Chapter 557

At this moment, in the imperial palace of Jingcheng.

The aged emperor personally bent over his desk, pen in hand, each stroke filled with unease for his descendants and the fate of his realm.

In the past, founding emperors, before their deaths, feared most that their heirs could not control the founding generals—but this emperor had no such worry, nor did he slaughter them; he had outlived them all himself, and wept as he buried each one. The remaining court factions, the crown prince had governed for years and held sufficient authority to manage them.

Yet he had other concerns.

As the emperor wrote, a eunuch entered, bowing deeply: “Your Majesty, a reply has arrived from the Eastern Palace.”

“Didn’t he come himself?”

The emperor glanced up and understood at once.

Behind the eunuch stood a senior minister of the Eastern Palace.

“At this very moment, I’m about to follow the immortals into the mountains for quiet cultivation and peace—and now you pull this ‘three refusals, three pleas’ farce on me!” Luo Gong growled. “When you fought me for power, you didn’t show humility. Yesterday, you didn’t show humility. This morning, you didn’t show humility. Now, just as the immortals are about to come for me, you show up with this nonsense!”

He took the letter and opened it—just as expected, it was written in cautious, formal language, full of polite refusal.

It claimed that the father was the true bearer of Heaven’s Mandate, the most virtuous and meritorious emperor; that his son’s virtue and achievements fell far short; that he could not assume the throne; and that the father must remain emperor.

“Exquisite craftsmanship, hollow inside!” Luo Gong declared, tossing the letter back.

“Go tell your master: take the throne if you want it; if not, let your younger brother take it!”

“Sssss…”

This Eastern Palace minister was almost certainly the next dynasty’s chancellor—he was no ordinary man—but facing this emperor, who had risen from blood and battle, drenched in martial aura, and surrounded by legends of gods and demons tied to his name, his aura laced with strange mysticism, he still felt fear.

He quickly snatched up the letter and turned to run back.

The emperor sighed, then sat back down.

He picked up his brush, dipped it in the inkstone, and scraped off the excess ink.

This brush was premium Xuan brush, the ink premium Huimo, the inkstone itself a She inkstone gifted from Huizhou—and in a moment of distraction, he recalled his youthful days, riding horseback through Huizhou.

He had written only three or four characters when he stopped again.

Memories surged through his mind.

Back then, warriors with swords and spears had ridden out of Jingcheng, each expecting to return home alone—yet warriors from the capital, drawn by his name, had followed. Some brought their own horses and provisions; some bought horses overnight; some had no ambition, only a desire to follow him; others sought wealth with him, or to overthrow this corrupt, absurd court and restore the sun and moon, forge a new heaven.

Along the way through Qinzhou, more and more joined him.

How many of those martial artists back then had imagined they would truly found a new dynasty?

But over the decades, they had aged and died one by one. The earliest graves, though not overgrown with tall grass, had sunk low—like last night’s fallen flowers in the courtyard, one after another, washed down by wind and rain, leaving only him.

Even in the inner palace, those who had once walked beside him, who had truly spoken with him, were all gone.

Solitude, weariness—it was time for release.

Suddenly, a commotion rose outside; the light streaming through the windows brightened, tinged with an unreal, dreamlike glow.

Then came a calm voice:

“Your Majesty, your virtue is complete, your years are high—why not follow me into the mountains to cultivate immortality and enjoy boundless freedom?”

Palace maids carrying trays froze mid-step; guards outside the palace stood stunned, heads raised; eunuchs dropped to their knees, crying out for immortals.

The emperor’s words were true.

Immortals had truly come for him.

One eunuch rushed inside to announce it—but as he opened the door, he nearly collided with the emperor stepping out.

The eunuch trembled, prostrating himself:

“Forgive me, Your Majesty! Forgive me! Your servant was too eager, nearly struck you! I came to report: outside, a rainbow-colored auspicious cloud has appeared, an immortal standing atop it, white cranes dancing, celestial music playing, and a massive nine-tailed fox behind him, inviting Your Majesty to retreat to the deep mountains for cultivation and freedom…”

“I heard.”

In the past, any emperor, even without punishment, would have scolded him—but now, the emperor was gentle, like an ordinary old man, only patting the eunuch’s shoulder and saying:

“Don’t be so reckless in the palace from now on.”

Then he stepped past the eunuch and walked out directly.

Just as the eunuch had said—

Above him hung a rainbow-colored auspicious cloud, identical to the colorful hues cast by sun and moonlight, yet nearly covering the entire palace. Giant cranes and white egrets soared through the air; faint celestial music drifted down; atop the clouds stood a massive seven-tailed white fox—the eunuch had called it nine-tailed, but he couldn’t see clearly.

