Chapter 461: A Deed Worthy of Eternal Record

“Thunder in winter...?”

“That’s a deity!”

“It must be the Duke of Thunder!”

“Who’s stronger, the Jile God or the Duke of Thunder?”

“Obviously the Duke of Thunder! I heard he's the god of thunder in the heavens—if he’s here, there’s no way the Jile God can escape!”

“We just saw a divine deity with our own eyes...”

“What a revelation...”

Whether they were hiding inside shops and houses or peeking from the shadows, the people of Yangdu were utterly shaken. The deafening thunderclap and the divine voice that had boomed across the city left them in stunned awe.

For many, this was the first time they had ever witnessed a deity. And not just any deity—the Duke of Thunder himself.

Though Yangzhou was not known for widespread worship of the Duke of Thunder, his name was legendary throughout the land. In bustling Yangdu, people had certainly heard of him. Even in casual conversation, his name was often invoked.

However, because ordinary folk rarely had reason to seek his blessings, his temples were not frequently visited. Now, for the first time, the city had witnessed his divine manifestation.

On both sides of the Yangjiang River, within many homes where windows had been tightly shut just moments ago, people quietly cracked them open, peering up at the sky in wonder.

There—within the rolling thunderclouds—a divine figure loomed, flickering in and out of sight. His form was titanic, his radiance blinding.

Just a single glance was enough to feel his righteousness, his unparalleled might.

“So that is Duke of Thunder Zhou?”

And what of the Jile God, which had been wreaking havoc below just moments ago?

The people glanced down—

It was gone. There was no sign of the Jile God anywhere.

Instead, the Duke of Thunder turned his massive head, his gaze sharp and piercing like divine fire, locking onto the streets below.

There, standing in the open, was a little girl dressed in three-colored garments. She tilted her head back, her fair and delicate face staring straight at him without blinking. Behind her stood a jujube-red horse, its back laden with bundles of firewood.

With his divine sight, the Duke of Thunder could see it immediately—

The cinnabar mark on the Jile God had been imbued with the seasonal spiritual radiance of the current heir of Hidden Dragon Temple.

It was this single mark of cinnabar, this trace of spiritual light, that had allowed the mortal Daoist to track the Jile God's hiding place.

Had it not been for that single plum blossom mark, even if the lightning strike had missed, even if the Jile God had managed to escape, melting back into the city—becoming just another unremarkable shadow in some hidden alley or forgotten corner—it could still be found.

And that would have only meant one more bolt of lightning.

“Give my thanks to your master!” The Duke of Thunder’s voice rumbled like the sky splitting open.

Wealthy and prosperous, Yangzhou had never shown much reverence for the Duke of Thunder. To him, this was no small favor.

“

Meow

...”

“The demon god is vanquished! Let there be no more worship of it!”

“

Boom

!”

And with that final declaration, the deity vanished.

The dark clouds above rapidly dispersed, rolling away at a visible speed, thinning into nothingness. Sunlight poured through.

The fierce winds had already swept the morning mist clean, and now the streets of Yangdu basked in the full brilliance of daylight.

White walls took on a soft golden hue. Dark-tiled rooftops now glistened with crisp detail. Even the bitter chill of winter seemed to hold a touch of warmth.

It was only then that people truly realized, Yangdu’s impurity was only truly cleansed today. And today, indeed, was a fine day.

The streets remained empty and quiet. Here and there, a door creaked open, and a few cautious faces peeked outside.

Those who had hidden in the shadows slowly stood upright, looking around. Yet all they saw was a vast blue sky, and the Yangjiang River’s two banks, unchanged—as if it had all been just a fleeting illusion.

In the middle of the street, the little girl still stood alone. She wore a faded three-colored outfit, her hair braided into a simple plait. Her fair, delicate face carried an innocent charm.

As she withdrew her gaze from the sky, she swayed her head slightly, lost in thought. Then, without much concern, she murmured something to the jujube-red horse beside her before turning to leave.

A few generals and officers turned as well, silently watching her retreating figure. Some Yangdu officials exchanged puzzled glances with Wenpingzi.

Yet the small silhouette soon disappeared into the distance.

***

At the courtyard in the eastern part of the city...

The Daoist had lit the brazier and was wrapped in thick blankets. He had slept soundly until daylight, only waking when sunlight filtered through the windows.

