Chapter 551: There Are Partings in the Mortal World

Over these years, the struggle between secular authority and divine power in the mortal realm continues.

Among the common people, the emperor commands the dignity of the court, while the gods command spiritual faith—one ruling the mortal world and holding sway over incense offerings, the other dwelling in the Nine Heavens, wielding boundless divine power.

Though both sides exercise restraint, each has its own methods.

Fortunately, Master Luo remains resolute, refusing to yield an inch.

The Southern Celestial Master is equally upright; it is said he once entered the Purple Cloud Palace, first scolding its True Ones, then storming into the divine hall to point at the idol’s nose and berate it—until a brief equilibrium was reached.

In foreign wars, the Dazu forces have been steadily pushed back.

The vast territories of the Western Regions, lost for centuries, have now returned under the control of the Central Plains dynasty.

Internally, he balances north and south, vigorously promotes the imperial examination system, develops the economy, benefits the people, and encourages childbirth.

Under this old emperor’s rule, the mortal realm is truly entering a golden age—even the prosperity of the capital surpasses that of the late previous dynasty, and within just a few decades, it has nearly matched the peak of the former dynasty.

Meanwhile, commerce in Huizhou and the Jiangnan region has also flourished.

Yangzhou lies north of the Great River, beside the Grand Canal, and thanks to its thriving trade, has become the second-largest city after the capital.

Here, in this Jiangnan waterland with its pleasant climate, everything feels gentle; moreover, far from the emperor and the imperial center, it thrives in prosperity free from rigid constraints and the overwhelming imperial presence. In economic openness, it subtly surpasses the capital itself—and as the sacred land of the Jade Mirror Emperor, the number of spirits, demons, and yaoguai far exceeds that of the capital, with countless tales and legends circulating.

Many officials, literati, poets, and lyricists are drawn here.

Amid this age of prosperity, countless poets and lyricists have left verses here, making Yangzhou a name frequently appearing in poetry.

It is also very close to Huizhou.

The eldest disciple is refining pills here.

……

Inside Yangzhou City, by the roadside, a small stall sits a group of Daoists, heads bowed as they eat noodles.

All are clear-broth noodles, the broth so transparent you can see straight to the bottom, faintly tinted with soy, sprinkled with a few green onion bits, with a single stalk of bok choy—just enough soy flavor, nothing else, exceedingly plain.

“Has the eldest disciple found a place?”

“Long ago,” said the eldest disciple. “The rent here is exorbitant.”

“You’re about to become immortal—why care about such things?” Lin Jue laughed. “Isn’t it just returning mortal wealth to the mortal world in another form?”

“You speak wisely, younger brother,” the eldest disciple nodded. “Younger brother’s words are always more pleasant than Third Brother’s.”

“Indeed.”

The youngest sister nodded too.

Several disciples sat nearby, all focused on eating—some with relish, others frowning at the blandness.

Even Xian Zhu was devouring his noodles with gusto.

Passersby along the street often cast glances their way.

In this age, most pedestrians are grimy and dark, their clothes caked with dust and soil, their faces weathered by wind and sun—even high officials rarely have pale skin. For Daoists to wear clean, tidy robes is normal, but their faces are unnaturally fair, as if never touched by the sun—that is strange indeed.

Especially one female Daoist, always walking last, with a round face and enormous eyes—eyes so large they seemed unnatural, so beautiful they seemed demonic.

And there was a white fox, and a colorful civet.

This combination was truly peculiar.

Fortunately, this is Yangzhou—where strange things and extraordinary people abound.

“Let’s go,” Lin Jue wiped his mouth and stood. “I asked Jiang Daofriend, and through her, I asked the Jade Mirror Emperor—he said Elder Brother’s character is peerless, his merits immeasurable, and he approves of your pill-refining here, and will offer you protection. When the time comes, have Fuyao exhale periodically to veil this place’s disturbances.”

The stall owner, seeing him rise, immediately hurried over, wiping his hands, eyes fixed eagerly on Lin Jue.

Lin Jue turned and gestured: first to the youngest sister, then spun half a circle to point at the eldest disciple:

“He pays.”

“I’ll pay!”

Ji Yin immediately stepped forward and counted out coins from his sleeve.

Because the eldest disciple had recently taken four new disciples who needed instruction, and though Fuxiu Temple was no grand monastery, it was still considerably larger than small Daoist halls like Hongye Temple, someone had to remain behind to guard it—so Ji Yang, as the new eldest disciple, stayed at Fuxiu Mountain, while Ji Yin accompanied his master to learn the art of Golden Core pill refinement. Next time the second disciple refines pills, Ji Yang will go to learn in his stead.

“Got it! Thank you, Daoist!”

“Thank you for the meal, stall owner…”

The group walked down the alleyways, chatting and laughing, glancing back at the splendor of the Jiangnan metropolis.

