Chapter 49: But What About the Path of Longevity?

The City God’s eyes immediately swept over. The Judge of Martial Arts picked up the iron brush from the ground, his hand trembling slightly beneath his sleeve.

"To think there truly are such immortals in this world..."

"Your subordinate was simply lost in listening."

His voice was hoarse. Clad in red and black armor, with a blue face, sharp fangs, and bulging eyes burning with rage, the Judge of Martial Arts had always been a ghost deity of awe-inspiring majesty, tasked with punishing the wicked and executing divine penalties. His iron pen could sever the thread of life and death, and his strokes decreed final judgment.

How could he have dropped his iron pen to the floor merely from being engrossed in a tale?

Beside him, the Judge of Letters and the Day Wanderer and Night Patroller also sensed something was amiss and cast their gazes over.

The City God stared at him intently.

Slowly, he said, "Those who serve as ghosts and deities must also harbor a sense of awe."

"How numerous are the heterodox cults of the mountains and wilds! The Day Wanderer and Night Patroller keep watch day and night without a moment of rest or negligence, yet none of us has ever heard of this so-called Temple of the Fourth Lord."

"Judge of Martial Arts, how do you explain this?"

The face of the Judge of Martial Arts turned ashen. Trembling with fear, sweat poured from him like rain.

He slowly lowered his head.

Lifting the hem of his crimson official robe, he dropped to his knees.

The City God pressed his lips tight, a look of disappointment crossing his face. Watching him kneel upon the ground, the City God let out a long sigh and asked, "Will you confess of your own accord, or must you go before the immortal to plead your defense?"

"What manner of thing is this Temple of the Fourth Lord, that it could command even a judge of my City God's Temple to act as its cover?"

Knowing he had strayed beyond redemption and never imagining that immortals truly walked the mortal realm, the Judge of Martial Arts pressed himself to the earth and said:

"The Temple of the Fourth Lord was built under the eyes of this subordinate. It was established by a Daoist priest from Ruzhou who possessed certain magical arts, much like the alchemists of ancient times."

"He used sorcery to construct the temple, employing the art of turning stone into gold to entice the mortal desire for incense and offerings, thereby aiding his own cultivation."

The City God asked:

"Turning stone into gold?"

"Indeed. This subordinate has also witnessed this art. It involves blending cinnabar, realgar,orpiment, alum, and basic copper carbonate—the five minerals—and transforming them through wondrous methods into pure gold. The petitions of the worshippers who visit the temple are nothing more than worldly desires for gold and silver, which they readily obtain from this source."

The City God stroked his beard.

"Since he could turn stone into gold, why did he still demand wealth, setting the donation fees so exorbitantly high?"

The Judge of Martial Arts prostrated himself on the ground.

"That alchemist claimed that mortal desires run deep; the greater the cost incurred, the greater the wish sought. By taking this as the foundation of the Dao, one's Daoist foundation becomes all the more profound."

"Because mortals are utterly incapable of subduing their own greed."

The City God asked once more:

"Then why did you aid him? You are an officer of the netherworld, a deity holding imperial investiture. What did he promise you?"

The Judge of Martial Arts remained silent for a moment before speaking in a low voice:

"Fame, fortune, and worldly power are fleeting shadows in the eyes of ghosts and gods."

"But what of the path to longevity?"

The City God, too, fell silent for a moment.

He then asked: "What is the alchemist's name, and what is his Daoist title?"

"A native of Ruzhou, named Zhou Ling, who styles himself the Venerable Sovereign of Golden Origin. To attract pilgrims, the temple is named the Temple of the Fourth Lord, and he is likewise addressed as the Fourth Lord."

"Does he have a master or a sect? The immortal will ask in detail."

……

……

A young Daoist priest, his figure hazy and ethereal, slowly stepped out from within the divine statue. He wore a black Daoist robe embroidered with scarlet flames, exceptionally magnificent.

His hair hung loose without a topknot, unconstrained and untamed, paying no heed to conventional rites and laws.

At the same time, a subtle shift seemed to ripple through the air, sealing off this patch of ground so that the pilgrims outside could neither hear nor see what transpired within.

The Daoist walked up to the group.

He swept his gaze over the four figures: an immortal, a deity of the mountain, a Daoist priest, and a mortal.

Ah, and there was also a village child.

He folded his hands within his sleeves and bowed to Jiang She.

With a smile, he asked:

"Does the Exalted Immortal find something amiss in his heart?"