Two immortals stood on the cloud, gazing down.

Who else could it be?

The entire palace, even Jingcheng, was stunned.

Histories recorded strange events—mostly the miraculous births of great emperors—but their deaths were usually ordinary. Some emperors retired late in life to cultivate, and were said to have achieved something—but none had immortals come personally to escort them away into Daoist freedom.

How many emperors dreamed of immortality? How many went mad seeking immortals and the Dao? Only this one received it effortlessly.

A rainbow-colored auspicious cloud descended, hovering near the ground.

The emperor bowed to the sky, stepped forward, and firmly stepped onto the cloud.

“Your Majesty, do you have any unfulfilled wishes?” Lin Jue said deliberately. “Once you leave Jingcheng and the palace, enter the mountains, you will no longer be emperor—only a Daoist in the hills.”

“The realm’s external threats are gone, internal troubles gone. My old companions have all passed. Only I remain, barely holding on. The crown prince’s virtue is complete—he is fit to sit the throne. I’ve left all necessary words. To remain on the dragon throne now is merely to enjoy empty tribute and endure needless torment.” Luo Gong replied. “Let us go.”

A crane cried out; celestial music swelled.

The rainbow cloud lifted the emperor into the sky.

Countless eyes watched this scene—some astonished, some envious.

This emperor, who had been linked to immortals since before his rebellion, whose name was woven into immortal legends after his ascension, had finally reached the perfect end befitting him—a moment unmatched in history.

…

Yet as the auspicious cloud rose, leaving Jingcheng, the three exchanged smiles.

“Where did you get the rainbow cloud, the cranes, the celestial music?”

“The rainbow cloud was my junior sister’s—she searched Yunzhou for a long time. The cranes are illusionary art; the white egrets are real, thanks to Bai Lu.” Lin Jue told him. “The celestial music—we borrowed it before we left, from another immortal in Nanshan.”

“After all, this is Luo Gong’s pivotal moment,” his junior sister said. “His virtue is complete, his achievements peerless—we must give him a proper spectacle. So the world and future generations know how extraordinary Luo Gong is.”

“Hahahaha…”

Of course, this had all been planned.

Luo Gong had eaten the Yuanqiu fruit—his lifespan was too long. If he didn’t wish to remain on the throne, enduring the loneliness of outliving his consorts and heirs, watching his descendants die one by one, feeling their resentment, then only one path remained: to leave the world and cultivate. But if he left, why not seek a true immortal? Why not seek an old friend, and cultivate with him in peace?

?￠〇

Luo Gong had already decided.

Yet humans are contradictory—even when decided, even when arranged, when he rose into the clouds, leaving Jingcheng for the deep mountains, he still couldn’t help turning back, gazing at the city, at the palace within.

“Can’t bear to leave?”

“I’m just worried about my crown prince.”

“Luo Gong, rest assured. Your descendants will never match you.”

The junior sister glanced at him, thinking her senior brother meant to comfort him.

Then she heard him say: “Each generation has its own fortune. Spring comes, autumn goes, flowers bloom, flowers fall—what dynasty doesn’t weaken, what dynasty doesn’t change?”

Only an immortal could say such a thing.

A common man uttering those words would likely be beheaded.

“Ah, how could I not know this truth? ‘Ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand ten thousand years’—it’s just pretty words.” Luo Gong sighed. “When my children were first born, I vowed to raise them better than myself. But as they grew, despite having the best teachers and me as their father, they showed only mediocrity. I listened to the Daoist’s advice, thought I’d accepted their limits—but even now, I still fear they’ll betray the people.”

Luo Gong paused, shook his head: “My heart now is nothing like when my children were first born.”

“It’s always like this,” Lin Jue sighed. “Am I not the same?”

“Oh? You too?”

“I’m the opposite of you,” Lin Jue said, shaking his head. “When I first took disciples, I thought only of affinity—not talent, no demands. I believed their cultivation was their fate: how much Dao they gained, how much skill they learned, how long they lived—it was all up to them. But hearts are flesh. Over time, affection deepens. Even without other goals, I wanted them to achieve true Dao, to stay with us longer, to avoid the pain of parting. And so, contradiction arises.”

The junior sister beside them fell silent.

“Even immortals are human.”

Luo Gong sighed—immortals, too, could not let go. But still, the Daoist path was better: even attachment was emotional, untainted by self-interest; even sorrow was light and faint.

The rainbow cloud drifted toward Fengshan, drawing the gaze of the people below.

The cloud moved slowly—wind, white egrets, white fox—those on it spoke softly, and without realizing it, the gloom and clutter of the palace had been blown clean away.