Unintended Immortality

Chapter 352: There Would No Longer Be a Wanjiang in Changjing

“Glug... Glug...”

A little girl held a bowl of rice wine, tilting her head back to take the last sip into her mouth. Yet, instead of swallowing, she let it sit there, puffing up her cheeks. Her lips were pursed into a tiny pout, glistening and red from the drink.

She leaned against the Daoist seated behind her, sitting idly on the floorboards. Her wide eyes darted around the room, her legs sprawling aimlessly. She had long since abandoned her meal, succumbing to a bored daze.

After a while, she finally swallowed the rice wine. Her lips smacked as she savored the taste.

The coarse-brewed rice wine soup was nothing like the rice wine sent by General Chen. It had no sharp alcoholic kick, only the rich fragrance of rice, with a chilled sweetness that she loved.

Without hesitation, she scooped herself another bowl from the pot.

Yet, instead of drinking it right away, she left it sitting in front of her. Turning her head, she stared blankly at her Daoist, who was deep in conversation with a woman.

Soon enough, she found it boring.

Why would anyone waste their time talking instead of savoring this delicious rice wine soup, this flavorful fish-and-lamb soup, or the tender lamb and chicken? Why focus so much on chatting?

The little girl’s thoughts flitted wildly.

“Lady Calico.” The voice of a maid came from the front.The maid, seemingly full and satisfied herself, appeared equally uninterested in the Daoist and her mistress's conversation. Smiling, she turned to the little girl and said, “Are you bored? How about I play with you?”

“I have my own tail,” the girl replied nonchalantly.

“Suit yourself, then.”

The little girl remained by the Daoist's side, her small frame leaning against his waist. She sat in a trance-like state, as if lost in thought—or perhaps not thinking at all. Occasionally, she would turn her head to exchange glances with the maid.

She had slipped into a peculiar state of mind.

“Whoosh…”

A cold wind blew through, lifting the sheer white curtains into a gentle flutter.

The dancing fabric caught her attention.

She turned her head and stared intently at the swaying curtains. Without a hint of expression, she suddenly twisted her body. With a poof, she transformed into a cat and began darting around the spacious upper floor.

Standing upright, she clawed at the curtains, then dashed madly from one side to the other like a creature possessed. After a pause, she would stare into thin air before launching herself into another frenzied sprint in a different direction.

Sometimes, she clawed furiously at the base of a pillar.

Other times, she chased her tail in tight circles, flopped onto the floor to wrestle with it, or ran to the edge of the second floor to pace along the railing like a tightrope walker.

After a while, she scampered back to the Daoist, nuzzled up to the two small bowls, and alternated between licking the lamb soup and the rice wine soup. She made sure to share her attention evenly, neglecting neither bowl, repeating this routine with meticulous fairness.

Once she was satisfied with her drinks, she turned around again and resumed her madcap antics across the floor.

Meanwhile, the Daoist remained seated, quietly listening to the woman as she spoke in detail.

“The most remarkable among them would be that ancient willow tree, alive since primordial times. It possesses powers that connect the heavens and the earth. Among all the demons and monsters in the world, finding one that surpasses it would be incredibly difficult,” Miss Wanjiang said.

She added, “However, many years before the wars in the North, there was no more news of it. With the world’s Heavenly Dao evolving so rapidly now, it’s entirely possible that it has already perished.”

“The white rhinoceroses, implicated by that great White Bull King, are likely under a thorough investigation by the Heavenly Palace. As for the marsh dragons, I hear they’ve migrated southward, seeking longevity by emulating Anqing’s Swallow Immortal and pursuing incense offerings to establish their Divine Dao among humans.”

“What plans do you have for yourself?” asked the Daoist.

“Are you asking about us,” the woman replied, “or the foxes of Yuezhou?”

“Is there a difference?”

“If you’re asking about us, then I must first ask, Daoist Master, whether it is out of friendly concern or mere humanitarian curiosity,” she said with a smile. “But if you’re asking about the foxes of Yuezhou, I’m afraid we cannot share that with you.”

