HCAW 4

Chapter 4 – The Sound of the Yu Ji Draws Near

TN: I changed “Jade Rooster to “Yu Ji” and “Jade Seal” “Yu Yin” to since the literal names feels awkward in English.

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Snow drifted steadily outside Baicao Pass.

Beyond the gates, the crowd surged. The gatekeepers wore solemn expressions as they meticulously inspected the travelers’ permits and documents. Soldiers stood with sabers in hand, their killing intent palpable. Baicao Pass resembled a tiger’s maw, and they were its fangs, ever ready to tear out the throats of suspects.

Fang Jingyu stood at the side of the gate, arms folded. His expression was cold and tranquil, but his gaze was as sharp as blades, slicing across the face of every person entering the city.

He had stood watch here for several days, waiting for the “King Yama” to come knocking. His premonitions rarely failed him—and he had a feeling that this “King Yama” would be the most formidable opponent he had ever faced.

The line of people moved slowly like a column of ants. A large mule cart, loaded with dry grass, clattered its way forward. The gatekeepers shouted, “Halt! Dismount!”

The cart driver and a plump man in embroidered robes climbed down from the cart, followed by several black-clad officials from Xian Mountain. The plump man gave a sycophantic smile and produced a credential plaque to show the guards, saying, “We’re public servants transporting dry grass to Chunsheng Gate. The folks there are in dire need—might your honors grant us passage?”

The gatekeepers verified the plaque and were about to wave them through when Fang Jingyu stepped forward and called out mildly:

“Wait.”

The fat man’s smile froze. He squinted at the young man in dark robes and a sword at his waist.

Fang Jingyu picked up a piece of dry grass and rolled it between his fingers. “This grass must have gotten wet during harvesting—it’s already sprouting mold. Feed this to horses, and it’ll kill them, no?”

The fat man hadn’t expected to be stopped. He broke out in a sweat and gave a forced laugh. “No need for concern, sir. Only a few strands are moldy—the rest is fine.”

Fang Jingyu placed the grass back on the cart and circled it once. Suddenly, he rapped on the cart body with his scabbard and listened closely. After a pause, he said to the fat man, “Have everyone inside the cart come out.”

“Who do you mean?” the fat man played dumb.

“There’s an echo off all four sides. The cart has a false bottom. I hear ragged breathing below—and more than one person. Who else could it be?” Fang Jingyu replied. He drew his blade and laid it against the fat man’s neck. “If you don’t call them out, your head will be rolling off your shoulders.”

The fat man nearly soiled himself, but still tried to keep some composure. He bowed repeatedly and muttered, “Sir, I wouldn’t dare lie to you! I’m a broker dealing in the buying and selling of servants. The people inside the cart are slaves destined for use by the Xian Mountain Guards!”

He pulled a golden plaque from his robes—an item bestowed by Emperor Changyi, rarely shown to others. Holding the plaque gave him a bit more backbone, and his tone grew more assertive:

“Besides, look—this is a gold medallion from His Majesty. With this in hand, we should have unrestricted passage in Penglai!”

But just as he said this, a flash of white light flickered before him. The next thing he saw was the gold plaque split in two in his trembling hands—cut cleanly by a single stroke from the dark-robed youth, who then calmly sheathed his blade.

The youth said, “You no longer have unrestricted passage.”

The broker’s legs went weak—partly from that dazzling swordsmanship, partly because he now suspected this youth’s true identity. Who would dare destroy a gold medallion from Emperor Changyi? Could he be some royal relative?

“I’ll say this again. This isn’t the season for official slave sales. You’re trading in private, which is a capital offense. Get them all off the cart!” Fang Jingyu barked, eyes suddenly fierce.

The sound of his voice was like a war drum, pounding against the broker’s chest. The man trembled. Though this youth showed no official rank, there was a natural authority about him that cowed others. The broker’s bravado vanished; he hastily ordered the Xian Mountain officials with him, “Quickly, quickly, get them off the cart!”