Even then, he simply sat in bed, unmoving for a long time.

It wasn’t until the cat returned, dropped off the firewood, shifted back into her original form, and ran inside that he finally stirred. She hopped onto the bed and began recounting everything she had seen and heard today.

“...And that’s what happened!”

“Just one bolt of lightning, and it was gone?”

“That’s right!”

“It seems that since Duke of Thunder Zhou was promoted to Chief of the Thunder Division and returned from the north, both his divine power and incense offerings have flourished.”

“Exactly!”

“Ah... Heaven rewards diligence. When deities work hard—descend frequently to exterminate demons and drive away evil—the people will naturally love and revere them. He has earned it.”

As Song You spoke, he shook his head slightly. At the same time, he tossed aside his blanket, swung his legs off the bed, slipped his feet into his shoes, and stretched lazily.

“A Daoist like me must be diligent as well—I can't just sleep all day.”

The cat, still sprawled across the quilt, turned her head and stared blankly at him.

Then she blinked and murmured softly, “It’s almost New Year’s...”

As the Daoist walked, he muttered these thoughts to himself. Cooking a good meal after waking up—this was something a Daoist deserved.

After breakfast, he took advantage of the fine weather, going out for a stroll along both banks of the Yangjiang River, admiring the stilted wooden houses lining the shores.

As expected, the streets and alleys were abuzz with discussion.

The only topic on everyone's lips was the manifestation of the Duke of Thunder that morning. People spoke of it with uncontained excitement, spittle flying as they relayed the details—as if each and every one of them had witnessed it firsthand.

Most celebrated the death of the Jile God, whose many crimes had long plagued the people, and cheered at the Duke of Thunder's righteous judgment.

Some, however, were fixated on the last words of the Duke of Thunder, endlessly speculating over their meaning. Yet, for all their discussions, no one could quite reach a conclusion.

The Daoist simply smiled, bought his groceries, and returned home.

The ninth year of the Mingde era had only a few days left.

And the events of the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth lunar month, when Zhou Kangbo, the Duke of Thunder, descended and smote the Jile God with a single bolt of heavenly lightning, had been witnessed by far too many people to fade into obscurity.

Among those present had been scholars and officials, ensuring that the incident would be recorded in local histories, as well as in the miscellaneous essays and journals of contemporary writers.

Many had already begun writing, and while their accounts varied little in substance, they all shared a common detail—the sheer number of witnesses present.

Yet, how many of these records would truly stand the test of time?

Perhaps, in the years to come, the tale would evolve into a folk legend, passed down in theaters and storytelling halls, becoming an enduring part of local lore.

And perhaps, though unknown to those present, some version of this tale might even reach a thousand years into the future.

On New Year's Eve, the city of Yangdu was once again brilliantly illuminated, adorned with lanterns and decorations, brimming with joy and festivity.

Yet, this year, there was one less entity in the city—the Jile God was gone. With the successful purification of the city, the celebrations were even more vibrant than before.

Word spread that the authorities had already chosen a site for the construction of a Duke of Thunder Temple.

The prefect of Yangdu himself had issued an order to gather the finest artisans in Yangzhou, ensuring that the statue of Duke of Thunder Zhou would be built to the highest five-organ form standard.

Furthermore, statues of the other principal deities of the Thunder Division would also be commissioned. The goal was to install Zhou Kangbo’s statue in all the major temples of Yangdu by spring of the coming year, ensuring that future generations could worship, admire, and express their gratitude.

And ever since the Duke of Thunder's divine intervention, Yangdu had only seen good weather. Each morning, the mist that once lingered until midday now dissipated before the morning was half over.

For several consecutive days, the skies remained clear and bright, and along the riverbanks, the plum and willow trees had begun to sprout fresh green shoots.

Thus dawned the tenth year of the Mingde era, welcoming the new year.

The Daoist found a teahouse by the river, choosing a window seat where he could watch the flowing waters below and the willow branches swaying in the breeze.

Basking in the warm sunlight, he idly listened to the conversation at the next table, lazily whiling away the afternoon.

Naturally, his tea was the cheapest available. After all, he was spending money earned from his cat selling fish.

At the next table sat a group of scholars and officials.

Not only had they ordered a fine pot of tea, but they had also requested the tea master of the establishment to perform decorative tea art for them. Alongside the tea, they had ordered several plates of fruit, making themselves comfortable as they chatted leisurely.

