Immortal Paladin

”Walk with me,” Xin Yune said.

I obliged.

Like a gentleman, I offered her my hand. She took it without hesitation, linking her arm with mine as we stepped out onto the quiet streets.

It was dawn. The sky was painted in soft hues of orange and lavender, the air still crisp with the lingering chill of night. The streets were mostly empty, save for a few early risers preparing for the day—vendors setting up stalls, street sweepers brushing away the remnants of the night before.

As we walked, she talked.

She told me about her childhood, about a time before the Grand Ascension Empire bore its current name. Back then, it was simply the Grand Empire.

“There were nine daughters,” she said, her voice light but nostalgic. “And never a son.”

I glanced at her. ”Nine princesses, huh? That must’ve been… eventful.”

Xin Yune chuckled. ”Oh, you have no idea.”

She went on, speaking about the old days, the power struggles, the traditions, and the expectations placed upon them. But as she spoke, there was one thing she seemed particularly passionate about.

She scoffed. ”You know, my ancestors weren’t really that good with names.”

I raised an eyebrow. ”That’s what bothers you?”

”Of course it does!” she said dramatically. ”Grand Empire? How unimaginative. And then later, Nongmin just slapped Ascension onto it, like that suddenly made it grander. And don’t even get me started on the city names. Imperial Capital? Really? That wasn’t even a name!”

I chuckled. ”I take it you would’ve named things differently?”

She gave me a look. ”Oh, absolutely. I had an entire list when I was younger.”

I smirked. ”Do I even want to know?”

”You do,” she assured me. ”But I’m saving that for another time. If I get another time.”

That last part made my smirk falter, just a little.

But she just kept walking, smiling up at the morning sky like she hadn’t just reminded me that this was her final day.

”I could bring you back to life, you know?” I offered, watching her carefully.

Xin Yune shook her head. ”No need,” she said simply. ”I’ve already made peace with it. And besides, you’d probably fail.”

I frowned. ”You sound awfully sure about that.”

She smiled, but there was something knowing behind it. ”Lifespan is different from life force,” she remarked.

I raised an eyebrow. ”And that means…?”

She sighed, clearly expecting me to not get it. ”I am going to die, and that’s it.”

I opened my mouth to respond, still trying to make sense of it, but before I could, she reached over and pinched my side.

”Ow…” I stopped. ”I just want to ask a question. No need to resort to violence.”

Actually, I didn’t feel a thing.

More importantly, she didn’t get hurt either.

My Reflect ability should’ve rebounded the force back at her, but I had instinctively forced my willpower to suppress it. Huh. Maybe I was getting better at controlling it.

”Don’t interrupt,” she scolded, pulling her hand back with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes but stayed quiet.

She continued, ”Even your healing spells wouldn’t be able to bring me back.”

”How are you so sure?” I challenged.

”Because my son already foresaw it.”

That made me pause.

Before I could press further, she suddenly pointed ahead. ”Oh, look! That food stall’s open too early.”

I followed her gaze. The scent of something deep-fried filled the air. The vendor had just finished setting up, stirring a wok filled with oil. A sign on the side read something about… fried crickets.

Xin Yune’s eyes lit up. ”I love fried crickets.”

I stared at her. ”...You what?”

I paid for her fried crickets, watching as Xin Yune took them with an almost childlike glee. She popped one into her mouth, crunching down with a satisfied hum, then sighed wistfully.

”You know, I miss the simpler days,” she murmured between bites.

She leaned against the food stall, gazing at the warming sky. ”Back then, my son wasn’t even called Nongmin,” she said absentmindedly.

I paused. ”Wait… what?”

She let out a rueful chuckle. ”I can’t even remember his true name anymore.”

That caught me off guard. I frowned. ”What do you mean you don’t remember?”

Xin Yune exhaled, idly shaking the paper bag of crickets as if searching for the best one. ”The day my son ascended as Emperor, he cast away his true name into the void,” she said. ”A form of defense.”

I narrowed my eyes. ”Defense against what?”

She shrugged. ”Divine Scrying, fate manipulation, soul bindings—things that could be used against him. Without a name, such things lose their hold.”

I absorbed that for a moment. ”...And the name Nongmin?”

”It means farmer or peasant, I think. He never really explained himself when he picked the name.” She smiled, popping another cricket into her mouth. ”Quite the irony, isn’t it?”

I wasn’t sure whether to scoff or nod in admiration. That was the kind of poetic nonsense an Emperor might pull.

Xin Yune continued, speaking as though recalling a story that had only happened yesterday. ”In my youth, I got involved with a commoner,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer, almost nostalgic.

”It was a time of strife,” she went on. ”The Empire was deteriorating, and no one knew what the future held. But despite that, I fell in love.”

Her gaze flickered toward me with a knowing look, as if daring me to say something. I didn’t.

She huffed. ”The Empire was so stupidly patriarchal back then. None of my sisters was even considered eligible for the throne. But of course, our children? That was a different story.”

