Unintended Immortality

Princess Changping had stepped down from the stage of history.

He wondered whether Heroine Wu, who had relied on the princess’s support to secretly investigate her father’s murderer, had found the answers she sought. He also wondered whether the fox demon who had gone to Changjing to repay a debt of gratitude had gained her freedom.

Had Prefect Yu, recalled to the capital for an important role, become entangled in the chaos? Had Magistrate Liu been swept up in the storm?

It must have been a tremendous upheaval.

Thinking about it this way, there were so many familiar faces.

While Song You was far from the capital, unable to witness the court's political machinations and hidden currents, he felt no regret. At that time, he might have been climbing the Five-Colored Pool in Yuezhou, listening to the sound of snow falling before the Yuelong Waterfall, or waiting for a divine bird to appear in an ancient Qingtong Forest. The sights before him were wonders that most people could never dream of seeing in a lifetime.

General Chen was destined to be remembered as a legendary figure for the ages.

Even if he were later betrayed by the Emperor or court officials, even if time altered his legacy, even if he failed to preserve his honor in the end, none of that could change this truth.

As for the Daoist, he was far away, in one of the most remote counties of a prefecture located at the farthest eastern edge of Great Yan from Changjing. There, in a quiet, unremarkable place, he passed the time with his cat, harvesting and drying chili peppers several times over. While working, he even attempted to teach the cat the concept of farming.

The small town’s selection of goods was sparse, even during the New Year festivities.

Apart from some farming tools, most vegetables were preserved or stored varieties, with fresh produce being extremely rare. However, due to the New Year, there were plenty of meat vendors.

After browsing the market, they bought a large pork trotter, a few ribs, and two taels of pork hindquarter meat. They also bought a chicken.

There was no special hesitation about buying a chicken, even though the swallow youth belonged to the avian kind. The swallow, timid yet sensitive and proud, would likely feel guilty if he realized such considerations were being made on his behalf. Eating chicken was, after all, a common practice for humans.

A degree of avoidance might be appropriate, but beyond that, it was better to let things be—just as Song You chose to avert his eyes when Lady Calico ate a rat. If he couldn’t bear to watch, he simply didn’t look.

Returning to borrow the store’s kitchen, they tidied up everything, then borrowed the store’s pots and stove. In the morning, they prepared the marinade ingredients, cooked the braising sauce, and tossed in the pig trotters, ribs, and chicken to simmer.

The New Year’s Eve festivities were in full swing.

Outside, the streets were lively with music and performances. People in bright costumes and heavy makeup sang and danced, playing suonas and waist drums. Behind them, others carried effigies of a local deity believed to ward off plagues, parading through the streets. Occasionally, one could spot the local magistrate and his family, accompanied by a retinue of servants, strolling down the road.

The streets also saw a number of jianghu martial artists, moving in groups of three or five. Most carried distinctive long blades, likely influenced by the Hanjiang Sect—the most prominent sect in Zhaozhou.

Inside the house, the pot of braised meat simmered, bubbling gently.

Song You carried a stool outside and sat down to take in the rare bustle of the town.

But today, anyone who lived near the inn or passed by the surrounding area was struck by a rich, enticing aroma wafting through the air. It was a scent that didn’t belong to this era.

“What’s that smell?”

“It smells amazing!”

“Is it meat?”

“Where’s it coming from?”

“Wow, it smells delicious!”

The saying went that the fragrance of wine feared no deep alleys, and it seemed the fragrance of meat was no exception.

Those accustomed to eating meat might not find it remarkable, but for someone deprived of sufficient supplies for a time, even the faint aroma of an ordinary meat stew drifting from afar could feel heavenly. Let alone this richly fragrant and irresistibly enticing braised meat.

Unless, of course, they didn’t enjoy meat to begin with.

But in this town, how many of the common folk hadn’t gone without meat for a long time?

Even the innkeeper, who lived a relatively comfortable life, was surprised by the rich aroma wafting from their own kitchen.

