Longevity, starting from being a chicken raising servant-Chapter 1565 - 97 Dongyang Anecdotes

"Am I about to die?"

In the dark and dilapidated old house.

Song Dongyang lay quietly on the sickbed, staring blankly at the water dripping through the cracks in the roof.

The sound of the droplets was particularly distinct in the empty room.

They fell, one by one, into uneven pits in the dirt floor, slowly forming a tiny puddle.

Splashes from the rain dampened the surrounding soil, filling the room with a faint earthy odor.

Breathing in this smell and listening to the distant snores of soldiers asleep in the rain-soaked night.

Song Dongyang’s mind seemed to flash with clarity, fleetingly sweeping through the entirety of his life.

Born into a merchant family, prosperous and well-off, with no worries for food or clothing from an early age;

Praised as a prodigy in his youth, entering the capital to take the imperial exam at sixteen. Though he did not attain the top score, his proposal for controlling coastal flooding, the "Water Regulation Plan," earned the recognition of the then Prime Minister, who hailed him as "a national treasure!" The Prime Minister offered his own daughter’s hand in marriage, but Song Dongyang declined. Instead of taking offense, the Prime Minister admired his principled demeanor even more, showering him with praise. Thus, Song Dongyang rose to fame at a young age, his radiance akin to the stars. He lived in glory, reveling in the spring breeze of success, able to traverse Hailing’s blooming fields with carefree elegance.

Afterward, he was transferred between inner court and regional postings but failed to find favor.

Beset with gloom and despondency for years, until one day he achieved enlightenment.

Through meticulous effort, he married the Prime Minister’s daughter, rose to the rank of Cabinet Minister, and stood unwavering for decades. In Hailing, no one in the officialdom dared to treat him lightly; they invariably regarded him with the respect due a master. freēwēbnovel.com

Yet all glories must ultimately dim, cycling through the phases of formation, existence, decay, and emptiness.

No matter how dominating his power, he could not outrun the treachery of human hearts.

Those below schemed to rise, while those above could not tolerate a man whose mere stomp could shake the entire Hailing court.

Slander grew; soldiers arrived.

His household was annihilated, leaving him, a lone survivor, with a head of white hair in one night.

The benevolent ruler pitied his old age and allowed him to retire to the ancestral home to live out his remaining years in peace.

Day by day, his residence was emptied of every belonging until only a single sickbed and half a broken medicine pot remained...

The local Prefectural Governor spared no effort in frequently visiting, ostensibly to pay respects to his deceased elders.

He stared blankly at the leaking roof.

Thoughts swirled through his heart like turbulent waves but settled into an abyss of nothingness.

A lifetime chased after wealth and honor, only to find life’s treasures nothing more than fleeting dreams.

The bonds of family, the passions and desires of mortality, all proved ephemeral, fading like clouds against the sky.

The flavors of mortal existence—he had tasted them all.

"But what in this world," he muttered vacantly, "could endure for eternity?"

He uttered softly, but his attention quickly turned back to his frail body.

Though seventy-six years old, well-kept in former days, the recent upheavals of his life had taken their toll.

If it weren’t for his sheer determination, his spirit might have already succumbed to death on that dark day when his family faced execution.

Even so, after enduring these continuous hardships, he had become like a flickering candle, nearly extinguished. Perhaps on this stormy night, the wick would finally burn out.

Tomorrow, once the wind and rain ceased, those local Prefectural Governors who came daily to humiliate him might only find his lifeless corpse, cooled in death.

"If I die, will I become a ghost?"

"If I could, I’d fly to the capital and linger in the imperial palace. I’d like to see how the enlightened ruler faces his own demise and the ruin of his kingdom..."

He muttered on, in whispers and fractured murmurs.

Yet his voice betrayed little hatred.

On this approach toward the threshold of death, with the end drawing near, he gained many insights and relinquished many grudges.

"Life and death, rise and fall... this is the unyielding truth of the Heavenly Dao, which no one can defy."

"I am but an insignificant soul among countless beings; why should I be an exception?"

He murmured softly to himself.

It was at this moment that a crisp voice suddenly resonated through the darkened house:

"Well said. No wonder Master sent me to guide you toward transcendence."

Song Dongyang froze, as if some long-lost strength suddenly surged through his frail limbs. Struggling, he propped himself up against the edge of the sickbed, scanning the room.

But there was nothing to be seen.

It was as though the voice had risen from deep beneath the earth.

Outside, wind and rain gusted, droplets pattered rhythmically; the storm clouds concealed the moon, leaving only shadowy darkness.

At this moment, despite his newfound clarity and detachment, a faint unease flickered within him:

"Who... who are you?"

"Could you be the one sent to escort me to the Underworld?"

As soon as he uttered the words.

His breath caught as he saw his shabby ancestral home inexplicably light up.

There were no oil lamps, nor any source of light like a Luminous Pearl.

The brightness simply materialized, out of thin air.

A graceful and radiant woman, exuding Immortal Energy, suddenly stood before him without warning.

She scrutinized him curiously, then chuckled softly:

"No, it’s not the Underworld I’m here for; I’ve come to bring you back to the sect."

"You… you’re an immortal?"

In that instant, Song Dongyang grasped the truth, exclaiming in astonishment.

During his time in office, he had occasionally encountered immortals who descended upon the mortal realm, moving freely. However, immortals seemed indifferent to worldly affairs, sparing seldom interaction.

In the same moment, a barely perceptible memory stirred within his mind: the words his parents had spoken on their deathbeds.

When he was born, a Taoist visited the household and claimed to share a fated bond with him, promising to return and guide him when the time was right.

Song Dongyang had long dismissed it as a swindle, a mere stratagem to extract money.

Could this woman truly be the one?

The woman smiled slightly:

"It appears you’ve remembered a bit. My name is Wang Qingyang; you might call me your senior disciple. Master said your trials in the mortal world are complete. He sent me to bring you back to begin your Cultivation."

At her words, most would have accepted them without question, but Song Dongyang, being a cautious and skeptical man hardened by years in political office, hesitated still, voicing his doubt: