Unintended Immortality

“However, after years of war, the northern region is in chaos, and the common people are living in extreme hardship. No one wants to fight anymore; they just wish for a few days of peace.” The Emperor's tone softened, losing the vigor from before.

“I wish to wipe out the northern tribes in one decisive strike, yet the ministers in court have advised a more gradual approach. I also believe that Great Yan is weary and needs to recuperate, but I fear there is not much time. When the next emperor takes the throne, I cannot guarantee he will have the same ambition as I do. I don't know what to do.”

How could the Daoist provide an answer to that?

If he could accomplish such an extraordinary feat, it would naturally be excellent. But behind such achievements, there were often countless lives lost in suffering.

Looking back at these historical achievements provided a different perspective. The unbearable hardships had been smoothed over by the passage of time, leaving only the glorious highlights. Yet, going through it in the present, one could truly grasp that every step in history was paved with the lives of countless beings.

In his view, there were three kinds of wars.

One was unavoidable, where the benefits outweighed the costs. A battle fought for a period of long-lasting peace. When this battle was won, peace followed. If you refused to fight, there would be no peace for a long time.

Another type was not necessary, where the pros and cons were hard to discern. Some say it should be fought, others say it shouldn't. Some say it would be good to fight, while others say it was better not to.

Different people, standing from different viewpoints, would give different answers.

The last kind was a pointless war. Either the timing was wrong, the chances of victory were too slim, or there was no real need for it at all. It was a conflict driven by the Emperor’s personal desires or whims, bringing no benefit to the country or its people.

If the current Emperor were to launch another war against the North, Song You couldn't clearly distinguish which kind it would be. Was it truly unavoidable? Was it optional? Or was this Emperor merely seeking to satisfy some personal desire or to achieve everlasting fame in history?

Song You wasn’t certain whether it should be fought now or left for a later generation. Would this war bring victory or defeat? Would it exhaust the nation's resources and lead to decline? He truly didn't know.

Besides, no matter the outcome, countless lives would be lost. The Daoist was just a Daoist—not an Emperor, nor a politician. It truly wasn’t his place to offer counsel.

It was much like the cycle of reincarnation in the underworld.

Song You could only speak honestly. “This matter is of great importance, but I lack the knowledge and understanding to offer any meaningful insight.”

“Then let it be.” The Emperor seemed somewhat disappointed and sighed inwardly.

He knew that his ancestors had relied on the Hidden Dragon Temple to establish the dynasty and to overcome crises that threatened the livelihood of the people, leading to periods of prosperity. If the Daoist in front of him could provide advice, it would undoubtedly bolster his confidence.

However, he also understood that the Daoists of Hidden Dragon Temple were known for their detached nature. Unless the situation of the common people was dire or directly affected them, they rarely interfered in political matters. Therefore, the Emperor didn't press further.

“I have one last question.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“Sir, you must be knowledgeable in divination,” the Emperor said. “Earlier at the banquet, you conversed with Chen Ziyi. I wonder, what do you think of him?”

“I see...” Song You immediately understood and said, “So, Your Majesty invited General Chen tonight to let me observe him.”

“Precisely.” The Emperor looked straight ahead with a calm expression.

“I have always believed in not doubting the people I use. And if I doubt them, I don’t use them. However, Chen Ziyi has achieved such high military merit that ministers in the court often submit reports based on mere rumors, either accusing him of harboring ambitions to seize power or suggesting he has rebellious intentions. I know in my heart that these are all false.”

“Oh?”

“Yet, news from the border states that Chen Ziyi holds unparalleled authority within the army, and his soldiers yield to only their general, not their Emperor. It’s even said that he has earned great respect among the northern jianghu. Now, it seems as if the court’s money and rations are being used to support Chen Ziyi's private army. I feel that, even if the reports are exaggerated, there's probably some truth to them.”

“So, Your Majesty summoned him to the capital?”

“First, I wanted to gauge his thoughts, and second, I intended to put him to use again. So I ordered his return. He also returned to the capital swiftly and decisively. Haha, his actions really echo that storyteller’s phrase—‘a man of boundless courage.’”

“I see.” Song You felt momentarily dazed.

So, the young general he once heard about from storytellers had now become such a formidable figure?

The Emperor then asked, “I wonder, could you tell if there was anything unusual about this man?”

He was likely asking about traits like “rebellious intent” or if he had the “bearing of an emperor.”

“Your Majesty misunderstands. I’m not skilled in fortune-telling or divination,” Song You replied. “I cannot predict the future of Great Yan, nor can I see anyone’s fate. If Your Majesty is asking me whether General Chen harbors rebellious intentions or possesses some extraordinary regal bearing, you've asked the wrong person.”

“You don't understand divination?”

“I do not.”

“Then how did you know about the great seeds overseas?”

“It was just an educated guess.”

“You wouldn't have sent Swallow Immortal to search for them without a high degree of certainty, would you?”

“I have other methods.”

“I see...”

Hearing this, the Emperor didn’t want to press any further, though he felt another wave of disappointment.

“I’ve heard that the State Preceptor is skilled in such matters,” Song You asked. “Why not consult the State Preceptor?”

“I’ve spoken to him as well. However, the State Preceptor values his reputation. Unless the matter is of great importance, he usually only offers advice that benefits the nation and its people. On matters like these, he tends to remain silent.”

“He says nothing at all?”

