Notes on Longevity

Chapter 102: A Thousand Years of Literary Elegance, Ancient People and Stories, Let Us Look at the Present.

"Come in." Yan Yu lay there with her eyes closed, quietly enjoying the autumn sunshine.

Upon hearing this, Ping An took two steps across the threshold, closed the door, and walked step by step to Yan Yu. He then bowed to him and said, "Ping An greets Lord Yan."

Yan Yu smiled upon hearing his voice, slowly opened his eyes, and turned to look at Ping An, whose face was full of smiles but also melancholy. "Don't call me 'sir.' Although your master and I only served as officials together for one day, I admire your master. However, he was too stubborn, and I couldn't protect him all the time. So I could only suggest to His Majesty that he leave the capital and take a sinecure in Qingshan County. But who could have known that he would eventually become a Taoist?"

"Was it you who suggested it?" Ping An asked, looking at Yan Yu's ruddy, handsome, youthful face.

“Yes, it was I who asked His Majesty to write the letter that night.” Yan Yu was still lying there, but instead of looking at Ping An, he was staring at a green tree in the courtyard.

"By the way, when you leave later, go directly to the temple where the accident happened. You'll see the person you want to see." Yan Yu finished speaking and closed her eyes again, continuing to enjoy the bright sunshine.

Ping An was neither surprised nor puzzled by Yan Yu's words. After all, he had learned some of Yan Yu's abilities from Emperor Wenshang, so he didn't think much of what Yan Yu said.

But what puzzled Ping An was, "Do you mean Master didn't die?"

Yan Yu said softly, "Is this how Yu Yang taught you?"

"You know Patriarch Yuyang?" Ping An asked, somewhat surprised. But he quickly realized that although Patriarch Yuyang had cultivated for over three hundred years and obtained the art of longevity, he had not obtained the method of immortality. The person in front of him, however, had also lived for nearly three hundred years. He and Patriarch had completely different outcomes—immortality. Since both were immortal and had once entered the imperial palace, it was only natural that they knew each other.

"The Art of Derivation of Heaven, couldn't it be said that Yu Yang and the others didn't teach you?" Yan Yu continued to ask with his eyes closed.

Faced with Yan Yu's assertiveness, Ping An was momentarily at a loss for words.

"With your attitude of seeking immortality, do you think they will even see you? And why would they see you? I advise you to go back before you leave the capital."

As Yan Yu spoke, his body vanished in front of Ping An, turning into a wisp of white smoke before Ping An could even speak.

"Understood, thank you, Lord Yan." Yan Yu turned into white smoke and dissipated. Ping An stared blankly, feeling a void in his mind. This was the second person he had encountered in this world who looked like this.

Yan Yu had disappeared, and he couldn't ask any more questions, but he couldn't hide the excitement in his heart. A smile appeared on his face; from Yan Yu's words just now, he thought that his master really wasn't dead.
He turned to leave, but Yan Yu's words rang out behind him again: "Those who possess profound virtue and are blessed by the Way will travel far and wide, witnessing all aspects of human life."

Yan Yu's voice held a hint of surprise. Just as he was about to leave the courtyard and return to the palace, the last two sentences, which he had calculated for decades without success, suddenly appeared in his mind. However, in addition to the last two sentences, another sentence appeared, but he did not utter it aloud, perhaps because the secrets of heaven were not fully revealed, or perhaps for some other reason.

"I never expected that the one I predicted when I told Jinggong's fortune would be you. It's fate, it's fate."

As he spoke, he suddenly laughed, but when Ping An turned around in confusion, Yan Yu had disappeared again.

Looking at the courtyard, which was empty except for himself, Ping An felt a pang of loneliness, though he couldn't quite explain why. At least he had received news from Yan Yu that his master was still alive, and he was as happy as a child, though the smile on his face was no longer the same as before.

As the autumn wind begins to blow, boats travel along the city moat.

After leaving Yan Yu's courtyard, Ping An headed towards the south gate of the city. He intended to pay the boatman, but upon seeing the Taoist robes, the whisk in hand, and the chest on his back, the boatman guessed he was a wandering Taoist priest. No matter how Ping An pleaded for money, the boatman refused. He even said that if it hadn't been for the Taoist priests from Zouma Temple coming down the mountain more than ten years ago, who knows what would have happened.

Upon hearing this, Ping An realized that he still had something to ask, but his master was almost there, and the boat had already traveled halfway, so there was no time to ask the boatman to turn back.

Ping An could only sit on the boat, gently leaning against the chest, watching the boatman with his back to him, dressed in simple clothes, wearing a straw hat, and with slightly white hair.

"Beyond the green hills lies the traveler's road, before the emerald waters lies the boat. The tide is calm, the banks are wide, the wind is fair, the sail is taut." The boatman shouted as he poled the boat.

“Boatman, your poem is out of place.” Ping’an listened to the boatman reciting the poem and looked around. Apart from the green water in front of the boat, not a single line was relevant to the current scene.

"Don't worry about details, don't worry about details." The boatman turned around, a somewhat old face smiling, his grin revealing the missing gum below his front teeth.

"Boatman, is this a poem you wrote?" Ping An had never heard of this poem before and assumed it was written by the boatman, so he asked.

But to everyone's surprise, the boatman burst into laughter upon hearing Ping An's words, and, with his back to Ping An, asked, "Taoist Master, besides reading scriptures and practicing Taoist magic, do you have anything else to do on a daily basis?"

Ping An frowned, puzzled as to why the boatman asked such a question, so he asked in return, "Boatman, what do you mean by that?"

"I understand, I understand." The boatman continued to laugh, which confused Ping An. Finally, he said, "Our Great Yan Dynasty, which has lasted for a thousand years, has not only a strong army, but also a thousand years of literary elegance. This poem was written by a poet of our Great Yan. Although it is not appropriate for the occasion, it is my way of sending this poem to the Daoist."

"What do you mean by that?" Ping An had followed his master in his pursuit of immortality since childhood, but apart from etiquette and morality, he hadn't been taught much else. Even in Zoumaguan, all he learned were scriptures and martial arts. He was basically ignorant of the romantic affairs of scholars.

"The last four lines of this poem are: 'A waning moon rises over the sea, spring arrives on the river as the old year ends. Where can I send my letter home? The wild geese fly back to Luoyang.' This poem was written by the poet Wang Wan while traveling along the east bank of the Yangtze River, at the foot of Beigu Mountain, and it expresses his longing for home. I recite this poem in the hope that the Daoist priest will return from his travels soon."

"Thank you, boatman." Ping An stood up and bowed to the boatman under the low awning.

"You're too kind, Taoist priest," the boatman said, his voice still loud and clear.

"May I ask the boatman, where is Luoyang? I've never heard of it before," Ping An thought to himself, feeling somewhat confused as he recited the poem the boatman had just told him.

"This is the ancient name of the previous dynasty." The boatman continued to explain to Ping An: "More than a thousand years ago, the world was in chaos, and heroes from all walks of life fought each other, which tore the powerful Heavenly Kingdom apart and created what it is today. The former Luoyang was the northeast of the present-day Dayan, which is Muzhou. The former Jiangdong and Jiangnan are now part of the Southern Kingdom."

This is a fictional story, please don't criticize.
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(End of this chapter)