The Daoist chuckled, "I daresay that when the Exalted Immortal first ascended upon Ruzhou, he must have already perceived my humble sanctuary. Yet you possessed such immense patience, allowing that little child to blunder about like a headless fly without ever rushing him."

Old Deer Mountain Lord watched with a sense of wonder.

As the lord of mountains and rivers, he had previously disciplined heterodox sects within his domain, and most offenders would invariably plead for mercy and forgiveness. Yet this man spoke with a smile, utterly unconcerned with his own fate.

A truly rare sight.

Jiang She offered no reply.

He had caught wind of the prayers whispered by those who came to worship: some harbored plots of profiteering; some cursed an elder brother to an early grave so they could inherit the family estate; still others, past the age of forty, yearned to ride the coattails of the powerful to make their dreams of wealth and status come true.

A faint wisp of baleful black qi lingered between their brows, bearing witness that most of these desires had already been granted.

This "Fourth Lord" had fulfilled their wishes.

Jiang She asked: "Why grant them what their hearts desire?"

The Daoist answered with serene candor:

"Mortals have desires and come to worship me; why not fulfill them to some degree? After all, they are merely common gold and silver—nothing truly rare."

Old Deer Mountain Lord watched for a moment longer.

And cut straight to the heart of the matter: "You seek incense offerings and the spiritual power of human devotion."

The Daoist did not refute him.

"In the eyes of true immortals, I suppose I am nothing more than a practitioner of crooked paths and demonic arts."

As he spoke, he burst into sudden laughter.

His gaze swept across the resplendent halls, passed over the throngs of worshippers kneeling in desperate supplication, and looked out toward the distant mountains.

"Fourth Lord," the Daoist said, "yet if not for these crooked paths and demonic arts, how could the likes of us ever hope to attain the method of longevity from the immortals? Can the pilgrims in this hall attain wealth? Can they attain fame and glory?"

"We cannot endure like the green mountains that never grow old."

"Yet we yearn to catch a glimpse of the immortal Dao."

"To share in the longevity of heaven and earth."

"A human life is fleeting, no different from an ephemeral mayfly. I fear that in the time an immortal spends in casual meditation or wandering the mortal realm, a mortal has already lived out their entire existence."

"Even ghosts and deities cannot escape the shackles of mortality."

"With every passing day, one's lifespan diminishes by a day. Without a shred of merit to one's name and unable to find the true path, one watches the day of death draw ever closer, breeding panic and terror in the heart."

At this point, the Daoist "Fourth Lord" laughed aloud.

Every word seemed squeezed from between clenched teeth, uttered with grinding hatred.

"I refuse to live thus!"

"I demand... lon-gev-i-ty!"

Yuan Danqiu and Li Bai listened in rapt attention, watching this man laugh until tears welled in his eyes, witnessing his utter revulsion toward death. Memories of all those throughout history who had sought immortality surged in their minds, leaving their hearts in tumultuous turmoil.

Would they, too, come to this one day?

The village child could not fully comprehend, but seeing the person who had stepped out of the statue suddenly burst into roaring laughter, he was startled and involuntarily took two steps back.

Jiang She listened quietly to his words.

He could not help but recall that night—the nocturnal banquet of the earth deities, where all the spirits wept.

Lifespan, oh lifespan—so fleeting, yet so impartial. Emperor and servant alike, whether the Daoist seeking transcendence or the mountain spirit and demon, all are destined to reach the end of their days.

And how one views life and death—

That is the difference in one's state of mind.

To face life and death with utter equanimity is the highest of realms.

When Zhuangzi's wife died, he beat upon a tub and sang. Ji Kang played the melody of Guangling as he walked calmly to his death. Even the fierce tiger of the mountains knows first death, and only then life.

To treat life and death as a jest, transcending them with effortless detachment.

Jiang She stroked the cat nestled in his arms, gently rubbing its ears and shielding it from the noise.

He asked: "You saw that man's elder brother die because of you. Do you feel any remorse?"

"None at all."

The Daoist replied with absolute resolve. From the moment he sensed the arrival of the immortal, he had already foreseen his end.

He straightened his robes and knelt upright upon the ground.

Knowing the final outcome, his tone was remarkably serene:

"I entered the Dao at sixteen. Since embarking on this path, aside from failing to attain the Great Dao of longevity, I have no regrets in this life."

Jiang She looked toward the swirling incense smoke within the temple.

"Is that so?"

"To be lost and never attain it—it is somewhat regrettable."

Though he spoke thus, his voice held no trace of pity.