Unintended Immortality

Winter had arrived, and the days grew colder with each passing moment. Coincidentally, the name of this place was Wuxue, which meant “Snowless.”

Gui Commandery governed seven regions in total. Apart from the Snowy Plains, there were six remaining counties, with Wuxue being the first county they entered after passing through Beifeng Pass.

Song You and his companions had been traveling for two days.

Just as Magistrate Liu had described, once they reached Gui Commandery, mountains became a rare sight. The land was almost entirely flat, with barely any undulations. On clear days, one could see all the way to the edge of the horizon. At dusk, the setting sun would stretch a person’s shadow so far that it faded into a vague blur, seemingly endless.

They passed through villages, encountering a few travelers along the way.

Some villages were deserted, while others still had residents. However, in those that were inhabited, the arrival of strangers caused every household to shut their doors tightly, not even daring to open a window. It made little difference whether the village was inhabited or abandoned.

So far, the only travelers they encountered on the road fell into two categories.

The first were couriers, delivering official correspondence between the counties, easily identifiable by their uniforms.

These people usually traveled as swiftly as the wind, their mouths and noses tightly covered. They rode on horseback, speeding through the roads. No matter what Song You or the swordsmen said to them, they would never stop, not even for a moment.

Some were even more cautious—if they spotted Song You and his group from a distance, they would immediately steer their horses off the road, detouring through the fields to avoid them.

These couriers ensured the connection between the government offices of Gui Commandery's various regions.

The second type of travelers were medicine retrieval teams from each county.

The Great Yan Court did not choose to end the plague through mass slaughter or burning down cities. Instead, they established a Medicine Distribution Bureau in Angzhou, dispatching teams to Gui Commandery with supplies of medicine. These were delivered to Beifeng Pass, where each county would organize their own people to collect the medicine and bring it back to the county town.

Occasionally, these teams would exchange a few distant words with Song You and his companions.

The medicines sent by the court were mainly of three types: Lingzhi Detox Powder, Golden Royal Elixir, and the Bodhisattva’s Miracle Pill—these were the commonly used treatments for epidemics. However, it was said that they had little effect on the Demonic Plague afflicting Gui Commandery, merely prolonging the life of a victim who would normally die in nine days to ten or so days at best.

This plague was referred to as the Demonic Plague.

After traveling for two days, Song You had gained some understanding of it.

Once infected, the initial symptoms were bloodshot eyes, making it easy to identify the victims. This was followed by symptoms like coughing up blood, nosebleeds, severe vomiting and diarrhea, high fever with blood-stained vomit, pale skin, hair loss, limb atrophy, and festering sores all over the body. Almost every day, a new symptom would appear.

By the time the victims fell into a coma, they were indistinguishable from ghosts. Most would die on the ninth day after symptoms first appeared, with the total course of the illness lasting up to eighteen days.

Thus, it was also known as the “Nine-Day Plague.”

This plague was exceptionally fierce, with no cure in sight.

Fortunately, in these times, poor transportation served as a natural barrier. The primary method of preventing the spread of disease was, in fact, the very inconvenience of travel.

After the northern regions faced warfare, demonic disturbances, and severe droughts, the land had become sparsely populated. The Nine-Day Plague mostly broke out within the cities. In response, local officials quickly sealed off the cities, forbidding entry and exit. Most villages were not significantly affected, except for a few that were mysteriously and inexplicably infected, resulting in complete devastation. РÄΝO͍฿ΕS

Aside from the poor transportation, there was another grim method used in these times to combat epidemics—death.

When everyone in an area died, the plague naturally ended.

In some cases, the government would resort to slaughtering the city and burning it down. It was a cruel approach, but sometimes it was the only option left.

However, Gui Commandery had not taken such drastic measures. Instead, they strictly enforced city lockdowns, established quarantine zones, and implemented active isolation measures. If someone died, the body was either cremated or buried deep, with a layer of lime sprinkled over the grave.

Travelers such as couriers or medicine retrieval teams entering or leaving the city had to undergo various disinfection methods like smoke fumigation or fire scorching to eliminate any traces of the virus.

The families of the deceased would also receive compensation from the court.

