Chapter 2: This Is What Cancer Looks Like
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
In Great Xia, it was an ironclad law: commoners who practiced cultivation privately would be executed. Everyone in Yuyang County knew this.
But at first, Ji You couldn’t communicate with them.
The language of this world belonged to an archaic system, but the pronunciation was entirely unfamiliar. Unable to understand or speak, he had no choice but to feign madness. He would spend his days in the streets, striking strange poses in suspenders—the kind basketball players might make—to avoid suspicion.
The Immortal Tome he found in the depths of Cloud Ridge had become his lifeline. With no phones or modern distractions in these ancient nights, what else was there to do but cultivate?
Over time, he gained a rudimentary foundation in the Immortal Path. As his comprehension of the language improved, he grew curious about this world. After all, he needed to survive here.
Fortunately, Physician Chen of Yuyang County was a scholar with an extensive collection of books. Ji You borrowed some and began studying. One book, titled the Great Xia Immortal Edicts, revealed a shocking truth: private cultivation was not just illegal; it was an incomprehensible crime punishable by death.
However, to the north of Yuyang County lay a bandit stronghold filled with rogue cultivators who hated both the Immortal Sects and the imperial court. They sought to expand their influence and openly recruited. The opportunities seemed promising, with a transparent path to promotion.
Ji You decided he’d head to the mountains next autumn. Becoming a hall leader among the bandits, then rising to the level of an unrivaled bandit overlord, sounded like a decent plan.
…
The following noon, under a waning sun, it was time for land-tax settlement in Yuyang County.
Three ranks of constables, gripping intimidating cudgels, marched through the streets with commanding presence.
“Hurry up, move faster! Stop dawdling!”
“This year, the Immortals have blessed us with peace and no disasters. It’s a bountiful harvest! But with our kingdom locked in war against the Mystic Wilding Tribes beyond the Northern Frontier, the imperial treasury is depleted. The magistrate has ordered all taxes to be paid in full!”
Under their supervision, every household opened their cellars. They meticulously counted out sixty percent of their grain yield, splitting it into two portions: one for the imperial land tax, the other as an offering to the Immortal Sects.
A thousand years ago, during the chaotic wars of Azure Clouds, the Grand Ancestor of Great Xia had forged an agreement with the Immortal Sects to consolidate his empire. The pact promised additional taxes annually to be offered to the Immortals in exchange for their assistance in unifying the Central Plains.
Back then, Immortals would descend the mountains to slay demons, heal children, and banish evil spirits. But once Great Xia’s rule was secure, such tales became the stuff of stage plays.
The rise of the Sectarian Struggle saw the Immortal Sects aggressively expanding their ranks. Offerings to the sects increased yearly, crushing the commoners under their weight. Meanwhile, the sect members hid in their celestial peaks, indulging in the spoils of mortal labor and pursuing the elusive Immortal Dao while ignoring worldly concerns.
For the people of Great Xia, this seemed as natural as the rising sun, a custom passed down through millennia. But to Ji You, an outsider, this system of offering and exploitation evoked only one word.
Cancer.
The Immortal Sects, Immortal Dao, and Immortals themselves were like uncontrolled cells draining the life of this world—an unsustainable, destructive force. This is cancer.
…
Stepping out of the Ji Clan’s Ancestral Mansion, Ji You watched the constables march past. He thought, [Enough of this. Let’s eat.]
The Ji Clan had lost its former prestige. Their lands were seized by others, exempting them from taxes but leaving them with nothing to eat. Food wasn’t the only scarcity—he lacked even the basics of a fantasy protagonist: no masterful mentor, no alluring senior sisters, not even a cute junior sister to brighten his days.
Old Qiu couldn’t even scrape together his taxes and had to borrow from his father-in-law. Ji You didn’t want to add to his troubles.
Fortunately, Archway Street was once Ji Clan property. Ji You retained some goodwill there, enough to work for a meal. As he approached a restaurant, a sudden clatter of hooves echoed down the main street.
