Chapter 502: The Medical Canon Is Complete

The lakeside meadow had grown old, the trees had shed their leaves, and dry foliage blanketed the ground. Only the bamboo grove behind the thatched cottage remained an ink-like green, its stalks bowing slightly under the dim, yellowish daylight, appearing almost black.

The lake’s surface lay utterly still, reflecting the bare branches along the shore with perfect clarity. Fallen leaves drifted upon the water like tiny boats, adding to the bleak yet oddly poetic scene.

A Daoist, a little girl, and a jujube-red horse stepped into this world, as if inadvertently wandering into an autumn-winter painting.

A small boat still floated upon the lake. An old fisherman still sat upon it, fishing in silence.

“

Pfft...

”

The horse let out a lazy snort.

Song You stopped at the lake’s edge and offered a silent bow of greeting.

The little girl also paused at the shore, tilting her head up and stretching her neck to stare at the old man on the boat—unblinking and utterly serious. She watched for a long while before finally making up her mind and stepping forward cautiously.

Her embroidered shoes stepped onto the water—yet did not sink. Not even a single ripple formed beneath her feet.

It was a new technique she had developed using her Water-Splitting Blade.

With her pouch slung over her shoulder, she walked slowly across the lake, pausing now and then to glance back—at the Daoist, who was already heading toward the bamboo cottage, at the horse, which stood at the shore watching her, and at Yan An, who flitted restlessly through the air, too afraid of the Snake Immortal below to land.

At last, she reached the small boat. With a high step, she leaped onto the deck.

“

Splash...

”

The boat rocked from the impact, swaying from side to side.

The once mirror-like lake rippled at last, and the disturbance lingered for a long time before settling.

The Snake Immortal remained seated in silence.

However, there was now an extra fishing rod beside him.

“...!”

The little girl looked up at him, her eyes sharp and feline. She said nothing but cautiously reached out and picked up the fishing rod.

Seeing that he did not react, she swayed her head, then casually sat down. She baited the hook, cast the line, and waited patiently for the fish to bite.

“

Creak

...”

A door opened in the distant cottage, drawing her gaze for a brief moment.

But only for a moment. She quickly turned her attention back to her task, completely absorbed once more.

Meanwhile, Song You had already entered the cottage.

The room was nothing extraordinary. As dusk approached, the dim lighting made it feel even darker. An oil lamp flickered softly, and the air was thick with the scent of ink. A breeze from the window rustled the pages of an open book, filling the space with the gentle sound of paper turning.

“

Rustle, rustle

...”

The pages fluttered, producing a pleasant sound.

Inside, there was both a table and a bed. The table was the same one Song You had retrieved from the deep mountains long ago—a large tree stump that had been cut and smoothed flat. The bed was a simple wooden frame with a woven bamboo lattice, layered with bedding.

By the faint candlelight, two figures sat at the table, transcribing text with weary hands, their exhaustion evident. Another figure lay on the bed, wrapped in blankets, seemingly gravely ill.

Hearing the door open, the two at the table looked up.

“M-Mr. Song?”

“Sir, you've returned?”

“I have.” Song You stepped inside. Feeling the cold wind follow him in, he shut the door behind him. “Is the Medical Canon finished?”

“It’s done. We completed it three months ago,” one of the disciples answered. “It's just that Master wanted to make it easier for you to help spread it, so he instructed us to make haste and copy it several more times.”

“You’ve all worked hard.”

Song You walked in, his eyes immediately falling on Doctor Cai, who lay on the bed.

Doctor Cai still looked the same—his hair white as winter snow, his beard like autumn frost—but now his face was gaunt and weary. He lay in a daze, seemingly unaware of Song You’s arrival, his breath faint and unsteady.

“What happened to him?”

Song You sat down beside the bed and examined him carefully.

Only then did Doctor Cai slowly open his eyes—a mere slit—his once-bright pupils now clouded. He looked at Song You, as if acknowledging his presence, though he lacked the strength to fully wake.

With effort, the old physician raised a trembling hand and parted his lips.

“Sir... You've returned...”

His voice was hoarse, barely audible.

“I only just returned to Changjing. It’s been three years. How have you become so frail?” The Daoist lowered his gaze, meeting the old man's eyes with quiet calm.

“I'm old. My time is nearly up.”

“Master’s health began to fail last year,” one of the disciples explained, stepping forward. “But he forced himself to hold on until the Medical Canon was finished. Once it was completed, he stopped pushing himself... and fell gravely ill.”

“Master says his time has come. His life's work is complete, and it is time for him to return to dust,” the other disciple added, pausing his transcription to turn and look at them. “It was likely the years of hardship in the north that damaged his vitality. He never took the time to properly recover. If he were to take medicine to extend his life, he could probably last a few more years... but he refuses to.”

“I'm old...” Doctor Cai murmured as if he had overheard his disciples.

“Life and death are determined by fate. Prosperity and decline are beyond our control. Since I suffer neither illness nor injury, why struggle against the heavens? To cling on for a few more years—what meaning would that hold?”

The two disciples exchanged a look and let out quiet sighs.

The two disciples instinctively turned their gazes to the Daoist, wondering if he would try to persuade their master, offer some immortal technique, or even perform a miracle to bring him back from the brink of death.

But the Daoist merely smiled. “Doctor, you’re truly free-spirited.”

“Dying of old age is a blessing...”

The disciples exchanged another glance.