Soon, the slaves were driven off the mule cart, stumbling as they gathered in a group. Fang Jingyu and the gatekeepers moved among them to inspect them one by one—but none resembled the “King Yama.” The slaves’ limbs were as thin as kindling, and they shivered in the cold wind, their faces full of pitiable despair. Fang Jingyu looked upon them without emotion.

The portly broker sidled back over, rubbing his hands and grinning obsequiously. “Sir, I believe that’s everyone? The Xian Mountain Guard needs these people urgently—we really can’t afford to waste more time here…”

“Which Guard asked for them?” Fang Jingyu suddenly asked.

“Ah… it was the Yu Ji Guard.”

Fang Jingyu’s brows furrowed. The Yu Ji Guard ranked second among the Xian Mountain Guards—a figure of awe-inspiring might. For someone like him, challenging that Guard was as futile as an ant trying to shake a tree. Yet he remained unwilling to back down. He turned and stepped onto the mule cart, grabbing the reins and leaping up.

Brushing aside some of the loose, dry grass, he suddenly noticed the edge of a straw mat peeking out. He called the broker over and asked, “What’s this?”

The broker’s expression turned instantly fearful. He wiped at his sweat with a handkerchief but said nothing.

Fang Jingyu summoned a few gatekeepers. Together, they pulled away the grass to reveal a bloodstained mat. He cut the cords binding it with his sword—and a blood-drenched figure rolled out.

“Explain. What’s going on here?” Fang Jingyu asked, casting the broker a sidelong glance. His voice was frigid as ice.

He crouched and prodded the bloody figure with his scabbard. It was a young man, badly beaten and bound, his chest rising slightly—still alive. His face was so caked with blood and grime that his features were obscured. Could this be the King Yama he had crossed swords with earlier?

The broker, drenched in sweat, laughed weakly. “This… this one’s a runaway slave who refused to obey orders—violent and disobedient. We had no choice but to discipline him a little. Looks worse than it is, sir—just some superficial wounds. He’ll be fine in a few days…”

“Then why wrap him in a mat and hide him here?”

“Ah… well, we didn’t want to offend your esteemed eyes, sir! If we’d left him down in the false bottom, the blood would’ve fouled the floorboards. It’d stink up the place, and disease might spread among the slaves!” The broker was dripping with cold sweat, still trying to curry favor with his grin.

Fang Jingyu said nothing, simply turned the man over. He recalled their previous encounters—if he could check the man’s shoulder for a sword wound, he’d know whether this was the foe he sought.

He used the scabbard to part the man’s collar, only for his pupils to contract. The man’s chest was crisscrossed with whip marks, and his shoulder had been so savagely beaten that the flesh was nearly pulp—any sword wound, if it had existed, could no longer be seen. The broker quivered beside him, still trying to speak, but the dark-robed youth had already stood, voice cold and clear:

“How much for this whole cart of slaves?”

“Wh-what?”

Fang Jingyu said, “I’ll pay. I’m buying all the slaves in this cart.”

A glimmer of confused hope appeared in the dulled eyes of the slaves. They looked at each other uncertainly. The gatekeepers at Baicao Pass watching nearby all exchanged helpless smiles. Fang Jingyu’s soft heart was acting up again. One look at the patches sewn onto his cloak was enough to tell—this man had never had spare money. Even his meager wages always went to acts of kindness.

“Sir, th-those are the ‘walking meat’ that Lord Yu Ji ordered! He’ll be arriving soon, and Zui Chun (Drunken Spring) Garden is fretting about having no one to attend to him!”

“So what if it’s Lord Yu Ji?” Fang Jingyu said coldly. “Even if all ten Xian Mountain Guards came at once, I wouldn’t flinch.”

A voice, aged and thunderous, suddenly rang out behind him.

“Oh? Is that so? Youth truly is formidable.”

In an instant, a jolt coursed through Fang Jingyu’s entire body as if struck by lightning. He turned to see an old man approaching from afar.

