Immortal Paladin

“I think… I’m starting to like it here,” I whispered as I watched the clouds swirl above the snowy roofs of New Willow. A soft breath escaped my lips, fogging in the cold. “But… this isn’t home.”

“Hm? What was that, brother? I didn’t catch that,” Da Ji asked, her voice was light and almost teasing.

“It’s nothing,” I said with a shrug. “And when you’re with me, call me Wen Yuhan. Or ‘sister,’ I guess. Though it irks me a lot.”

“Oh? Is that so?” she said with an impish grin. “That’s a pity… The people don’t know your real contributions. They attribute everything to ‘Wen Yuhan,’ and that makes me sad.”

We walked side by side, our feet leaving faint tracks in the snow-covered cobblestone. Despite the cold, the sun was nearing its peak, casting crystalline light across the rooftops. New Willow had changed dramatically over the past five years. The sloped, tiled rooftops of old still arched proudly with feudal grace, but now stood beside pale, clean structures lined with reinforced concrete and steel trimmings. It was a mix of xianxia elegance and post-90s urban design. Neon signs didn’t clash with carved wood and layered stones; instead, they pulsed subtly under the overhangs like distant foxfire. The scent of steamed buns and incense mingled with the sterile scent of masonry.

Somewhere in all this, I’d built a world that felt lived in, peaceful, and almost sacred.

Da Ji continued, “The people honestly think of you as a divine being now… but Da Wei, he’s been pushed into the background. It’s like you rewrote the story to not be included. That’s kind of sad, don’t you think?”

I didn’t answer at once. I was chewing on her words and on the guilt they stirred. I had crafted this narrative myself. The myth of Da Wei… gone, martyred, and maybe even corrupted. The myth of Wen Yuhan, divine, brilliant, and unapproachable.

“Brother, I’m curious,” she said, leaning a little closer. “Why did you even start that weird religion? The whole ‘Da Wei as divine protector’ thing… It’s just bizarre. Do you really see yourself as a god? I mean, you were just pretending to be Wen Yuhan, right?”

I expected to feel more embarrassed, being called out like that. But I didn’t. Her voice carried no judgment, only curiosity.

“No,” I replied honestly, letting my voice drift. “It’s hard to explain. Have you ever felt like… You believe in a god, yet you don’t? That the more proof you get that god exists, the less real they seem?”

Da Ji rolled her eyes. “Don’t ruin me, I’m trying to take this seriously, brother…”

I sighed. “Told you not to call me brother.”

She ignored that too. “What you said made no sense. If there’s proof that god exists, how can that mean god doesn’t?”

I could’ve told her the truth then… that it was all about quintessence, that I needed belief like crops need rain. That the entire religion was a glorified cultivation technique wrapped in a messianic pyramid scheme. But I’d long learned the value of keeping one’s trump cards tucked close, even from family.

So I spoke instead in the language of ideas and philosophies wrapped in stories.

“I based the religion around Da Wei—‘The Great Guard.’ Not a god in the traditional sense, but a symbol. He’s a metaphor. The part of you that guards your soul. That loves, cherishes, and protects the sacred thing that is your self. He’s not me, not exactly. He’s you. He’s everyone.”

Da Ji groaned, “This is going nowhere.”

I pressed on. “There are beings out there who call themselves gods but act less than human and nowhere near as godly. So I thought… maybe we’ve had it backward. Maybe god isn’t above. Maybe god is within. In the kindness we show. In how we carry each other through suffering. Maybe divinity is something we can reach… not by worship, but by action. That’s why I never claim to be a god… but I also never deny that Da Wei is.”

I let the words settle. My voice was calm, but my heart thudded heavily. This was the most vulnerable I had allowed myself to be in a long time.

“In the end,” I said, “all pain, all hope, all joy… It’s experienced alone. And the only one who can truly lift you from that pit is the god in yourself. So, yes, if I ask whether I am a god to myself? Then yes. But to others? No. It’s arrogant, I know.”

We reached the arched bridge at the edge of the plaza. Beneath us, what was once a thin creek had been reshaped into a flowing artificial river lined with spirit trees and solar lanterns. Light caught on the ripples, shimmering like dream fragments.

I looked down at the water and added softly, “But every time I pray, I don’t know who I’m praying to. I just know someone hears it… And sometimes, that someone is me.”

