Chapter Four: Side Story – Past and Present Lives

At that time, Buzhou Mountain, Penglai, and Ling Mountain were collectively known as the Three Marvelous Peaks.

The summit of Buzhou Mountain was the coldest and most yin-filled place beneath the heavens. There grew trees so massive that two people could barely encircle them, rising several zhang into the sky. Their broad leaves remained green throughout the years, and their flowers bloomed once every fifty years. The fruits were sweet and named the Dumb Spirit Fruit by the world.

In the valleys, the four seasons held no sway—only spring and autumn reigned. Strange and exotic flowers and grasses flourished everywhere. Amidst them stood immortal pavilions of ancient elegance, their flying eaves curling skyward. The floors were made of cold ice—soft and comfortable beneath one’s feet. The furnishings were also lavish and exquisitely crafted.

And I was the master of the Ten Thousand Illusions Pavilion, my name unchanged whether in action or repose—Cao Yun. Though I was gifted with a fine figure, handsome looks, wealth, and influence, I was already 1,019 years old.

A thousand years ago, the world was not yet ruled by five kingdoms. Instead, it was my own clan—the Cao family, the ancestors of whom governed the realm.

But always letting one family monopolize power—wasn’t that a bit too much? The throne, after all, ought to be warmed by others as well. Therefore, the Cao family chose to relinquish their glory and riches, collectively turning to the immortal path.

What annoyed me most was that, without exception, every one of my clansmen attained immortality—except for me, who remained a mere mortal.

Through my mother, I asked the Heavenly Emperor for the reason. The Emperor himself descended, twirled his jet-black beard, and said, “Your fate has yet to arrive. In the future, you will meet someone. If you can assist him in ascending to the supreme throne of the mortal world, you too will become immortal.”

Was it truly that simple?

My eyes sparkled as I pressed him, “Who is this person? How will I find him?”

He only smiled, refusing to reveal name or lineage. He merely said, “Wait a millennium, and he will appear.”

Had the old Emperor not vanished so quickly, I might have hurled my boots at his face. Wait a thousand years? Wouldn’t I turn to dust by then?

Yet in the end, I truly waited a thousand years.

To pass the time and stave off boredom, I built a rather decent house on Buzhou Mountain, naming it the Ten Thousand Illusions Pavilion.

Thanks to my immortal friends and relatives, I lived free from worry, accumulating a fair amount of wealth over the centuries. I could spend money like water and live in luxury for tens of millennia.

But I have always been ambitious. I would never rely on others for my sustenance. So I started my own business. Though I never ascended to immortality, I possessed skills beyond those of common mortals.

Among them was the art of summoning souls—enabling the living to meet their departed loved ones and pour out their hearts. Think of how many grieving souls in this world yearn for one more glimpse of the dearly departed.

For thousands of years, the threshold of my pavilion was nearly worn away by wealthy clients. Among them were cunning courtiers, master strategists, and wandering heroes.

It’s no idle boast: everyone who came to my pavilion left with what they desired.

I must say, I truly am a genius. In just a few decades, I amassed countless treasures—so many that my house could no longer contain them. Perhaps one day I’ll use it all to fill the sea.

In the blink of an eye, a thousand years had passed, and the world had changed beyond recognition.

Now, the realm was divided—north, south, east, and west each had its own kingdom, with the Kingdom of Hundred Streams struggling for survival in the cracks between them. Life was bustling.

My greatest strength was adapting to local customs. I quickly became accustomed to their new calendar.

In the forty-second year of the Zhaoyue era, I received a jug of exquisite nectar from a friend. Humming a tune, I lounged atop the glassy eaves of my pavilion, savoring each sip.

As I gazed at the heavens, a dazzling red light nearly blinded me. With a quick calculation, I realized it was the Emperor Star descending to the mortal realm.

A thought occurred to me, and I transformed into a gust of wind, following it. I saw it vanish into the royal palace of Hundred Streams, where the wailing cry of a newborn soon echoed through the air.

I stole a glance at the child. His features already bore the commanding aura of an emperor. Then I knew—he was the one I had waited for.

To celebrate my millennium of patience, I waved my hand, and the mortal world enjoyed a year of favorable winds and timely rain.

Though I had not become immortal, I still retained the power to summon wind and rain.

Thereafter, whenever I was idle, I disguised myself and went to observe him. Fearing the world would covet my beauty, I donned a black mask.

His name was Gu Qiuci. From a young age, he displayed exceptional talent, which pleased me greatly. It meant his path to the throne might be smoother, and my long-awaited immortality was within reach.

Before he was three months old, I taught him to read and speak in his dreams—and the boy actually listened.

He was the very image of youthful genius—the eldest prince, Gu Qiuci, revered and praised by all.

I had thought his ascent to power would be smooth. Yet, within a few short years, disaster struck again and again.

He was forced to roam, and at times he coughed blood—an omen of a short life. Trouble followed him like a shadow.

I wept and wailed in my pavilion, but not a single relative came to my aid.

I could not divine his fate; his imperial path was riddled with thorns and stained with blood.

After erasing all memory of me from his mind, I began to refine elixirs, hoping to prolong his life—at least until he became emperor.

But by the fifty-eighth year of Zhaoyue, the light of the Emperor Star was fading.

I hurried down Buzhou Mountain and discovered the mortal realm was ravaged by plague—corpses everywhere, the people in utter misery.

Gu Qiuci had grown into a handsome youth, peerless in beauty, though still a step below mine. Outwardly, he seemed unstoppable, but I sensed a deep weariness behind his smiling eyes—a sorrow that could not be hidden.

One day, the ugly old shaman from Ling Mountain came seeking me at the pavilion. His smile made my skin crawl; I had never liked him, so I showed no courtesy.