“Never mind, then.” Without hesitation, Song You changed the subject with a grin, “Have you ever seen the divine bird of Yuezhou?”

“I saw it once when I was young.”

“And how did it come to be?”

“There are many rumors about the divine bird,” the woman replied. “Some say it’s a spirit born of heaven and earth. Others claim it’s the transformation of a great ancient being after death. Yet others believe it’s merely a natural phenomenon of heaven and earth. As for the specifics, I’m afraid only those who happened to witness it during the era when the divine bird was first born would be able to know.”

She sat with a poised demeanor, smiling as she continued, “When I was fortunate enough to see it, I was just beginning to achieve enlightenment. It was a time of chaos. I remember only its exceptional splendor—a beauty that outshone all the suffering in the world. It carried away countless vengeful spirits and obsessions. In the end, I realized it didn’t matter how it came to be. Having seen its form was already the greatest blessing of my life.”

“That’s reasonable.”

The fire under the small earthen stove wasn’t intense, but it had slowly brought the lamb soup to a boil. The milky-white broth bubbled and steamed, filling the air with a rich aroma.

Song You picked up a handful of tender pea shoots and tossed them into the pot. After a brief scalding, he fished them out and placed them in his bowl.

The pea shoots, delicate and fresh, softened instantly upon entering the boiling broth. Their light fragrance, combined with the richness of the lamb soup, made the meal deeply satisfying. For a fleeting moment, the Daoist was transported back to the days on the mountain, huddled in the Daoist temple during a cold winter with his master and Daoist Elder Heiyu, cooking a small hotpot.

But when he glanced up through the rising steam, he found himself staring at a fox demon across the table.

The woman smiled at him, as if silently inquiring about his thoughts.

“Eat the meat!” he said brusquely.

At that moment, a small hand holding a piece of lamb extended toward the Daoist, placing it right in front of him.

Following the hand upward, he met the defiant face of Lady Calico.

It seemed she couldn’t stand watching him eat only vegetables.

“...”

The Daoist glanced down at the greasy, slightly wet hand that still bore faint traces of dust. With a polite but firm gesture, he pushed it away. “Lady Calico, you eat it yourself.”

Her hand was small and easy to move aside without resistance.

Yet, in the very next instant, the same little hand reached forward again, as stubborn as ever.

“Eat the meat!” The little girl’s face was resolute, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on him.

“...”

The Daoist’s expression was one of utter helplessness.

Across the table, the woman observed the scene calmly, while the maid behind her covered her mouth, smiling as though thoroughly enjoying his predicament.

“Lady Calico, you’ve clearly mastered the use of chopsticks long ago,” the Daoist asked, exasperated. “And you’re quite skilled at it too. Why, then, are you using your hands to grab the meat today?”

“I have more fingers on my hands than chopsticks.”

“Fair point,” the maid chimed in, “and they’re more nimble too.”

“Chopsticks are still better,” the Daoist insisted.

“Alright.” Lady Calico replied decisively. She quickly transferred the meat from her right hand to her left, picked up her chopsticks, and then used them to pick the meat off her hand. Once again, she extended it toward the Daoist. “Eat the meat!”

“Lady Calico, your hands are covered in dust...”

“It's just dust!”

“She’s absolutely right,” the maid chimed in, agreeing wholeheartedly. “It’s just dust, after all. Born in this world, how can we avoid a bit of dust? Before we became demons, we all ate meat off the ground. Sometimes the meat would even roll in the mud, and we still ate it, didn’t we?”

“...” The Daoist, unhurried and composed, picked up his chopsticks and swirled them in the pot, retrieving a few pieces of lamb. “I can get my own.”

Lady Calico blinked, momentarily taken aback.

After all, her intention wasn’t to insist that the Daoist eat the meat she had handled but simply to ensure he wasn’t eating only vegetables. After a moment’s hesitation, she withdrew the meat she had offered and prepared to eat it herself. But as her gaze caught the tail of the fox across the table smiling, her expression hardened. Without a word, she extended the meat toward the maid instead.

“You eat!”

“...” The maid’s smile froze on her face.