It was said that if a family lost six or more members to the epidemic, they were granted a funeral allowance of five thousand qian. If a family lost four or more members, they received three thousand qian, and for two or more members, they were given two thousand qian. Although it was called funeral allowance, in reality, it served as a form of subsidy for the survivors.

Though it was a backward era, the people had already displayed great wisdom in combating the virus, doing everything in their power to survive. Their resolve was no less than that of those in later generations.

As a result, despite countless deaths over the past few months in several small counties, the epidemic had not spread further.

However, upon careful inspection, Song You realized that this Nine-Day Demonic Plague, despite rumors of it originating from the Snowy Plains, was not merely a result of demonic arts or dark sorcery.

It was a genuine epidemic—an extremely vicious and terrifying disease, far more severe than any common plague seen in the world. Those who succumbed to it died in gruesome ways, as if it were the handiwork of a powerful demon.

Lacking medical expertise, Song You could only dispel sorcery and demonic arts; he had no means to cure a disease as complex as this one.

Although the seasonal spiritual energy possessed numerous miraculous uses, this disease was far too complicated. Spiritual energy was not a cure-all. It could enhance the health of a healthy person to help prevent illness and aid in the recovery of injuries. However, it merely amplified the body’s natural abilities and could not precisely eliminate the myriad symptoms of a sick person.

That was the domain of a divine doctor. Perhaps the Quzai Vine could be of help.

But Song You did not have the Quzai Vine with him. The master who excelled in its use had long passed away, and even the remaining Quzai Vine in Hidden Dragon Temple wouldn’t be enough to save even half a village.

Nevertheless, there was a method for prevention and relief.

Among the twenty-four solar terms, Rainwater and Guyu were both full of vitality and moisture. Though they could not cure those already infected, if they could be transformed into spiritual rain and sprinkled down, or blended into wells and cisterns, it would benefit the people.

Although it was not like that year in Changjing, when the timing was perfect and the seasonal spiritual energy could benefit the entire city and its surroundings, it could still bring vitality to a village or city and strengthen the health of the people. With spiritual energy protecting their bodies, they would naturally be less susceptible to the encroaching sickness.

For those already afflicted, it might at least bring them some relief. This was something he could do within his capabilities.

Song You thought of the divine doctor.

They continued forward.

Gradually, they traveled from Wuxue County to Yuluo County, then onward to Yuntai County, drawing ever closer to Hansu. As they advanced, the severity of the plague intensified.

There were more and more desolate villages on both sides of the main road. Occasionally, when they did come across inhabited places, there were often sick people present, and at night, they could hear the sound of coughing as they passed by.

In their desperation to find a cure, people resorted to any method they could think of.

They tried all sorts of folk remedies, prayed to the gods, fasted, performed acts of charity, and even went to the extent of eating dirt, swallowing gold, or cutting their own flesh to bleed. It might seem absurd, but these were all expressions of their reverence for life and their desperate struggle against death.

Occasionally, they heard of villages that were supposedly isolated from the outside world, yet somehow still had infected people.

Some claimed it was an illness carried by the wind, others said someone had snuck out at night and returned infected. There were even rumors of bodies from other villages that had not been buried properly, their graves dug up by wild dogs. Some believed it was the work of demons or ghosts.

Time and again, they heard stories about a healer named Doctor Cai.

The further they traveled, the lonelier it became.

They couldn't enter the cities, and even when they encountered people on the roads through villages, few were willing to engage with them. The world seemed to have fallen into a deep silence.

Soon, the winter month arrived.

On the seventh night after entering Gui Commandery, they reached a village called Wu Family Village.

The sky was dim and hazy, and the entire village echoed with the sound of coughing. An elderly man, his eyes filled with bloodshot veins, stood facing a young Daoist. Strangely enough, it was the plague-stricken elder who appeared more fearful.

Several zhang away, a swordsman watched the scene. Behind him, two horses—one black, one red—stood quietly. At his feet, a calico cat dressed in a simple coarse gray hooded garment observed from a distance.

“You must understand, old sir,” the young Daoist’s voice carried over, accompanied by the distant whimpering of a dog. “The water made from spiritual elixir may not cure the disease. At best, it can help prevent those who are still healthy from being infected.