Da Ji leaned against the bridge’s rail, the wind tousling her hair. “No,” she said gently. “I don’t think it’s arrogant. I think I like it.”

I smiled…

However, the truth was... Da Wei was fictional. I wasn’t just pretending to be someone else… I had been someone else since the very beginning. And somewhere along the way, the lines between the mask and the man blurred into one indistinguishable thing. But Da Ji, with her gentle intuition and quiet gaze, had seen through me… not in the way others might accuse or threaten, but in a softer, more dangerous sense.

“Brother,” she said softly, “you do know you were lying, right? About thinking you are a god?”

The question was asked without malice. No scorn. Just… concern. Her tone held curiosity and worry, like she didn’t know what she’d find behind my answer, but hoped it wouldn’t hurt.

And it hit me harder than any blade or curse ever could.

Of course, she’d know… She could use Divine Sense, too.

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words never formed. Because she was right. I had lied. Lied so well, so thoroughly, I had convinced even myself. I had hidden behind masks so long I forgot there was a person behind them at all.

I remembered when I first stole Wen Yuhan’s body, and how I’d shown her a portion of my memories of Earth, the world I once called home. It was a fleeting glimpse behind the veil. A young man behind a computer screen, seated in his cramped room, controlling his avatar in Lost Legends Online. Behind that screen, I’d felt like a god. Untouchable. Worshipped by lines of code and digital villagers who wept at my feet and praised my blade so realistically I couldn’t help but convince myself they were real.

It had been addicting. It had felt divine.

And now, with quintessence in my veins and the heavens trembling at my footsteps, I realized I had always been walking that tightrope. Even before I ever gained power, I had imagined myself as a god.

I lowered my gaze and sighed, the cold wind brushing against my cheek. “Thanks,” I murmured to Da Ji. “I needed that wake-up call… I am indeed arrogant.”

So arrogant, in fact, that I hadn’t even noticed how deep the self-delusion ran. My discomfort with the word ‘god’… It wasn’t humility. It was shame. A leftover from those days where I sought power not to protect, not to build, but simply to matter.

Da Ji tilted her head, watching me with that familiar half-smile. “What’s wrong with that?” she asked. “I mean… being arrogant is human. Thinking you’re a god, and later realizing you’re not… It’s not so different from growing up, really.”

She kicked a bit of snow off the stone path as we walked. “I don’t understand your whole story, brother. I know you’re different, and I know you have secrets… but someday, I hope I’ll get to hear them.”

I looked at her. And I believed her. She wouldn’t pry, but she would wait. That made it harder somehow.

“I’ll tell you,” I said. “One day. But now… isn’t the right time.”

She nodded and gave no protest.

We arrived at a humble house tucked behind a small grove of frost-laced bamboo, the roof still layered in fresh snow. The scent of broth and spices wafted through the open window, mingling with laughter.

The door creaked open just as we approached, revealing Chen Enlai with a dusting of flour on his apron and a wild smile on his face.

“Sweetheart! You’re late!” he called out with mock exasperation. “It’s almost lunch! And Lady Wen—ah! I didn’t expect you would be coming! Please, please… come in, come in!”

Before I could answer, another figure loomed behind him, grinning like a mischievous dragon in mortal form.

Da Jin.

He leaned against the doorframe and barked a laugh. “Enlai! You’re talking like this is your house now! Getting a little too comfortable, aren’t you, kid?”

Enlai winced, rubbing the back of his neck.

Da Jin continued, eyes twinkling. “When are you giving me grandchildren, hmm? Your mother-in-law’s already been knitting little hats.”

From inside the house, Lin Wei’s voice rang out like a bell. It was sharp, authoritative, and loving.

“Stop flirting and get inside! The food’s about to go cold!”

Da Jin. Lin Wei.

They looked a bit older, but not much different from how I remembered them. Still, it had been five years. There had been small subtle differences, such as a bit of wrinkles, a change in temperament, and the like. These were my father and mother. Not Wen Yuhan’s. Not this body’s. Mine.

Yet as I stood at the threshold of their modest home, beneath the snow-dusted eaves and the warmth of firelight spilling out the door, they didn’t see me. Not truly.

Of course they wouldn’t. I wasn’t Da Wei… not to their eyes. I was Wen Yuhan, the famed Divine Strategist, the Shrine Maiden of the Sacred Grove, and their honored guest. The lie I had lived for five years had become so smooth and complete, it could pass undetected even before the people who raised me.