With a plop, the meat landed squarely in her bowl. The little girl sat properly, watching her intently.

No one could say how much time passed before the remnants of the meal were cleared from the table, leaving only fruit and rice wine. The maid brought out an ancient guqin for her mistress.

The guqin was made of black wood, adorned with golden cloud patterns.

“I heard this guqin was used by an immortal a thousand years ago?” Song You asked as he lowered his gaze to the instrument.

“The rumor is true. This guqin has indeed been passed down for over a thousand years,” Miss Wanjiang replied. “It belonged to a legendary guqin master during the Yu Dynasty—the very one revered as the Saint of Music by the Le family. After the Saint's death, this guqin was kept in the royal court of the Yu Dynasty.

“However, when the dynasty fell, the imperial capital was overrun, and the palace was breached, the guqin ended up in the hands of common folk. It so happened that an ancestor of mine was living among humans at that time, gaining some renown. An admirer went to great lengths to acquire this guqin and risked their life to carry it across thousands of li to present it to him.”

“Such deep camaraderie,” Song You remarked.

“Indeed,” Miss Wanjiang said. “They say that back then, humans would lay down their lives for honor or sacrifice everything for loyalty and friendship. For us demons, the world changes far too quickly to comprehend such devotion.”

“You’re knowledgeable.”

“Are you implying that I’m old?” she teased.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I’m just kidding.” She smiled at him, then continued, “While speaking with you today, Daoist Master, I’ve set aside many pretenses and disguises. It feels liberating—like that year I drifted down the river on a boat. I’m in the mood now, so may I play a tune on this guqin for you, Daoist Master, to enhance the enjoyment of the wine?”

“I would be honored to listen to you play.”

“...”

The woman smiled, then lowered her head to the guqin.

Her pale, slender fingers moved with unhurried grace. Her left hand pressed the strings, while her right hand plucked them. The first note resonated deeply, as if it stirred something within the listener’s heart.

The Daoist listened quietly.

Outside the window, snow and rain swirled, and the northern wind howled. Occasionally, the sound of chatter drifted up from the floor below. Yet, without anyone noticing, the wind seemed to still, the curtains upstairs fell silent, and even the crowd below grew hushed.

Once again, the sound of a guqin echoed through Hexian Pavilion.

The music, otherworldly in its skill, resonated deeply with all who heard it. Even those indifferent to music found vivid imagery forming in their minds. For those who loved sound and melody, it was utterly enchanting—a profound joy that touched the body and soul.

So captivated were the listeners that when the guqin fell silent and the Daoist led the little girl out of the room, hardly anyone noticed their departure.

By the time they realized the music had stopped, it had been silent for some time.

It was unclear who broke the spell first, but someone murmured softly, and soon everyone was whispering, bowing their heads to discuss the performance.

“Miss Wanjiang played the guqin again?”

“Could it be that gentleman is a healer?”

“Surely it’s not...”

“Don’t speak nonsense! The melody was so free and joyful, without a trace of sorrow or gloom. Listening to it felt like basking in the warmth of spring sunlight—how could it be as you imagine?”

“That makes sense. It must be that Miss Wanjiang’s illness has been cured, and she’s in good spirits, which inspired her to play such a delightful tune.”

“...”

At Hexian Pavilion, a servant emerged and respectfully invited a group of guqin and wine enthusiasts who had been lingering by the entrance. These were people who couldn’t afford the exorbitant fees to sit inside yet came daily in the hopes of hearing the lady play.

They were now ushered into the main hall to sit alongside the distinguished guests. The pavilion even brought out its finest wine, encouraging everyone to drink to their heart's content.

As the music resumed upstairs, the hauntingly beautiful melody filled the air once more.

By this time, the Daoist had already walked halfway down the street.

Drawn by the sound of the guqin, he paused and tightened his grip on the little hand of the mischievous Lady Calico, who was growing restless. He turned to glance back.

The streets were alive with people moving toward the pavilion, all captivated by the music.

At this moment, perhaps only the Daoist understood one somber truth—

After today, there would no longer be a Wanjiang in Changjing with divine guqin mastery.