She rolled her eyes. ”Ridiculous, really.”

Then, as if flipping a switch, she suddenly lit up. ”Oh, but my son… oh, you should’ve seen him! Even as a child, he was brilliant.”

And just like that, she was a proud mother bragging about her child’s achievements.

”He could read by the time he was two,” she said, gesturing grandly with a fried cricket in hand. ”He wrote his first political treatise at five! The ministers thought he was some reincarnated sage! Ha!”

I listened, arms crossed, as Xin Yune launched into a full recounting of her son’s greatest exploits, all while happily munching on fried crickets like they were the greatest delicacy in the world.

Eventually, Xin Yune finished her fried crickets, brushing off the crumbs with a satisfied sigh.

”Alright,” she said, looking up at me expectantly. ”Tanghulu.”

I stared at her. ”What?”

She gestured vaguely toward a street vendor a few stalls down. ”I want tanghulu.”

I sighed but walked over to buy some. Naturally, she made me pay. Again. I grabbed one for myself too. By then, the sun had risen higher, and the streets were beginning to bustle. The heat was already creeping in, so I led us toward a shaded alleyway where the air was cooler.

She took a bite of her candied hawthorn and hummed. ”Mmm… I haven’t had this in ages.”

As she chewed, she continued reminiscing.

”When I first pushed my cultivation,” she said, twirling the stick between her fingers, ”I never really intended to be the Divine Physician.”

I listened quietly, watching as she reveled in her memories.

”I was just desperate at first. I had a child. I had to survive.” She licked the sugar glaze off her lips. ”But then… the more I studied, the more I understood. And before I knew it, people started calling me the Divine Physician. Of course, after healing just enough… people.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. ”Ridiculous title. I just didn’t like seeing people die if I could help it.”

As she spoke, I noticed something.

She was aging.

It wasn’t sudden, nor was it drastic. But it was there. Moment to moment, her features were subtly shifting. The smoothness of her skin gave way to faint lines. The vitality in her eyes dimmed just a little. If not for her makeup, it would have been more obvious.

When we first stepped onto the streets, she could have passed for someone in her twenties, maybe early thirties. Now? Now she looked… older. Middle-aged.

Even knowing what she told me earlier, actually seeing it happen made my stomach feel oddly heavy.

Xin Yune either didn’t notice or simply didn’t care. She kept eating her tanghulu, eyes soft with nostalgia.

By the time noon arrived, we found ourselves in a small eatery, seated at a modest wooden table by an open window. The scent of sizzling oil and fragrant broths filled the air, mingling with the lively chatter of other patrons.

Xin Yune leaned back, stretching slightly before resting her chin on one hand. ”You had a question earlier,” she said. ”Something about lifespans and life force?”

I nodded. ”Yeah. What exactly is the difference?”

She exhaled, tapping a finger on the table. ”Lifespan is the distance between life and death. It’s the length of time a person is supposed to exist before the world naturally reclaims them. Life force, on the other hand, is the power that fuels a living being, the energy that lets them move, think, breathe.”

I frowned. ”So if someone runs out of life force, do they die?”

”Not necessarily.” She shook her head. ”If you run out of life force, you’ll weaken, maybe fall into a coma, but you can recover. Lifespan, though… once that’s gone, that’s it. You don’t recover lifespan.”

I clenched my jaw. ”That makes things difficult.”

Xin Yune glanced at me. ”You’re thinking about someone specific, aren’t you?”

I sighed. ”I’ve lost people. Precious ones.”

She said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

”I tried to bring them back,” I admitted. ”But it didn’t work. I don’t know why.”

Xin Yune studied me carefully before leaning back with a soft hum. ”If it were natural death, I could tell you why. But… you said they didn’t die naturally, right?”

I shook my head. ”They were killed. By Shenyuan.”

At that, her expression darkened. ”Ah… him.”

There was a weight in her voice, something more than just knowledge.

I narrowed my eyes. ”You know something.”

Xin Yune drummed her fingers against the table. ”There’s a reason why Shenyuan was called the One True Death,” she said. ”People feared him, not just because he could kill, but because when he killed someone, they stayed dead.”

A chill ran down my spine.

She continued, her voice quieter. ”It’s not just power or skill. There’s something else at work. I’ve heard rumors… theories. Some say he developed a secret technique that allowed him to access an afterlife—or some form of it.”

I frowned. ”An afterlife?”

She nodded. ”Or something close to one. If true, then it’s possible he could cut off the remaining distance of a person’s natural lifespan, even if they hadn’t reached it yet.”

I felt my fingers tighten into fists.

”So what you’re saying is,” I muttered, ”he didn’t just kill them, he erased their remaining lifespan?”

Xin Yune sighed. ”That’s the theory, anyway. But if it’s true… well, it would explain why you couldn’t bring them back.”

A heavy silence settled between us.

