Unintended Immortality-Chapter 315: The Divine Among Us

As they left Mozhu County, there was still snow on the ground.

However, it no longer carried the heavy, endless whiteness of midwinter. Patches of earth and remnants of last year’s wild grass began to emerge, while snow lingered only in the shaded, low-lying parts of the official roads.

The Daoist traveled for half a day, covering dozens of li.

Finding a suitable spot, he sat down to rest.

The old hen gifted by the innkeeper had already been slaughtered and cleaned, and the honey fungi soaked and prepared. After fussing over it for half the afternoon, everything had come together in a pot of stewed chicken, now bubbling away with a rich aroma rising into the air.

Lady Calico had transformed into her human form, crouching into a small bundle while holding a stick of firewood. She carefully tended the flames, occasionally leaning forward to peer into the pot, sniffing the aroma, and pondering whether the main ingredient for this dish could be swapped out for something else.

The Daoist sat cross-legged nearby, holding a copy of Yudi Jisheng, contemplating the next leg of their journey.

Zhaozhou was vast, its expanse evident even on the map.

If it were merely a cartographic error, one might dismiss it as the mapmaker’s oversight. However, the text in the chapter on Zhaozhou made it clear: although the number of counties and commanderies in Zhaozhou was comparable to other prefectures, historical circumstances had resulted in even the smallest counties and commanderies being as large as the biggest ones in the south.

This meant Zhaozhou truly was immense.

During his recent stay in the city, he often visited the teahouse to listen to stories, many of which revolved around Zhaozhou. Its rich cultural heritage, scenic landscapes, the presence of martial artists and demons, and its notorious abundance of heretical shrines and deviant cults had all been topics of discussion. The Daoist had pieced together a rough understanding.

Having a clear plan in mind, he reached for a thin twig from the pile of firewood Lady Calico had collected. Breaking it off, he added it to the fire, letting it catch before pulling it out and blowing out the flame. Rubbing it against the ground, he fashioned a sharp charcoal pencil.

Lady Calico turned her head to watch him.

Her expression was almost identical to when she was in her feline form.

Whenever someone nearby did something unusual or out of the ordinary, her attention was immediately drawn. She would fix her gaze on them, either puzzled or thoughtful. Lady Calico was incredibly intelligent—quick-witted and eager to learn. If she found someone’s behavior reasonable or worth emulating, she would quietly commit it to memory.

She strove to become as capable as the Daoist.

“Swish...”

The Daoist drew a winding line on the map. This would be the route moving forward.

“Gurgle, gurgle...”

The steam rising from the pot now carried a rich aroma. The broth had thickened, turning slightly sticky, with large chunks of chicken and tender strands of honey fungi visible within.

“It’s ready...” The Daoist tossed the book he had been holding to the side.

He reached out for bowls and a ladle.

“It’s ready!”

Lady Calico immediately threw aside the rebellious stick she had carefully selected for the fire, mimicking the Daoist’s book-tossing motion almost perfectly. She then eagerly went to fetch her small bowl.

At the same time, she tilted her head back and called up to the swallows perched in the tree above. “Swallow, do you want to eat? I’ll save you a chicken wing!”

Flap, flap, flap…

The swallow flitted its wings and flew to another tree.

“...”

Lady Calico looked puzzled, repeatedly glancing over at the swallow. However, with a delicious meal in front of her, she quickly dismissed the thought, shook her head, and cupped her bowl in both hands. Moving closer to the pot, she stared eagerly at the Daoist.

Each received a steaming bowl of chicken.

The Daoist picked up a piece, blew on it, and placed the piping-hot chicken in his mouth.

A free-range hen raised for several years naturally had a flavor that needed no further praise, and the locally sourced honey fungi were of top-notch quality as well. Song You roughly followed the local cooking methods but added a few bay leaves, cinnamon bark, and star anise, simmering the broth into a thick, golden, crystal-clear consistency. The chunks of meat soaked in the sauce were so delicious that even immortals would envy the meal.

Especially in this season when the snow was melting, the taste and warmth of the dish were utterly satisfying.

“Ahh...”