“Sir, you are a human immortal of Hidden Dragon Temple. I have nothing to hide from you. When I spoke with the State Preceptor about Chen Ziyi, he said Chen is a loyal man. However, he also mentioned that Chen Ziyi indeed commands unmatched authority in the army, and his soldiers deeply respect him. These two points, I already know.”

“I heard that the charity clinic and the care home were both established at the State Preceptor’s suggestion?”

“That’s correct.”

The so-called charity clinic, care home, and communal burial ground were all welfare institutions of this era.

The charity clinic was a medical aid institution in Changjing, primarily providing medical services to the poor and sick. The care home was akin to a combination of a retirement home and an orphanage from future generations, usually divided into separate sections.

The portion that cared for the elderly was also called Anlao Home or Anhuai Home, while the part caring for children was known as Ciyou Home. The communal burial ground, on the other hand, was a public burial institution, mainly responsible for burying unclaimed corpses.

The establishment of these state-run social welfare institutions, although proposed by the State Preceptor, also reflected the Great Yan Dynasty’s emphasis on the well-being of its people.

These institutions were made possible by Great Yan's highly developed economy, its well-structured social system, and the ruling class's concern for the livelihoods of the common people. Such institutions had never existed before, and perhaps, if Great Yan were to fall and the next dynasty failed to inherit these traits, these symbols of civilization would also cease to exist.

When Song You first heard about these institutions, he was somewhat shocked.

In an era often portrayed as dark and ruthless, where the upper class disregarded the common people, it was hard to imagine that the rulers would establish such humanitarian institutions to care for the lower classes. The State Preceptor's role in creating these institutions was certainly a significant merit.

Of course, due to various limitations, the reach of these welfare institutions was also restricted.

The charity clinic couldn’t treat all the poor patients of Changjing. This was why some, like those who had been possessed by evil spirits earlier, were still unable to seek treatment. The care home couldn’t take in all the orphans and elderly of Changjing, so there were still old people sleeping on the streets, and baby girls were still being abandoned in the river.

As for the communal burial ground, while they did manage to bury all the unclaimed corpses, they could do no more than find a place to cover them and offer the dead only the most basic dignity.

Yet, as long as the charity clinic cured one patient, the care home cared for one orphan or elderly person, or the communal burial ground buried one corpse, it was already considered a good deed.

One should not refrain from doing a good deed, no matter how small.

Returning to the matter of Chen Ziyi, perhaps the State Preceptor knew what his future held, or perhaps he didn’t. But if even the State Preceptor, skilled in divination, could not provide an answer, then Song You certainly couldn’t either.

“Your Majesty, I will take my leave now. I wish Your Majesty restful sleep and good health, and for Great Yan to last long, with its people living in peace and prosperity.”

“Thank you for your kind words, sir.”

“I shall take my leave.”

“Take care, sir.”

Song You climbed into the carriage the Emperor had prepared.

The cat followed him, hopping in and curiously looking around, its head swiveling from side to side as if finding everything new and exciting.

“Move!”

The horse’s hooves clattered, and the wheels rumbled. The cat was even more fascinated now, sticking its head out to observe the scene.

Meanwhile, Song You sat still with his eyes half-closed. Thanks to his elevated status, he had a naturally higher vantage point, making it easy to witness things that ordinary people could not.

Just like tonight.

The peak dynasty that thrived in its time, an elderly Emperor with grand ambitions, the undefeated general who had conquered lands, the Emperor’s suspicions, the general’s responses, the State Preceptor in between... Whatever happened next, or was happening now, would likely become a significant chapter in history. And here he was, so close to history, yet unable to see it in its entirety.

It was truly a strange feeling. What made this moment remarkable could not be put into words.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

In any case, he didn’t know what might happen in the future—whether the Emperor, driven by suspicion, would choose to execute the renowned general or continue to trust and employ him; whether the Emperor would wage war in the north, seeking eternal glory in victory or risking the weakening of the empire in defeat; or if he decided to forgo warfare altogether, even if General Chen were to rebel years later.

But Song You’s visit to the palace tonight, brushing against such monumental events in history and witnessing the writing of its chapters firsthand, had already made it all worthwhile.

Centuries from now, countless people would be filled with admiration and curiosity about this era. They would recite and write stories of this time, memorize the famous poems and works created in this age, and debate whether that legendary general harbored private ambitions or whether the Emperor’s actions were right or wrong.

And here, centuries earlier, the Daoist priest had witnessed it all with his own eyes. It almost felt as if he had become part of the history books himself.

When he came back to his senses, the cat was already perched on his lap, her face so close to his that her mouth was practically nudging his chin.

“Daoist priest.”

“Hmm?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Oh...”

The cat nodded obediently, then stared at him again and asked, “What is this?”

“What do you mean, what is this?”

“The thing we're in, what is it?”

“A carriage. We often see them on the road,” the Daoist patiently explained. “But the ones on the road aren't as nice as this one.”

“Why don't we get one of these and put it on the horse? Then we can sit inside while we walk.”

The cat's eyes were full of confusion.

Meeting her gaze, many answers flashed through the Daoist’s mind—like, “Then it wouldn’t be us walking anymore,” or “Carriages can only travel on main roads, they can't climb mountains”—but none of these seemed convincing enough. The cat would probably come up with many different responses or ask even more questions.

So after thinking it over, he simply said, “That would make the horse very tired.”

“Oh, right...”

The cat immediately nodded in agreement, finding it completely reasonable.