The man stood nine feet tall, with shoulders like a bear’s and the back of a tiger. His eyes were sharp like a wasp’s, his voice like a jackal’s. The shadow he cast was as heavy as a mountain. He wore robes of gold-threaded silk embroidered with multicolored pheasants, and at his waist hung a milky-white jade pendant shaped like a rooster—sharp-beaked and large-eyed. Behind him marched an entourage of elite guards, snow and dust billowing in their wake.

In a heartbeat, a terrible chill seemed to descend over Baicao Pass. All the gatekeepers and travelers collapsed to their knees, as if their legs had been snapped, and trembled as they cried out:

“We greet Lord Yu Ji!”

The wind and snow veiled the sun, bringing a grim solemnity. Amid the hush, Lord Yu Ji stood tall like a mountain stake. Countless backs bowed low beneath him as he stepped forward with steady, earth-shaking footfalls, like the clang of drums and bells.

This was the man second only to the emperor—the one above all beneath the heavens. Everyone trembled, their foreheads pressed deep into the snow.

And yet, amid it all, there was one man still standing tall—his posture straight as frost-kissed bamboo.

Lord Yu Ji drew closer. Deep lines carved his face, but his eyes burned like wildfire. He looked at the young man in dark robes holding a sword, noting his patched, threadbare cloak and poverty—but his eyes were steady and unyielding, like a lurking wolf or tiger.

Lord Yu Ji smiled.

“Young man, you speak boldly and with great pride—an uncommon talent indeed.” His voice echoed off the stone walls. “What’s your name, and where do you serve?”

“Fang Jingyu, a mere borderland officer.”

The broker knelt trembling in the snow, grinding his teeth. He hadn’t expected this boy to be of such low rank and yet so brazen—to deceive him!

“Fang?” Lord Yu Ji narrowed his eyes. “What relation are you to Fang Huaixian of the Langgan Guard?”

“He was once my father. He is no longer.”

“Heh. I once visited the Fang residence myself. I heard that the Langgan Guard committed a grave offense and resigned in shame, but he left behind a son—an extraordinary prodigy—who later abandoned his household. That must be you?”

“Roughly speaking, yes.”

“And now this ‘prodigy’ wishes to block the man I came for. What is the meaning of this?”

All those kneeling held their breath. Though Lord Yu Ji’s tone was affable, his presence was oppressive. Yet the young man stood there unfazed, his manner poised. Each exchange was like a clash of blades.

Fang Jingyu fell silent for a moment, then asked, “May I ask, sir, why do you need these slaves?”

“Oh, for nothing in particular,” the old man stroked his beard and replied, voice heavy with mockery. “Just as stools to prop my feet on, vases for my amusement…” His smile turned dark. “Or chairs I can sit and ride.”

Fang Jingyu felt a chill pierce his heart. His gaze flicked to the shivering slaves. Though filthy, many of them had delicate features. He had heard the rumors—Lord Yu Ji had a fondness for young men, kept a hundred favored boys in his manor, a lustful monster consumed by desire.

He said nothing. Suddenly, he felt a strange coldness on his cheek. At some point, the rough fingertip of Lord Yu Ji had slithered up to his face like a snake.

“Young Lord Fang, you’ve a fine face yourself. Reminds me of an old acquaintance,” Lord Yu Ji chuckled, eyes gleaming with greed. “It suits my tastes well.”

A wave of disgust crawled up Fang Jingyu’s spine. He subtly turned his head away and bowed. “Your kindness is overwhelming, sir. Though my salary is meager and my post humble, I can still cling to life—I have no need to seek employment in your manor.”

The old man laughed heartily but didn’t remove his hand. “And what are your intentions, then? Buying these ‘walking meat’—what, to warm your own bed?”

“No,” Fang Jingyu replied coldly. “I intend to set them free.”

“Free? In the wind and snow of Penglai, in this freezing cold—where will they find shelter or food?”