Song You couldn’t help but wish for a bowl of white rice, or perhaps a pot of noodle soup, even just a few flatbread morsels toasted on the side of a pot. He could vividly imagine how they would absorb the flavorful broth and pair perfectly with the meat and mushrooms.

Swallowing another mouthful of meat, he glanced over at the little girl.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s delicious.”

“That’s good.”

“I also think it’s strange.”

“Oh? What’s strange?”

“I feel like I’m starting to enjoy eating human food more and more.” The little girl cradled her bowl with one hand while holding chopsticks in the other. Pausing mid-bite, she furrowed her little brows and looked at him earnestly.

“The first time I ate human food, it all tasted pretty much the same. Whether it was fruit or grass, none of it was very good. Meat was tasty, but no matter what vegetables or mushrooms you added to it, it always just tasted like meat. But now, it tastes different.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“I see...” Song You responded thoughtfully.

“I see...”

“But you still love eating rats as much as ever,” Song You said to the little girl.

“Of course!” The little girl nodded solemnly.

Rats were so delicious. How could she not love eating rats?

For a cat, rats were as essential as iron and steel—going without them for even a day left her itching for more.

Song You glanced at her again. “Lady Calico, stand up and let me have a look.”

“Stand up and let you have a look...”

The little girl turned her head to look at him, puzzled, but obediently stood up, bowl still in hand. As she rose, she kept eating her meat, all the while staring at him with growing curiosity.

“It seems you’ve grown a bit taller again.”

“Grown taller again!”

“I think so.”

“How much taller?!”

“A little, maybe more than a little. How much exactly, we’ll only know once we get back to Changjing,” Song You said to her with a smile. “Hopefully, that wall is still there.”

“It must be a lot!”

“Perhaps...”

The Daoist chuckled again and continued eating.

Although they had only traveled for half a day, it was clear they wouldn’t be able to go any farther today. The old hen, weighing several jin, was far too much for one person and one cat to finish in a single meal. They would probably need to have another round as a midnight snack, and even then, there would still be leftovers.

The large pot of stewed chicken, full of meat and broth, was simply impossible to carry along. It looked like they wouldn’t finish it until breakfast tomorrow morning.

At times like this, he couldn’t help but think of Heroine Wu. Or Sir Shu.

Martial artists had hearty appetites. If either of them were here, they’d likely polish off the entire pot in one sitting.

For now, it seemed they’d have to spend the night here.

And that was just fine...

The Daoist’s gaze shifted into the distance.

In the distance, there was a bamboo grove. He had brought rice with him, and later, he could cut some bamboo tubes. Although the pot was occupied, by morning, he could prepare some bamboo cooked rice to complement the meal.

Since the road ahead was long, there was no need to rush. He could take his time, savoring the things he enjoyed, and move forward at a leisurely pace.

That was how one found ease and freedom in life.

Whoosh…

The spring breeze flipped the pages of the book, landing perfectly on the map page.

The map was a rough sketch, and the drawn routes were equally approximate. It traced a loop around the territory of Zhaozhou, forming an almost open circle that extended into Hanzhou and connected to Guangzhou.

***

Spring passed, and summer arrived, yet Zhaozhou remained cool and refreshing.

In the teahouse of Mozhu County…

Perhaps due to the season, business at the teahouse had picked up slightly. A young boy, now with some free time, stood once more at the entrance of the teahouse. Still, he didn’t dare enter, choosing instead to linger with a small group of similarly impoverished or miserly individuals at the door, peeking inside and straining to catch the conversations.

The boy always knew his place.

The teahouse owner had grown somewhat familiar with him.

He knew the boy had a hard life with no parents to look after him. Although the boy listened from outside, he never blocked the entrance or caused a disturbance. His clothes were worn, but not filthy or smelly, so he didn’t offend others.

In fact, when the teahouse occasionally needed something moved, a mere question or a glance from the owner would prompt the boy to offer his help willingly. As a result, the owner rarely drove him away.

The innkeeper next door was a different story.

