Chapter 40: Meeting in a Ruined Temple: Discoursing on Immortals and Gods

Su Chen walked while observing, deepening his understanding of this world with each step.

His destination was Dongsheng Shenzhou.

To reach it, he must pass through Nanzhan Bu Zhou.

That day, dusk fell, and a light drizzle began to drift from the sky.

Su Chen reached a three-way intersection, preparing to find shelter from the rain, when he spotted a dilapidated ancient temple not far off.

The temple had been abandoned for countless years; half its courtyard walls had collapsed, the gate hung precariously, and only the three characters “Fulong Temple” remained barely legible.

Seeing this, Su Chen walked over, intending to spend the night inside.

He pushed open the slightly ajar temple gate, and a damp, decaying odor rushed toward him.

Inside, spiderwebs blanketed every corner; the deity statue had long toppled, leaving only half its body, its face blurred beyond recognition.

In the center of the hall burned a small bonfire.

A thin, teenage boy clad in coarse hemp clothing sat with his back to Su Chen, intently roasting a flatbread in his hands.

Hearing footsteps behind him, the boy turned sharply, alert.

The boy appeared sixteen or seventeen; though his clothes were plain, even patched, his face was strikingly handsome—brow like a sword, eyes like stars, nose high and straight, his gaze glowing brilliantly in the flickering firelight.

He carried an air of composure and nobility far beyond his years.

Even in this ruined temple deep in the wilderness, his spine remained straight as a spear.

Seeing Su Chen, an unexpected guest, the boy’s eyes flickered with caution.

Without a word, he subtly pulled a long sword wrapped in cloth closer to his side.

Su Chen noticed his wariness but paid it no mind.

He bowed to the boy, his voice gentle: “I am Wuchen, a wandering Daoist. The rain has forced me to seek shelter here for the night—may I be permitted?”

The boy sized up Su Chen.

He saw an ethereal aura, clear eyes—clearly no villain.

Besides, this temple was unowned land; he had no reason to refuse.

So he nodded, his voice clear and bright: “Master, make yourself at home.”

His voice was pleasant, possessing a unique resonance, like spring wind brushing the ear.

“Thank you.”

Su Chen thanked him, then walked to the opposite side of the hall, found a relatively clean corner, and sat cross-legged.

Silence returned to the ruined temple.

Only the “pitter-patter” of rain outside and the soft “crackle” of the bonfire remained.

The boy roasted his flatbread until golden, then broke off half and offered it to Su Chen.

“Master, our meeting is fate. If you don’t mind, share some with me.”

Su Chen paused, startled.

He hadn’t expected this cold-looking boy to have such a kind heart.

He smiled, accepted without refusal, rose, and took the half-bread.

“Thank you, young sir.”

Su Chen sat by the fire and bit into the flatbread.

It was dry and hard, but roasted over flame, it carried a fragrant, grain-like char—taste was not bad.

“Are you also traveling, young sir?” Su Chen asked casually.

“Mm.” The boy nodded, gazing at the flickering flames, his mood seemingly low.

Su Chen noticed the sorrow in his brow and said no more.

The two ate in silence.

After a while, the boy spoke up on his own.

“Master, your aura is extraordinary—you must be a true cultivator. I have a question I wish to ask you.”

“Speak freely, young sir,” said Su Chen.

The boy set down his bread, lifted his head, and stared at Su Chen with burning eyes, speaking slowly: “Master, do gods and immortals truly exist?”

Su Chen paused, startled.

Mortals longing for the Immortal Dao was normal.

But the boy’s gaze as he asked this was not one of yearning—it was one of seeking proof.

Su Chen hesitated, then asked instead: “Why do you ask this?”

At this, the boy’s eyes flickered with struggle and pain.

He fell silent for a long while, then spoke slowly, voice hoarse:

“Master, I come from a once-prominent family. Since childhood, I studied classics and histories, dreaming of using my knowledge to aid the sovereign, cleanse the realm, and bring peace to all the people.”

“But later, I realized I was wrong.”

A self-mocking smile appeared on the boy’s face.

“Human strength has limits. Before the overwhelming tide of fate, one person is insignificant. I watched as corrupt officials ruled the court, loyal ministers falsely accused; I watched as foreign tribes breached our borders, smoke rising everywhere; I watched as this great land suffered famine, disaster, and corpses littered the roads…”

“I tried to change it—but all my efforts were like a mantis trying to stop a cart, a fly shaking a tree. I couldn’t even protect my own family.”

His voice cracked at the end, his fists clenched unconsciously.

“So I thought—if gods and immortals truly exist, and if I could gain their aid, could I sweep away all injustice in this world? Could I make all people live in peace, free from hunger and cold?”

His voice was quiet, yet echoed endlessly in the small ruined temple, ringing with weight.

Su Chen looked at him, quietly astonished.

He finally understood why he’d felt this boy was extraordinary.

For in this boy, he saw something.

Though trapped in hardship, the boy’s thoughts and aspirations had already transcended personal gain or loss.

“This kid… is interesting.”

Su Chen thought to himself.

He recalled how he’d felt in Jiang State, seeing the displaced refugees.

Immortal arts granted him longevity, let him slay demons and exorcise evils.

But could immortal arts bring peace to the world?

He didn’t know.

At least, not yet.

Yet this mortal boy was pondering this very question—and seeking an answer.

“Young sir,” Su Chen said slowly, his tone solemn, “I cannot answer your question.”

The boy’s eyes flickered with disappointment.

“But…” Su Chen changed course, “I can tell you something else.”

“What?” the boy asked eagerly.

Su Chen looked at him, speaking slowly and clearly: “Seeking immortals and the Dao is less important than seeking yourself. To place hope in phantom gods is less worthy than trusting the strength in your own hands.”

“My own strength?” The boy murmured, eyes filled with thought.

“Yes,” Su Chen nodded. “The power of gods and immortals is external. Only the strength born from within is truly yours. When a man’s will is firm enough; when a people’s backbone stands tall enough—then man can surpass heaven!”

Su Chen spoke these words with iron certainty.

Because in his past life, he had witnessed it.

The boy listened, as if struck by lightning, his whole body frozen.

“Man… can surpass heaven?”

He turned the four words over and over in his mind, as if a great door had just been blasted open inside his mind.