I'm Not An Immortal (The Adventure of Jian Chou) - Chapter 3
Chapter 3
To be honest, the words from Jianchou startled the Wandering Taoist.
(T/N: Before this, I put the old man as the Taoist of the Mountain, but after this, I will translate it as wandering Taoist.)
From the immortal sects of the Nineteen Regions to the isolated islands of the mortal world, he had encountered countless people who sought immortality and the Dao.
Some craved the power to wield the heavens and destroy worlds with a mere gesture; others, aged and nearing death, clung to worldly desires and sought eternal life; and then there were those fascinated by the cycles of the heavenly Dao, pondering its mysteries until they set out on a path to seek immortality…
The Wandering Taoist had heard all sorts of reasons.
Yet such a simple and inexplicable one—this was a first.
The Wandering Taoist licked the meatless chicken bone in his hand, a bit reluctant, and asked Jianchou, “Why? For what reason?”
Jianchou had already risen.
She carefully lifted the hem of her cloth skirt and stepped onto the damp earth.
She had emerged from the coffin, standing before the Wandering Taoist.
Hearing his question, her expression darkened.
They say it’s best not to air one’s dirty laundry, and Jianchou had no desire to reveal matters concerning Xie Buchen.
But then, what did it matter if she spoke of it?
When he thrust that sword, their bond had already shattered.
“My husband likely sought the Dao,” she said.
“I only wish to find him and ask, why did he kill me?”
“What?!”
The Wandering Taoist was so shocked that a chicken bone stuck in his throat, nearly choking him.
“Your husband killed you?”
“Yes.”
Beneath Jianchou’s bright gaze, a glimmer of tears seemed to flash, but it dried up in an instant.
“Does even a Wandering Taoist like you find it hard to believe?”
“…No…”
If an ordinary person heard this, they would certainly call it absurd, but after his initial shock, the Wandering Taoist shook his head.
He sized up Jianchou, squinting slightly.
“I don’t know if immortals truly exist, but there are indeed many who seek the Dao. To pursue the Dao, to grasp the ultimate truth of the universe, one must sever worldly attachments and break all earthly ties. Thus, there’s a saying—‘cutting off worldly bonds.’”
Cutting off worldly bonds?
Jianchou faintly sensed what the Wandering Taoist was getting at.
“What do you mean…?”
“A person unburdened, freed from desire, can fully dedicate themselves to the Dao and reach supreme enlightenment. Therefore, most cultivators sever their worldly bonds entirely before focusing on their cultivation. Many live far longer than ordinary folk, and when their family and loved ones pass on, their attachments are naturally cut. But some, impatient and unable to wait through decades of mortal years, take extreme actions.”
As he said this, the Wandering Taoist’s face seemed to radiate, transforming him from an old beggar into a sage with an aura of Taoist grace.
Pointing at Jianchou, he saw that she looked as if she had just come to a realization.
“You say your husband pursued the Dao and then killed you. This may be one such case.”
To pursue the Dao, one would kill their wife?
How heartless.
Jianchou nearly laughed in disbelief.
“Could such a cold-blooded, ruthless person truly attain immortality or enlightenment?”
“No. Heaven and earth are indifferent; the Dao itself is unfeeling.”
The Wandering Taoist tapped his bamboo pole lightly against the ground, resting both hands on it as he watched her with interest.
“Just as I look at you now—you’re just an unrelated stranger. Today, I saved you, and that’s fate, an alignment of chance. But had I simply passed by, you and I would have had no connection. To a cultivator, the Dao is just as impartial.”
To Jianchou, all this was too profound.
She didn’t understand; her thoughts remained as before—she just wanted to ask Xie Buchen one question: why?
Did the bonds of marriage, forged through hardship, truly pale before the allure of eternal life?
She let out a faint laugh.
Bowing to the deep-eyed Wandering Taoist, she said, “I know that I was bound for death today, and it was only by your hand that I was saved. Your grace is like a new life to me, but I truly have nothing with which to repay you—”
“Planning to offer yourself?”
The Wandering Taoist’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward eagerly, gazing at Jianchou with hope.
The old beggar, who had just been extolling the ‘unfeeling Dao,’ now looked every bit the lecher.
“…”
In an instant, all of Jianchou’s gratitude, her moving words, were stuck in her throat, leaving her speechless.
Though she had sensed the Wandering Taoist wasn’t exactly reliable, she hadn’t expected him to say such things so openly, and it left her thoroughly embarrassed.
After hesitating for a while, Jianchou managed a forced smile and said, “The Wandering Taoist is making fun of me…”
Was that a rejection?
The Wandering Taoist’s suddenly bright eyes dimmed, and he sighed deeply, “Indeed, the world has changed, and people’s hearts are not like they used to be… After all the effort I went through to save you…”
Jianchou silently thought, Indeed, times had changed, and people had lost their sense of propriety.
These days, those outside the secular world—it’s one thing to do good deeds expecting something in return, but to even… to even want ‘that’?
Aren’t cultivators supposed to sever all desires?
Clearly, Jianchou’s doubts would go unanswered.
Seeing that Jianchou showed no intention of reciprocating, the Wandering Taoist scratched his nose, looking somewhat embarrassed.
With a cough, he changed the subject, “So, uh, now that you’re well, what do you plan to do?”
What would she do?
The first thought in Jianchou’s mind was of Xie Buchen, and in the next instant, she thought of the small farmhouse she had stayed in for only a few months.
Lowering her head with a faint smile, she said, “I’m going home.”
Home.
Did it still count as a home?