“The world is vast—anywhere can be home. Better to die in the cold than live as a caged bird.”

Lord Yu Ji burst out laughing, as though he had heard the greatest joke in the world. Amid the swirling snow, the youth’s expression remained calm as still water.

Moments later, the old man wiped away his smile. “No. I won’t let them go—not even if you offer ten thousand gold bars. Do you know why?”

Fang Jingyu glared at him.

“Because I have already reached the peak. Why should I heed the murmurs of an insect? Young Lord Fang, struggle all you like. When your swordsmanship rivals mine and you can stand as my equal, then—perhaps—I’ll listen to your requests.” He turned, his steps thunderous. “But until then, I have no interest in your words.”

“Then if I take your life here and now, will you be interested?” the youth said.

Lord Yu Ji’s eyes widened. He felt a sharp killing intent behind him, stabbing toward the back of his skull. Fang Jingyu had drawn his blade—the icy light of the sword now pressed to the back of his head. One push would draw blood.

The old man smiled. Foolish youth—he would raise a blade against a legendary Xian Mountain Guard for the sake of a few nameless slaves?

He didn’t turn. Instead, he stepped forward, voice hoarse and low.

“Take my life? You’re far too green.”

Fang Jingyu froze, watching as Lord Yu Ji walked away from the blade with calm, steady steps. With each stride, a crack spread along Fang Jingyu’s sword. In the next breath, it shattered into dust.

At the same time, the steel longsword at Fang Jingyu’s waist suddenly exploded—blade and scabbard both reduced to fragments.

The old man raised his hand. Fang Jingyu stared in shock—between his fingers was a shard of the shattered sword. Lord Yu Ji had destroyed both weapons with a mere twist of his hand, without even looking back.

A wave of terror surged in Fang Jingyu’s chest. Lord Yu Ji chuckled. “I have no special talent—only a bit of strength. You underestimated me, Young Lord Fang.”

He lifted his leg and walked on. The slaves were herded back onto the mule cart. His elite guards followed in formation, like stars surrounding the moon. His voice drifted back through the northern wind:

“After all, even that famed ‘King Yama’…”

“…was once no more than a prisoner beneath my manor.”

——

Chu Kuang was having a nightmare.

His dream was streaked in black and red—black from the burning coals pressed to his skin, red from the torn, bleeding flesh. He saw himself, in the past, groveling at the feet of a stern old man—like a stray dog, abused and discarded. The servants held branding irons, dragging his hair back without mercy, forcing him to stretch his neck. The searing iron burned into his nape, marking him forever with a slave’s brand.

He had seen the prized horses kept by the Xian Mountain Guard—strong, majestic creatures with beautiful plum-blossom brands on their flanks. But the brand burned into his own flesh was shaped like a dog. He wasn’t even as valued as the beasts in their stables.

Someone shouted at him: “Kneel, slave!”

Then came the endless flogging—every lash felt like it would split his back open. He screamed and crawled forward, lunging toward the tiny window of the dungeon, clutching its iron bars. Outside was a vast sea of scarlet arrow flowers, blooming brilliantly like clouds blazing to the horizon. Beyond the flowers stretched the black Ming Sea—and beyond that, the freedom he had always longed for, yet never reached.

He had always wanted to escape this prison called Xian Mountain. It was the only wish of his life, unto death.

The nightmare receded like a tide. When Chu Kuang opened his eyes, he found himself imprisoned once again.

He lay among rich furnishings in a grand room. Several green-robed servants were treating his wounds and dressing him. At the doorway, women in lotus-flower crowns and petal-skirted robes peeked in, giggling behind their sleeves.

His head throbbed. He sprawled out in a star shape and lazily muttered, “So I died and was reborn into a rich family? Or maybe some heiress took me in as her lover, and I’m to spend each night wrapped in silken sheets?”

The women laughed harder.

“Wrong on both counts! You’ve been sold to a brothel!”