Then, they heard the Daoist continue, “Since the divine doctor has accepted this with ease, you two need not be overly anxious. Death is not the end of life. Besides, with the divine doctor’s contributions and virtue, his name will surely be remembered for generations. Fengzhou’s Ghost City currently has three palaces, and the position of the Third Palace Lord has been reserved precisely for the divine doctor.”

At these words, both disciples' eyes widened in shock.

Even Doctor Cai, weak as he was, opened his eyes slightly and raised a trembling hand as if to wave him off.

“There’s no need for humility, Doctor,” Song You said calmly. “Though the position of Palace Lord is high, countless underworld officials serve beneath it—you won’t need to personally oversee every matter. Ghost City is newly established, and the Third Palace still lacks a leader.

“It requires someone of great virtue and remarkable achievement to keep everything in order and prevent it from descending into chaos. With your virtue and merit, you are more than qualified to take the position.”

The disciples’ eyes grew even wider.

They had heard stories before—tales of people who had lived virtuous lives, known for their kindness and deeds. Supposedly, before their deaths, a deity would appear to them in a dream, offering them a position in the heavens or another divine realm.

These individuals would then inform their families not to grieve and make final preparations. After their passing, their fates were somehow verified, proving that they had truly ascended to godhood.

But in those stories, the deceased usually became minor deities or held small bureaucratic positions.

Never in their wildest dreams did they imagine that such a legendary moment would happen right in front of them—and not by way of a divine dream, but through a mortal Daoist’s direct invitation.

And this was not a small appointment—it was the position of a Palace Lord in the underworld's Ghost City.

If this news were to spread, it would surely become a tale passed down for generations, something people would talk about for years to come.

How could they not be utterly stunned?

The divine doctor, however, merely closed his eyes—not outright refusing, but perhaps too weak to respond.

“Rest well.” Song You spoke gently, then turned and said, “Let me see the Medical Canon.”

“Of course!”

One of the disciples immediately retrieved a complete manuscript of the Medical Canon and handed it over.

Song You took it in his hands and casually flipped through the pages.

It was clearly a handwritten manuscript, with each page carefully sewn together with thread to form a book. It was far bulkier than a standard printed volume, though far less neatly aligned.

This book,

Doctor Cai’s Medical Canon,

was destined to have a profound impact on the world. It had finally been completed. Yet, no divine omens marked its completion, no treasures radiated celestial light. Not only was it utterly unremarkable, but it even looked cruder than most meticulously bound books sold in bookstores.

Perhaps its brilliance would only gradually unfold over the next hundreds or even thousands of years, visible only to those with the wisdom to recognize it.

“You’ve all worked hard.”

After briefly skimming through its contents, Song You carefully set the book down and stepped out of the cottage.

The sky had begun to darken.

Out on the lake, the small boat drifted in the center, carrying two figures—one old, one young—each holding a fishing rod, lines trailing into the water.

At this moment, the little girl was reeling in a fish.

Song You moved forward, stepping onto the water as if walking on solid ground.

Before he even reached the boat, the Snake Immortal spoke first. “The matter in Fengzhou... it caused quite a stir.”

The little girl, startled by these unexpected words, turned her head in confusion—looking first at her silent old fishing companion, and then following his gaze toward the approaching Daoist.

“It was unavoidable.”

“I heard you killed the Great Star God?”

“If a so-called god is unworthy of divinity, they ought to be slain,” Song You replied calmly. “For these past three years, I must thank you for watching over the divine doctor.”

“It was nothing.”

“In these three years, has anything happened?”

“Yes, but not much.”

The Snake Immortal understood what he was really asking—whether the Heavenly Palace had taken any steps to suppress the publication of the Medical Canon. Without looking up, he reeled in his fishing line and answered, “There were some minor tricks. Subtle, hard to notice.”

“That must have been troublesome for you.”

“It’s not worth mentioning,” the Snake Immortal said, still not turning around. “But the divine doctor in the cottage... I doubt he has many days left.”

“Yes...”

“His disciple was wrong,” the Snake Immortal continued. “It’s not that he stopped holding on after finishing the Medical Canon. It’s that he held on just long enough to finish it—then held on again, waiting for you to arrive.”

“Yes...” Song You murmured again.

For a moment, the desolate solitude and icy winds of the northern frontier seemed to return before his eyes. He could almost see that divine doctor once more, braving the wind with his disciple, heading north. How could such a figure be captured in just a few words?

Thankfully, the old saying held true. In this world, in this era, death was not truly the end of life.

The divine doctor had never failed the people, so how could the people fail him?

Even life and death—there will come a day to meet again.

Song You boarded a small boat and sat beside his young attendant, watching as she focused on fishing. Meanwhile, he engaged in deep conversation with the Snake Immortal, discussing Fengzhou’s Ghost City and the underworld, the mysteries of the Five-Element Soil.

As night deepened, the sky darkened into pure ink, and Song You could barely see anything anymore. Only the Snake Immortal and the little cat remained, still fishing, the quiet sound of water rippling from time to time. He continued his long conversation with the Snake Immortal, speaking into the black of night.

In the thatched cottage by the lake, candlelight flickered—the only glow in a world swallowed by darkness.

It was unclear how late it had become when a sudden gust of wind slipped into the house, snuffing out the candle. After a moment, the flame rekindled, but before long, the loud cries of two disciples echoed from within.

Doctor Cai bid farewell to the living world this night.

When he stepped out of the cottage once more, he looked exactly as he had when Song You first saw him in Hezhou—hair like winter’s deepest snow, beard like autumn’s hoarfrost, untouched by the dust of the mortal world. Only now, there was a hint of immortal aura about him.