The Daoist had borrowed the inn’s kitchen, so naturally, the innkeeper kept an eye on what he was doing with it. Though he couldn’t just stand there staring, he noticed that the Daoist had used various spices to cook the braising sauce.

Initially, the fragrance was just that of the spices, an unusual smell that piqued curiosity but didn’t necessarily stimulate appetite. However, the moment the meat was added, the aroma transformed entirely.

Unable to resist, the innkeeper ran over to Song You, bowed slightly, and asked, “Sir, what is this dish you’re cooking?”

“It’s called braised meat,” Song You replied.

“Braised meat?”

“A traditional recipe from my hometown, rarely seen elsewhere.”

“…”

The innkeeper immediately fell into deep thought.

He considered asking the Daoist to teach him the recipe but hesitated when he recalled the precise proportions of the spices—each meticulously measured and handled with great care. It seemed like it might be some kind of closely guarded secret.

He thought about offering to waive the Daoist’s rent or provide some other form of payment but felt reluctant to part with the money. Just as he was about to muster the courage to make a more generous offer, another thought crossed his mind: the Daoist would be staying for more than twenty days. Surely, he’d cook this dish again.

Next time, he could observe more closely, and after a few tries, he might figure it out himself. At most, he could treat the Daoist better, offer more attentive service, and give him some extra things here and there.

As these calculations played out in his mind, before he could reach a conclusion, he noticed from the corner of his eye that the Daoist had turned to look at him with a smile. That gaze seemed to see straight into his thoughts.

“...!” The innkeeper couldn’t help but be startled.

It felt as though all his little schemes had been laid bare. It wasn’t a sense of guilt or fear, but rather a kind of embarrassment, like being caught with his secrets exposed.

However, the Daoist simply smiled and said, “Sir, would you like to try some?”

“This… That’ll be rude of me.”

“Are you staying here for the New Year?” asked Song You.

“Well, in the past, we used to return outside the city to bring my elderly father along. But this autumn, my father passed away. My eldest son is away doing business, and my second son joined the military and hasn’t returned. So it’s just me and my wife celebrating here this year. After the New Year, we’ll visit some relatives.”

“That works out perfectly,” Song You said with a smile. “I’ve cooked plenty of meat, but I don’t have any other dishes or rice. If you’re willing, you could share some of your dishes and rice with me, and I’ll share some of my braised meat with you. Wouldn’t that be just right?”

“Wouldn’t that be taking advantage of you, sir?”

“You jest,” Song You replied with a chuckle. “It’s the New Year—there’s no such thing as taking advantage during a celebration.”

“Well…”

The innkeeper hesitated for a moment, realizing he couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. With a bow and cupped hands, he said, “Then, thank you for your generosity.”

The Daoist remained seated, watching the lively scene unfold around him.

The small town didn’t offer much in the way of sightseeing, and as the sky darkened, New Year’s Eve arrived.

Here and there, faint sounds of firecrackers could be heard.

Song You stood by the window in his upstairs room, gazing outside. The sky was void of fireworks. Looking toward the streets, some shops had lit lanterns, and a few people strolled with lanterns in hand, their glow casting light into the darkness. In the shadows beyond the lanterns, figures swayed, but unlike the bright streets of Changjing or Yidu, not every household here hung lanterns by their doors.

Still, it wasn’t that this place lacked festivity—its celebrations were simply different.

You could sense it in the shifting silhouettes in the dark and hear it in the chaotic, noisy sounds of the crowd.

After spending a few days here, Song You found himself rather fond of the place.

“Swoosh…”

A gust of cold wind swept into the room.

Song You casually shut the window and turned back inside.

The room was lit with lanterns—one hanging at the door, another by the bedside—both lit by Lady Calico. On the desk was an oil lamp, glowing without oil, and half the table was filled with dishes.

Song You’s braised meat had been chopped into chunks or sliced into pieces and placed in simple bowls. Though unpretentious in presentation, its rich color and enticing aroma were irresistible. The innkeeper had also brought over dishes he had prepared: stewed meat, aspic, fried river fish, and tofu balls, all served in large bowls. While the craftsmanship seemed ordinary—typical of an era lacking sophisticated culinary techniques—the portions were generous and in no way stingy.