“A plague has broken out. The people suffer. With your great powers, Pavilion Master, can you save them?”

I had already determined the plague was manmade, so I shot him a glare and replied irritably, “Let the one who started it end it. Whoever sowed the seeds must reap the consequences.”

He laughed, “Let me tell you, the eldest prince, Gu Qiuci, is the key to salvation. Ha ha ha! Since you know everything, do not stand in my way, or else…”

As he spoke, his smile grew even more repulsive, and a murderous glint appeared in his eyes.

How dare anyone threaten me, Cao Yun? And an ugly old wretch at that?

Since he wanted to kill the one I was protecting, I decided to kill him.

I hadn’t expected the old shaman to possess some skill. After I struck him out of the pavilion with a single blow, I suffered some backlash myself—my meridians thrown into chaos, forcing me to recuperate for some time.

A month later, Gu Qiuci entered my pavilion.

He looked more haggard than ever—his face bloodless, lips cracked. When he looked at me, his gaze was evasive.

I gestured for him to sit and poured him tea. “No need to be nervous. People come here for all sorts of reasons.”

He asked if I could truly grant his wish. I said nothing, for I was unsure whether I could.

Seeing my silence, Gu Qiuci lowered his eyes and rubbed his temples helplessly. “I am weary.”

He clearly was. I couldn’t resist teasing him to make him smile. “If you’re tired, why not get some sleep?”

He actually laughed, though the sound was desolate. “I dream that I am dying—and after death, my body is in pieces.”

As he spoke, I saw him in white, covered in blood—a vision of his future.

My heart trembled. That was his fate.

So be it. Destiny cannot be defied. His death was both fate and tribulation.

“If you are not at peace after death, come here.”

Though I had not become immortal, after all these years, I had grown fond of him. This was all I could do for him.

Three days later, I witnessed his death with my own eyes.

I’d seen enough bloodshed before, yet the sight of the old shaman slicing his flesh with a dagger made me turn away.

I wanted to intervene, but it was useless. In that moment, I was as if outside the Three Realms—deaf, mute, paralyzed, unable even to cry out.

With each cut, Gu Qiuci could not even weep.

The shaman’s smile became more twisted—truly the foulest I had ever seen.

Yet none among the populace saw it. They only knew their calamity was about to end. They watched eagerly, excited by the spectacle, not one person caring if the sacrifice felt pain.

Gu Qiuci gazed at the masses below the altar—his eyes filled with despair. To be wished dead by the very people you cherish—were it me, I’d be frozen to the bone. How could one die willingly for them?

For others, death might be release. For him, it was only the beginning of pain.

What he would endure after death would be a thousand times crueler than dying itself.

I did not know what crime he had committed in a past life to deserve such unbearable suffering in this one.

Heaven’s will was unjust—especially to him. What emperor must suffer the torment of cold seeping into his bones, rain and snow dissolving his flesh, fire scorching his soul?

On the one hundred and eighth day after the sacrificial ritual, Gu Qiuci appeared before me as I had foreseen—white garments stained crimson in a ghastly display, his body torn and broken.

His eyes were lifeless, as still as dead water. He stared at me for a long time before speaking in a faint voice, “I have seen you before.”

I forced myself to remain calm. “You met me just before you died.”

He shook his head. “No, earlier.”

I quickly changed the subject. “Since you knew you wouldn’t die well, why did you go so willingly to your death?”

“Such was my fate.”

“Then why have you come to me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Then take your time to think. There is plenty of time.”

I brought him to the ice chamber, where his pain would be eased, wounds healed, and body restored.

He was obedient—lying down when told, taking medicine when asked. He showed no resistance, like a walking corpse. No, he was a walking corpse.

He had died at sixteen, not even old enough to wear the crown of adulthood.

Later, I used the Soul-Severing Mirror to glimpse what he had endured in those one hundred and eight days.

By the end, sweat beaded on my forehead and palms. I dared not imagine how he, the victim, had survived it all.

When I had exhausted the herbs of the valley, I went to Ling Mountain and Penglai. Poisonous or not, I fed them all to him—treating a dead horse as if it might live.

Four years passed in a flash.

One day, I sat at the doorway, head in hands, staring at the barren valley and sighing.

He suddenly stepped out, amazed. “Why is it so desolate here? Not a blade of grass remains.”

I nearly strangled him on the spot. If not for saving him, would it have come to this? Still, fortunately, he was awake—a living, breathing person once more.

“Now that you live, what are your plans?”

“Plans? To settle every score, repay every grievance. The suffering they gave me—I shall return it all.”

At the moment of his death, he’d never thought of revenge—only disappointment. He’d told himself to understand the people. After all, saving thousands with one life was worth it. As the eldest prince, it was his duty to shed his last drop of blood for his subjects.

After his rebirth, he even imagined that when he returned to the world, he would once again be the beloved prince, admired by all.

But he was wrong. He had underestimated the darkness of human nature. No matter how many times he returned, with a word from the old shaman, his people would send him to his doom without hesitation.

Since that was so, he would become the villain, collecting every debt in full.

From now on, Gu Qiuci would betray the world, and never again would the world betray him.

I patted his shoulder, gratified. At last, the boy had come to his senses.

“So it should be—grievance for grievance, vengeance for vengeance.”

“But the world is vast, and yet there is no place for me. It’s almost laughable.”

Hearing this, I didn’t hesitate. I generously gave him the Ten Thousand Illusions Pavilion, along with my mask.

Within a year, I taught him all the business and arts of the pavilion.

After so many years, I was weary of guarding the place. It was time I left to see the world. After all, I still longed for immortality.

Since it was now impossible to ascend by aiding Gu Qiuci to the throne, I would go to another mountain to cultivate, never to concern myself with mortal affairs again…