Evidently, their lives were even more relaxed than his.

“If we set aside the countless people who personally witnessed the scene by the Huashi Bridge that day, what about the Duke of Thunder's thunderous roar? The entire city of Yangdu heard it—hell, even the green mountains ten li outside the city could hear it! How could this possibly be fake?”

“It's not that I doubt you, Mr. Hu, but this event is simply too incredible to believe!”

“Mr. Tang, your trip to Changjing made you miss quite a spectacle.”

“I only regret not returning sooner! But regardless of how it happened, the Jile God had plagued Yangdu for years—its destruction is unquestionably a great thing!”

The afternoon sunlight was so warm that Song You’s eyes involuntarily squinted. The laziness seeped into his bones, making him feel drowsy and sluggish.

Then, a new piece of gossip piqued his ears—

“I also heard that a few days ago, the prefect had a dream about a calico cat. In the dream, the cat told him that there was a hollow space beneath one of the city’s bridges, hiding countless treasures and rare medicinal herbs. When the prefect woke up, he immediately ordered his men to dig the place up.

“And sure enough, they uncovered a trove of precious treasures, many of which were so rare that no one even recognized them. All of it had been hidden away by the Jile God! Now, tell me, isn’t that strange?”

“A calico cat?”

“Exactly!”

“And what happened to all those treasures?”

“Well, according to the dream, the calico cat told the prefect to sell them off and use the money to compensate those whose wealth had been plundered by the Jile God.”

“Oh?”

Everyone at the table immediately fell into a solemn hush.

“That must have been a celestial cat!”

“I must record this in my writings!”

“...”

Hearing this, Song You couldn’t help but smile.

Then, as the warmth of the afternoon and the gentle conversations lulled him further into drowsiness, he yawned, feeling an even stronger urge to return home and have a ‘celestial nap’ in his own bed.

He counted his money and got up, ready to settle the bill.

But just as he reached for his coin pouch, a conversation at the next table caught his ear.

“Mr. Tang, you’ve just returned from Changjing—have you heard any news from the capital? How is His Majesty’s health? Has he still not named an heir?”

Song You pressed his lips together and—without a word—sat back down.

“Of course, I’ve heard. It’s not even a secret...” one of the men sighed, shaking his head. “From the grandest nobles to the humblest merchants, everyone in Changjing is talking about it.”

“They say the Emperor has barely attended court this past year. He has been bedridden for months, growing increasingly erratic—his moods shifting unpredictably. His rule is faltering. Forget the imperial court—even the streets of Changjing feel more restless and chaotic than before.”

“But wasn’t His Majesty already attending court less frequently by mid-year of the year before?”

“At that time, he still made occasional appearances.”

“And what of the State Preceptor?”

“The State Preceptor hasn’t been part of the court for quite some time.”

“Fortunately, there's Yu Jianbai, who now serves as Prime Minister and regularly oversees state affairs. He is, by all accounts, a capable and virtuous minister.”

“And the Crown Prince...?”

“There is still no heir.”

Even here, in Yangdu—thousands of li from Changjing—the gathered scholars shook their heads and sighed upon hearing the news.

The Daoist sipped his tea, silently calculating the timeline in his mind.

By mid-year of the eighth year of the Mingde era, he had foiled the State Preceptor’s schemes in Fengzhou, and naturally, the Emperor’s grand ambitions had collapsed along with them.

Considering the time it would have taken for the news to reach Changjing, for the old Emperor to process it, and then for word to trickle down to the scholars of Yangdu, it made sense that by then, the Emperor had stopped attending court.

It was highly likely that he had been struck by the weight of what happened in Mount Ye, Fengzhou.

And yet—he still had not named an heir.

Song You couldn’t help but shake his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. He had urged the Emperor before—he should establish a Crown Prince early, anyone would do. As expected, the old Emperor had refused to listen.

And, thinking about it now—it was perfectly in character.

A ruler like him—even if the Celestial Emperor himself descended in a dream to warn him, he probably wouldn’t take it seriously. And if he became even more erratic and tyrannical in his final years, he might very well dare to depose even the Celestial Emperor himself.

A vague sense of unease crept over him.

If his calculations were right... The Emperor’s final days were near.

“Sir, the bill.” Pressing his lips together, Song You stepped out of the teahouse.