There was also a small plate of raw shredded lean meat and a tiny raw fish.

Two figures were already seated at the table.

A young girl sat upright, turning her head to look at him, and a handsome youth, sitting with a reserved expression.

“…” Song You smiled and took a seat at the table.

“Let’s eat.”

“Yum!”

Lady Calico wasted no time. She had been craving the Daoist’s braised meat for ages and didn’t even bother with chopsticks, grabbing a piece of rib with her hand.

As always, she sniffed it thoroughly before finally taking a bite.

The Daoist smiled as he looked at her.

“Does it taste good, Lady Calico?”

“…”

The little girl kept her head down, focused intently on gnawing at the rib. A low hum, more like a muffled growl, came from her throat, serving as her response—talking while eating was simply not an option for her.

She only looked up after finishing the rib. Holding the bone in her hand, she carefully chewed and swallowed the meat, licking every drop of juice clean to ensure nothing was left. Then, she put the bones into her mouth and chewed on them, not only swallowing the marrow and juices inside but also gulping down the bone fragments.

The young swallow boy sitting nearby watched the entire process in stunned disbelief.

Finally, the little girl turned to meet the Daoist’s gaze. Under the light, her eyes seemed to glow.

Still, she didn’t answer immediately, holding his gaze as though deliberating her response or organizing her thoughts. After a long pause, she finally spoke, though her words came as a question instead of an answer.

“Why didn’t you throw away the water you used to cook the meat?”

“To save it for next time,” the Daoist replied.

“Next time!”

“Yes.”

“You can use it again?”

“Of course.”

At this point, Song You furrowed his brows. A sense of foreboding crept into his mind.

And sure enough, the little girl beside him showed a contemplative look once more. If one observed closely, they might notice her head subtly nodding and her eyes darting between the portable stove used for heating and boiling water and the bag containing a small cooking pot.

“…”

Song You sighed, unable to respond, and silently picked up a piece of meat with his chopsticks, placing it in her bowl. “Lady Calico, have some more to eat…”

The little girl lowered her gaze to her bowl, picked it up with her hand, but then looked at him with a serious expression and said, “Daoist priest, you should eat more!”

She looked every bit like someone intending to save room to snack again in the middle of the night.

“Sigh…”

This was why, whether it was a cat or a child, sometimes being too skilled—whether in learning, hands-on activities, or self-sufficiency—could be more trouble than it was worth. Especially when they excelled in all areas, like an all-around prodigy.

After finishing their meal, they lit a lantern and went out for a walk, taking in the atmosphere of how the townsfolk in this remote northern town celebrated the New Year.

***

Later that night, around midnight…

The townsfolk living near the inn once again caught a whiff of a similar alluring aroma to the one during the day. While it wasn’t as rich, and the meaty scent was less intense, it was just as enticing.

The innkeeper and his wife were also awakened by the fragrance.

The wife was the first to wake, shaking her husband and insisting she smelled something delicious. At first, the innkeeper was dismissive, grumbling that she was just craving the braised meat they’d eaten earlier, and that her dreams were playing tricks on her. But no sooner had he said this than he, too, caught the scent.

Curious, he got up, lit a lamp, and began inspecting the kitchen. Yet, there were no signs of a fire or cooking in the stove. He went upstairs to check Song You’s room, but it was completely quiet, dark, and clearly not the source of the aroma.

The innkeeper was left baffled.

Still, the fragrance lingered, warm and tantalizing, as though the dish had just been served.

After a thorough search, they found nothing unusual.

The innkeeper went to the cabinet and opened it. The braised meat they had been saving—the few pieces they hadn’t eaten, intending to share them in a couple of days with his younger brother and nephew visiting from the city—was still sitting neatly in its bowl, untouched by any neighbor or thief. Unable to resist, he grabbed two pieces of pork trotter: one he popped into his mouth, the other he carried back to share with his wife in their room.

“This is truly bizarre,” the innkeeper muttered, shaking his head as he walked, mumbling to himself.