die.

After a while, Song You spoke again, “I’ve thought it over. You were likely after the souls of the Ding family’s eldest grandson and young Miss Cao. One is pure yang, the other pure yin. As for any deeper significance, I’m not entirely sure.”

The grave-digging Daoist lay silent, as though he no longer had the strength to respond.

Indeed, most of his vitality was already gone. His wounds from the sword and the blood pouring from his severed wrist had stained the ground beneath him red. Added to the damage his soul and mind had sustained the previous night, it was a wonder he’d survived this long.

Yet Song You continued, “You’re skilled at manipulating souls, so you must know that the world is changing; it’s easier than ever to become a ghost. Especially for someone like you, with cultivation—your death would almost certainly lead to that. You offered up a tale, heartfelt or not, hoping I’d believe that you truly wanted to die here.”

The grave-digging Daoist’s eyes snapped open.

The young Daoist shook his head at him. “You feel no guilt or remorse. The only regret in your heart is your misfortune. You want nothing more than to become a ghost and try again.”

The Daoist’s face finally betrayed a flicker of panic.