And yet…

“Lady Wen!” Lin Wei stepped forward, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes bright. “I didn’t expect you would be coming. You’re always welcome in this house.”

Da Jin followed her with his usual theatrical flair, arms wide. “Don’t let her words fool you. I knew you’d come the moment Da Ji smiled like an idiot outside. Come in, come in… it’s warm, and you smell like snow and burnt qi.”

“I nearly died,” I muttered, brushing past him with a polite bow. “From your daughter’s quippiness…”

Da Ji protested. “That’s a lie!”

“Bah,” Da Jin snorted. “Death can wait. Lunch can’t.”

The interior was cozy. Wood walls, red cushions fraying at the edges, and a small painting of Da Ji and Chen Enlai near the hearth… This place was humble, but full of life. I caught glimpses of my past in the way the floor creaked or how the windows rattled in the wind. But it wasn’t mine anymore, was it? No. To be more specific, it was never mine.

There were no what-ifs in life after all.

“Wow,” I praised the sight of food in front of me. “What’s the occasion? That’s a lot…”

The table was laid with simple but rich dishes… steamed duck with ginger, spicy stir-fried greens, soft tofu with mushrooms in garlic sauce, a pot of bone broth with jujubes and goji, and a golden omelet sprinkled with spring onions.

I took a seat, inhaling the aroma. It was the smell of my childhood.

I smiled. “This is amazing,” I said, reaching for a bowl of rice. “A thousand cooks in Sacred Grove can’t match this.”

Lin Wei beamed, eyes crinkling. “It’s Jin’s doing. He finally figured out how to dice ginger without slicing his fingers.”

Da Jin scoffed. “I diced it with my qi blade!”

“You mean that tiny knife you bought from the market?” Lin Wei shot back. “You cried when the oil splattered on you.”

“Battle scars,” Da Jin declared proudly, flexing an imaginary wound.

Chen Enlai chuckled as he poured tea for everyone. “It’s an honor to be here with all of you. Though, father, please don’t duel the tofu again this time.”

That earned a round of laughter. Even I couldn’t stop the grin stretching across my face. The warmth, the teasing, and the casual way they bickered. It felt like something sacred, like a shrine to a simpler time. And then, as we were halfway through the meal, Lin Wei set her chopsticks down and gave Da Ji a knowing glance.

“Sweetheart,” she said, “are you going to tell them, or should I?”

Da Ji blinked innocently. “Tell them what?”

“You know what,” Lin Wei sing-songed, tapping the table.

Da Ji’s cheeks flushed as she exchanged a glance with Chen Enlai. He reached for her hand, squeezed it gently, and then looked at everyone at the table.

“She’s pregnant,” he said softly.

Silence followed.

Then Da Jin stood up, nearly knocking over his stool. “YES! Finally!” he bellowed. “I knew Enlai had it in him!”

“Sit down before you crack the floor,” Lin Wei scolded, though she was smiling through her tears.

Da Ji leaned her head on Enlai’s shoulder, and he brushed her hair behind her ear, whispering something I couldn’t hear. She giggled, cheeks red.

“They’re disgusting,” Da Jin said with mock disdain.

“We learned it from you two,” Da Ji retorted, looking at our mother mischievously.

“Excuse me?” Lin Wei choked on a mouthful of rice.

“Oh please,” Chen Enlai chimed in. “The way you two talk about each other in letters, even I feel like I’m interrupting something.”

Da Jin cleared her throat. “Baseless slander.”

I raised my cup reluctantly, my hands trembling a bit. “To baseless slander and future grandchildren!”

“To future headaches,” I added dryly in a murmur. “And the end of the world.”

They laughed.

We talked for hours. Laughter echoed through the house. Lin Wei brought out dried plum cakes. Da Jin told terrible jokes from his short time in the army. Da Ji leaned against her husband while caressing her still-flat belly. And I sat there, surrounded by the people I loved, knowing they didn’t truly see me… but also knowing it didn’t matter.

“Fuck.”

When I stepped outside into the cold again, the snow had begun to fall once more, slow and lazy. I exhaled, watching the mist drift from my lips, and...

“Fuuuuuck~!”

I screamed and cursed my heart out.

”Fucking! Freaking! FUCKERS! FUCK YOU, FATE! OR WHATEVER! THIS IS BULLSHIT!”

What happened to not having babies!?