Jianchou didn’t know what awaited her there.
She gazed toward the cliff above.
The Wandering Taoist noticed and explained, “I found you coming from up there. There were bloodstains and broken grass along the way, so I suppose the one who buried you came from that direction as well.”
The one who buried her?
Hearing this, Jianchou suddenly thought of something and turned to look at the earthen pit.
The damp wooden coffin lay in the dirt pit, with a large bloodstain seeping beneath it, stark and striking.
In front of it stood a wooden plaque, tilted and fallen—it was her tombstone.
Jianchou walked over, crouched down, and turned the wooden plaque over to see it.
The tombstone was smeared with dirty soil, but she could still clearly make out the handwriting—it was Xie Buchen’s.
“The grave of my wife, Xie Jianchou?”
Haha.
There was hardly anything more ironic than this.
Xie Jianchou?
No, she was no longer Xie’s.
She was not Xie Buchen’s wife.
She had a name but no family—no father, no mother—just a rootless wanderer drifting through the world.
“He killed you, yet he buried you. I wonder if this man has truly severed his worldly attachments…”
A muffled voice came from behind her, accompanied by the sound of loud chewing.
Jianchou didn’t need to look back to know that the Wandering Taoist was gnawing on a chicken leg again.
She stood up, cast a final glance at the tombstone, then turned to the Wandering Taoist.
Seeing him gnawing on the chicken leg again, she couldn’t help but ask, “Wandering Taoist, where did you get that chicken leg?”
“This?”
The old man’s eyes darted as he looked at the chicken leg in his hand and grinned.
“You want some? Too bad, I won’t give you any!”
With that, he opened his mouth and, with a crunch, swallowed the entire chicken leg whole.
A loud “gulp” echoed, as though the chicken leg had gone straight down his throat.
The Wandering Taoist looked at Jianchou with a satisfied grin.
Jianchou couldn’t hold back, and the corner of her mouth twitched.
“How didn’t you choke to death!”
“What?!”
The Wandering Taoist’s eyes bulged, as if seeing a ghost.
“What did you just say?”
Jianchou turned to look at the cliff.
The yellow soil was saturated with recent rain, staining the black rock face.
A few ancient trees had rooted themselves in the rock’s cracks, their branches sturdy and twisted.
The cliff wasn’t high, with trees covering its sides.
On the left was a sloping path, overgrown with weeds, that seemed passable.
As if she hadn’t said anything offensive at all, Jianchou casually replied, “Did I say anything?”
The Wandering Taoist’s eyes bulged as he followed behind her.
“You said, ‘Why didn’t you choke to death?’ I’m your savior, and you say something like that? How can you treat me this way?”
“I didn’t even want your chicken leg.”
Jianchou had simply been curious, genuinely intending to speak with him, but their conversation had never been on the same page.
She found herself at her wit’s end, finally blurting out that “rude remark.”
“I was just asking why you didn’t choke to death.”
That tone!
The Wandering Taoist grew more indignant, stamping his feet.
“I, a man of profound cultivation, choke on a mere chicken leg? I already told you, I’m a Wandering Taoist! How can you ask such a stupid question?”
Jianchou had started up the slope, which looked steep.
She had to tread carefully to avoid slipping, and with her attention on the climb, she had no patience to entertain the Wandering Taoist’s antics.
She kept her focus, gritting her teeth as she climbed.
The Wandering Taoist, on the other hand, appeared unaffected by the steepness, moving as if he were on level ground.
He poked at the weeds along the path with his tattered bamboo stick, grumbling all the while.
“Do you know how much effort it took me to save you? The powers of a cultivator don’t just fall from the sky. I’ve saved many people, but you—so ungrateful—you’re the three hundred and sixty-seventh person like that!”
Finally unable to hold back, Jianchou stopped and turned to ask him seriously, “How many people have you saved, Wandering Taoist?”
“Well, let me count…” The Wandering Taoist quickly counted on his fingers, eventually replying, “Including you, three hundred and sixty-eight.”
“Oh? And how many ungrateful ones?”
“Three hundred and sixty-seven.”
There was a deep sense of indignation in his voice.
“Oh…”
Jianchou nodded, as if enlightened.
“So only one wasn’t ungrateful? That’s nice; I’ll be the second.”
“Huh?”
The Wandering Taoist looked at her in surprise.
The second person not to be ungrateful.
Jianchou didn’t elaborate.
Her pale face, strained from the climb, was tinged with a faint, sickly flush.
She forced a smile before turning and continuing on.
The tall grass scratched against her skin as she passed through it, occasionally leaving small cuts on her hands.
Jianchou’s brow furrowed gradually.
The Wandering Taoist walked alongside her, carefully observing her.
Though usually talkative, he surprisingly fell silent now.
Jianchou didn’t notice, focusing instead on reaching the top of the slope, which wasn’t too far.
Taking the last step up, she finally saw the expanse before her.
A carpet of grass spread out like a lush rug, stretching into a verdant forest where a wide path wound toward the distant mountains.
As dusk approached, shadows lengthened, and smoke curled up from the chimneys of a small village nestled in a mountain hollow.
Jianchou thought to herself, it was as if she had climbed back from the underworld to return to the land of the living.
At the foot of the cliff, everything had seemed foreign.
But now that she’d climbed up, she immediately recognized the small village not far off as her own.
A series of questions that she hadn’t previously considered now flooded her mind.
Was Xie Buchen still there?
Where had he gone after burying her?
Would the villagers know she was “dead”? And how were they faring?
And home… Was it still the same as before?