Though the innkeeper was stingy and disliked spending money, he was the teahouse's neighbor, and the two businesses had a cordial relationship. During quiet times at the teahouse, the innkeeper could freely come in and sit down. When the teahouse was crowded, he could still casually fetch a stool and sit by the door—a level of treatment far removed from what the impoverished crowd outside could expect.

“With a green blade and a green ox as his steed…”

“...”

The storyteller didn’t have much in his repertoire. He kept repeating the same few tales, circling back again and again, until he returned to last year’s story about the northern army’s immortal master vanquishing demons and monsters.

Fortunately, the storyteller’s delivery was skillful, with a dynamic rhythm and engaging tone. Even if you had heard the tale before, listening to it again still felt captivating—especially in an era with so few forms of entertainment.

The young boy listened intently, thoroughly engrossed. The innkeeper, meanwhile, treated it simply as a way to pass the time.

However, as the story continued, one of the men standing outside the door—a wandering jianghu martial artist—couldn’t help but smirk and mutter disdainfully, “What nonsense...”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t exactly quiet either.

Many of the patrons inside the teahouse heard him.

The storyteller glanced over at him. He was well aware of the blurred lines between fact and fiction in his stories, but as a professional storyteller, it wasn’t his place to argue with his audience. He simply pretended not to hear.

The teahouse owner also cast a wary look at the man. Noticing the martial artist’s sturdy build and the iron staff tucked into his belt, he decided against saying anything.

However, the man wasn’t the only down-and-out wanderer standing outside.

Another man nearby, intrigued by the comment, leaned over and asked in a low voice, “Sir, do you have a different version of the story?”

The boy, curious as well, shifted his gaze toward them and pricked up his ears.

“It’s not about having a ‘different version.’ It’s just that I recently came from Hezhou, and what I heard there, passed down from Yanzhou, is nothing like the tale this old man is spinning.”

“How so?”

“Where’s this white-haired immortal supposed to have come from? And what’s all this about a green ox, a tiger cub, or a green blade? Never heard of any of it! None of it!” The martial artist spat as he spoke, his tone filled with disdain.

“This old man is either making it all up himself or spreading hearsay he picked up from somewhere unreliable. Isn’t this nonsense? Anyone remotely familiar with Yanzhou and the nearby Hezhou and Guangzhou knows that the immortal master who helped General Chen subdue demons isn’t anything like what this old man is describing!”

“Then tell us, sir!” someone urged.

“From what I’ve heard, the immortal manifested as a young Daoist, looking like he was only in his twenties. There was no green ox, just a thin, jujube-red horse. And the supposed tiger cub? It was nothing more than a strikingly beautiful calico cat—said to be some celestial star reincarnated. As for the green blade, there’s no mention of it at all. Instead, they say this Daoist carried a simple bamboo staff.”

The martial artist grinned. “By the time the story spreads past Guangzhou, it’s been twisted beyond recognition. But I’ll tell you, hearing a version as ridiculous as this one is a first for me.”

As the martial artist spoke, he kept an eye on the crowd’s reactions.

Especially the storyteller, the two people in the hall who looked like they might be the teahouse’s owners, and a few regular patrons. Though he hadn’t paid to enter, he wasn’t shameless enough to ignore any rebukes—if anyone called him out, he’d have to respond in kind.

But instead of objections, he saw only stunned expressions.

The storyteller stood frozen, speechless. The two people who looked like the owners were similarly stunned, still staring at him with increasingly blank faces.

The regular patrons seated closest to the storyteller looked puzzled at first, then leaned toward each other, whispering in hushed tones as though trying to make sense of what they’d just heard.

Even the young boy standing nearby was left dumbfounded.

“And this gentleman... Does he have a name?” someone finally asked.

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“A name? Back in Hezhou, I think I heard people say his surname was Song or something like that. But after Hezhou, the stories got muddled—some say he’s named Liu, others Zhang, and some even claim he shares the emperor’s surname. I can’t tell which one’s real and which one’s not. Honestly, they’re probably all made up.”

As soon as these words were spoken, the two who seemed to be the teahouse owners, along with the young boy beside them, froze further, their expressions growing even more dazed.