“For those already ill, it might only bring some relief, extend their lives a little—one bowl a day is enough; drinking more won’t help. If combined with the medicine from Doctor Cai, it might have some therapeutic effect for the infected.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you so much,” the village chief bowed repeatedly, expressing his sincere gratitude.

But how could ordinary people easily tell which medicine was effective and which was not?

Yet, even ordinary people possessed true compassion.

This illness had no cure; with the Nine-Day Plague, death was almost certain, and it was highly contagious. Often, no one even knew where it came from. Most people wouldn’t dare enter an infected village. Even if they didn’t hear coughing, they would steer clear of anyone they encountered on the road. If they did hear coughing, they’d flee as quickly as possible.

Who would knowingly approach a village where half the residents were ill and come to speak with him, who was obviously showing signs of being sick? Not only did this person speak with him, but he also brought medicine.

It was often said that in desperate times, people would try any remedy. This was not just a behavior, but a mindset.

For someone to risk bringing medicine, even if it turned out useless, was an act of pure kindness. If it truly helped even a little, it would be as if a deity had descended from the heavens.

Moreover, after just a single sip of the water, even an ordinary person felt the splitting pain in their head ease significantly.

Just this small relief was already a tremendous help.

“If combining it with Doctor Cai's medicine does not work, please don’t hold it against me,” the Daoist continued. “If it does help, then it’s a fortunate outcome, and the credit should go to Doctor Cai.”

“Thank you, sir,” the village chief expressed his gratitude again.

“No need for thanks. I just have one more question for you, Chief. After Doctor Cai left today, which direction did he head?”

“I heard he went north.”

“Thank you.”

Song You thanked him and then set off.

The swordsman and the cat, who had been waiting nearby, now caught up with him, while the village chief hurriedly stepped back, covering his mouth and nose with a cloth, watching them leave from a distance.

At dusk, the group made their way along the edge of the village.

The village was filled with a thick, oppressive deathly aura, heavier even than the evening mist itself. It was impossible to tell how many had already died or how many more would die in the coming days. The stench of decay mingled with the deathly aura, a stark reminder that death was truly devoid of dignity.

Song You walked slowly, glancing from side to side as he went.

The calico cat took small, quick steps, following close to the Daoist. It too turned its head left and right, its eyes clear and bright.

“Creak!” Suddenly, a large door swung open.

“Young sir,” a voice called out.

Song You halted and turned to look. In that instant, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Standing at the door was an elderly woman, though it was impossible to tell whose family she belonged to. Even with a cloth covering her mouth and nose, her face was clearly etched with deep wrinkles. Her clothes were tattered and filthy. In the chaos of the northern regions, merely surviving must have already been a struggle, and now she was faced with this plague as well.

She stood across the courtyard from Song You, her eyes bloodshot, her face as pale as paper, and most of her hair had fallen out. In the dim light of dusk, it was hard to tell whether she was a ghost or a living person.

The Nine-Day Plague had likely reached the seventh or eighth day.

Song You gazed at her for a moment before finally asking, “What do you need, madam?”

“Cough... Cough...”

The old woman coughed out of habit, then raised her eyes to look at him, too fearful to take a step forward. “Sir, you have great abilities. I am not asking you to save me—I know it’s too late for that. But... Cough... I’ve heard that when people die, they turn into ghosts and go to the underworld. I just want to ask you, young sir, is it true?”

“Perhaps.” Song You thought for a moment before answering.

He glanced at her one last time, then bowed and continued on his way.

The air was filled with the sound of coughing, mingled with cries of pain, wails, and sobs, rising and falling in waves. The cawing of crows was unceasing, occasionally joined by the howls of dogs.

The living bore the pallor of the dead; the dead stole the essence of the living.

In the daylight, those you met often resembled ghosts; at dusk, when you encountered a ghost, you would mistake it for a human.

But in truth, it was not just the living who couldn’t tell the difference between man and ghost—even the ghosts themselves couldn’t distinguish anymore.

As Song You reached the edge of the village, he turned back and sighed.

May you all continue on your way, and ask not where the path home lies. When life’s bitterness reaches such depths, what difference remains between heaven and earth?

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