Lifting his head, he saw three grand redwood carriages, adorned with jewels, rolling by. Their opulence was jarring against the backdrop of clay-tiled houses.
In the first two carriages sat an elderly man and a woman, both clad in white robes embroidered with gold. Long swords hung at their waists, faint celestial auras surrounding them. Their expressions were icy, exuding the detachment of true Immortals.
The third carriage carried a young woman dressed in a cloud-brocade gown, her gaze calm yet proud. She radiated the demeanor of an aristocratic lady.
As her carriage passed, the young woman briefly glanced at Ji You, frowning slightly before pulling down the beaded curtain.
After this fleeting moment, the three carriages continued toward the County Magistrate’s Hall.
“Seems like a Celestial Master of the Heavenly Script Academy has come to escort Fang Ruo Yao to the capital.”
“With his elegance, why wouldn’t Young Master Ji go with them?”
“Clearly, Young Master Ji finds the Heavenly Script Academy beneath him.”
Startled, Ji You turned to find two diners in the restaurant sneering at him. They were Jia Si Cong and Dong Wei, former classmates of the original Young Master Ji. When the Ji Clan prospered, he had been an infamous bully, quick to pick fights even with stray dogs. This left him with few friends among his peers.
Jia Si Cong sauntered over. “Miss Fang is leaving for the capital in two days. She hosted a banquet the night before last, and everyone was invited except you. As her ex-fiancé, isn’t that a bit heartless?”
“Jia, you’ve got it wrong. Didn’t Fang Ruo Yao break off the engagement ages ago?”
The Capital, or Sheng, was Great Xia’s crown jewel. Nestled behind Mount Ni, it was the Heavenly Script Academy’s seat of power. Legends spoke of its breathtaking beauty, inspiring countless poems and essays like The Ode to Sheng.
Fang Ruo Yao’s selection as a disciple of the Heavenly Script Academy was heralded as a meteoric rise. The villagers weren’t wrong when they said she had ascended to immortality.
“Ji You, stop pretending you can’t hear me!” Jia Si Cong barked.
Ji You ignored him and leaned on the counter. “Shopkeeper, this gentleman will have two trays of dumplings.”
Jia Si Cong froze, then erupted. “What dumplings? I already ate!”
“I’ll eat them for you,” Ji You replied, smirking. “You’re not short on money, are you?”
Jia Si Cong’s face reddened. “You think I’m as destitute as you? I could order ten trays if I wanted!”
“Then ten trays it is. Meat-filled. Serve three now; I’ll pack the rest to take home.”
Dong Wei, watching this unfold, realized Ji You wasn’t the joke here. Ji You was shamelessly scamming a meal. Seeing Jia Si Cong about to retort, Dong Wei grabbed his arm. “Forget it. He’s already drooling.”
…
With peace restored, Ji You found a seat by the window, picked up a pair of bamboo chopsticks, and began enjoying the steaming dumplings. Of the ten trays, he planned to eat three himself and take the rest to Old Qiu’s house, where Qiu Ru, the little girl, would also get her share.
By the time he finished, the afternoon had slipped away. Estimating that Old Qiu should have returned from Thirty-League Inn, Ji You decided to retrieve a basket from home.
Just as he rose, a conversation at the doorway caught his attention.
“Did you hear? Trouble at the third house east of Southward-Edge River.”
“What trouble?”
“A five-year-old girl caught the eye of the Immortal Worship Mountain Manor. They said she has some sort of ‘brilliant aura’ and ‘boundless potential.’ They’re taking her as an ingredient for their alchemy.”
“When did this happen?”
“This morning, around dawn. She and her father were borrowing grain at Thirty-League Inn.”
“There hasn’t been an Immortal born here in centuries. How could a child from our county possess any so-called ‘potential’?”
“Who knows the ways of Immortals? But that girl from the Qiu Clan…”
The third house east of Southward-Edge River? Old Qiu’s house.
Qiu Ru was five this year. Old Qiu had indeed gone to Thirty-League Inn.
Walking, listening, piecing the fragments together, Ji You’s legs stiffened at the threshold. His face darkened.