But just after passing a major street, Lin Jue suddenly felt something, halted, and turned to gaze in another direction.

There approached an old monk, accompanied by several others—some in monk’s robes, some in Daoist robes, some in plain cloth—and two officials and several warriors followed behind.

The old monk’s features were vaguely familiar.

At the same moment, the old monk raised his gaze, saw him, paused slightly, then bowed respectfully from afar.

“It’s Master Yun Chan.”

The youngest sister’s voice came from beside him.

“Yes,” Lin Jue turned to the eldest disciple. “We’ve met an old friend—please go ahead. We’ll catch up with you after we’ve exchanged pleasantries.”

“Alright…”

The eldest disciple glanced that way, then left with Ji Yin.

Lin Jue and the youngest sister’s disciples remained behind.

“Amitabha…”

The old monk walked slowly forward, calm and composed; his accompanying monks, Daoists, and oddities, as well as the two officials, were curious, while the warriors remained highly alert.

“I didn’t expect to meet you here,” the old monk paused, easily sensing the curiosity around him, then smiled. “I met a Daoist.”

“We didn’t expect to meet you here either, Master,” Lin Jue bowed. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, still the affairs of the Gathering Immortals Office,” the old monk said calmly. “In the past, the Gathering Immortals Office was only in the capital, its duties confined to Qinzhou. Minor demons elsewhere were handled by local sages; major ones? Even the previous dynasty’s office couldn’t handle them—only wasting time on long journeys. But this dynasty is different. The Gathering Immortals Office is now valued, its power and methods incomparable to the past. With Jiangnan’s booming commerce, it naturally came here—I’ve been assigned to oversee its affairs in the south.”

The monks, Daoists, oddities, officials, and warriors beside Yun Chan grew even more astonished.

At first, they didn’t know the Daoists’ identities, seeing only their youthful faces, assuming they were Yun Chan’s junior acquaintances or the descendants of friends. But now, seeing them meet with calm bows, they realized: the Daoists showed no deference to Yun Chan, an elderly, high-ranking official of the Gathering Immortals Office—they treated him as an equal, meeting an old friend by chance.

Remember, the Gathering Immortals Office now holds great power and wide jurisdiction; as its second-in-command, a revered Buddhist master, Yun Chan commanded respect everywhere—whether by rank or virtue—ensuring any local official or clan magnate bowed before him.

Someone lowered their gaze, noticing the white fox at Lin Jue’s feet.

But since the late previous dynasty, many Daoists had adopted the habit of keeping white foxes—a trend that peaked in the early years of this dynasty, and still persists: many Daoists in the Gathering Immortals Office or the mortal world now carry white foxes to appear fashionable, or to imply they are sages.

Nothing unusual.

Some had wondered if they were the famous group—but then, seeing their numbers, dismissed the thought.

Lin Jue listened to Yun Chan’s words, watching his now snow-white beard, and recalled the great snow of Langfeng County, the small temple of the Green Seed Spirit, when this young monk had come alone from the capital with a warrior, no allies, no backup, determined to rid the locals of the Green Seed Spirit.

Yun Chan’s cultivation was modest; the Gathering Immortals Office, like the Nine Heavens, does not appoint officials by cultivation alone—Yun Chan rose through virtue, wisdom, experience, and other abilities.

He had never eaten Yuanqiu fruit; he was now very old.

He likely had few years left.

Lin Jue thought of his master’s old friend.

The old monk his master had traveled thousands of miles to meet in his final years, waiting to die until Lin Jue arrived.

That old monk had left them an address, saying they could find him there—but Lin Jue had never had the chance to visit, never felt the need to go specifically; now he suspected the old man had already passed into nirvana.

He hadn’t thought much of it when young; now, reflecting, he felt a quiet regret.

“Where is the Master’s guardian?”

Lin Jue asked, though he had forgotten the warrior’s name from those days.

“Master Pan? He took too many wounds protecting me and slaying demons in his youth. Though the Divine General gave him many pills at Baolin, and he took two, healing some, he was already old, and his youth had drained him too much—he passed away two years ago.”

“My condolences…”

Lin Jue now remembered: the warrior’s name was Pan Jing.

“We are neither immortal nor Buddha—birth, aging, sickness, death are ordinary in the mortal realm; nothing to be surprised or saddened by,” Yun Chan smiled.

Those around him grew ever more astonished; some even widened their eyes.

Lin Jue’s disciples, however, remained quiet and patient, silently waiting as their master reunited with his old friend.

The two sides chatted on the street for a long while.

There was no helping it—they simply couldn’t stop.

After much time, they finally took leave.

“You waited long.”

Lin Jue smiled at his disciples.

The disciples waited quietly only because they were well-behaved—but they were young, still believing in no parting in this world; how could they know that this brief meeting might well be their master’s final encounter with this old friend?