Just then, the waitress finally arrived at our table. She gave us a polite smile. ”What will you two be having?”

Xin Yune didn’t miss a beat. ”Noodles. Something spicy.”

I exhaled slowly, loosening my fists. ”Same for me.”

As the waitress left, I turned back to Xin Yune.

I pressed Xin Yune with a few more questions until I was satisfied. It seemed there was a different form of afterlife in this world, something beyond reincarnation, being stuck as a ghost, or any of the folklore I’d heard. That complicated things.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. ”So what you’re saying is, there’s an entire other realm where the dead might go, and Shenyuan somehow had access to it?”

Xin Yune nodded, sipping on her tea. ”If anyone knows more, it’d be Nongmin.”

Of course, it’d be him.

She continued, a little too cheerfully, ”So you should talk to him soon. And don’t kill him.”

I scoffed. ”Yeah, yeah, copy that,” I smirked. ”I’ll still touch him, though.”

Xin Yune’s lips curled into an amused smile. ”Oh, absolutely. That boy needs disciplining.”

A thought crossed my mind, and I couldn’t resist. ”Should I make him call me daddy?”

Xin Yune nearly choked on her tea. Then she threw her head back and laughed. ”Oh, I would pay to see that!”

We kept laughing as our food arrived, spicy noodles in large steaming bowls.

Lunch was filled with ridiculous banter and dirty jokes, some so foul that even the old men at the next table gave us side-eyes. Xin Yune, despite her graceful bearing, was an absolute menace when it came to raunchy humor. I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned.

By the time we finished eating, the sun had climbed higher, and the heat made the streets shimmer. With nothing better to do, we resumed our walk, wandering through the bustling city like we had all the time in the world.

Xin Yune waved her hand, and an ornate umbrella appeared from her Storage Ring. She opened it with a practiced flick, casting a cool shadow over both of us. Before I could say anything, she wordlessly passed it to me.

I took the umbrella, holding it over us as we walked.

After a few moments of silence, I asked, ”Why are you spending your last day with me and not your son?”

She smiled wistfully. ”Because my son said I’d have more fun with you.”

I scoffed. ”See? He’s clearly just using you to get to me.” I gave her a side-eye. ”While you’re still alive, why don’t you kick his ass and teach him a lesson yourself?”

Xin Yune suddenly turned to me, her expression unusually serious. ”Never in my life have I ever laid a hand on him. And I won’t do so now.”

I blinked. I hadn’t expected such a firm response. ”…That was a poorly worded joke. Sorry.”

She waved it off. ”It’s fine.” Then, after a moment, she spoke again. ”Can I confess something to you?”

I raised a brow. ”If you’re about to confess your love, I should warn you, you’re this close to walking past my strike zone.” I held up two fingers, barely an inch apart.

Xin Yune burst into laughter, shaking her head. ”That was an awful joke.”

”I know,” I admitted. ”But go ahead. Whatever it is, I won’t tell anyone.”

She exhaled, glancing up at the sky. ”My son will probably see this conversation anyway, sooner or later,” she mused. ”His Heavenly Eye makes sure of that.”

I frowned. ”That thing lets him spy on people?”

”Not exactly,” she replied. ”But he sees more than most. Still, it should be fine.”

I tilted my head. ”Then what’s this confession about?”

Xin Yune looked down at her feet for a moment, then at me. Her voice was softer this time.

”I’m scared for my son,” she admitted. “It’s just so scary…”

Xin Yune’s voice softened as she continued, her steps slow and measured.

”Do you know what it feels like to know a person… and then, suddenly, not recognize them anymore?” she asked.

I shook my head.

She exhaled. ”The Heavenly Eye granted Nongmin wisdom and intelligence beyond his years. When he was young, he was just like any other child, he’d laugh at stupid jokes, play games meant for his age. But as the years passed, and the Heavenly Eye grew stronger, his personality started changing.”

I frowned.

To some extent, I could sympathize. My absurdly high charisma stat made me act more mischievous and cranky than I normally would have been back on Earth. It wasn’t mind control, exactly, but stats did influence behavior. I was confident that the current me was vastly different from who I used to be.

But the Emperor’s case… it was more extreme.

Xin Yune sighed. ”I’m scared for him,” she confessed. ”Not of him, but for him. I fear he might lose himself entirely.”

I glanced at her. She was changing again. Aging. The once youthful woman from this morning now looked old enough to pass for my mother.

She suddenly stopped walking and turned to face me. Her expression was serious, more than it had been all morning.

”Can I make a request?”

”Sure,” I said.

She took a breath. ”Can you save my son from himself?”

I hummed, rubbing my chin. ”Okidoki. I’ll adopt him, have him call me daddy, we’ll play catch…”

”I am not joking,” she interrupted, her voice sharp.

I let out a small chuckle and firmly grabbed her palm. ”For a one-night stand, you sure are making things tough for me.”