HCAW 27

Chapter 27: Star Lanterns Across the Wild

By Chunsheng (Springbirth) Pass, cold clouds and chilly waters gathered, and wormwood and thorns had grown into a forest.

A few gray donkeys swayed their long ears foolishly as they wandered along the riverbank. In the shadow of the city wall stood a man, his face unshaven, clad in a worn, wide cotton robe with a slanted collar, lazily puffing on a pipe. This odd man had the cautious, alert eyes of a jackal—desolation and untamed wildness blended seamlessly in him.

The man had no name. Those who dealt with him only knew his nickname—“Mule.” Rumor had it he was as tough and enduring as his namesake, making a living transporting goods between the passes. He was one of the few in Penglai able to cross the borders. Some said his employer was the Xian Mountain Guards, for he always had a way of getting his hands on rare and unusual items. But only Mule himself knew who his true employer was.

His former employer had been the Langgan Guard.

Or rather, not quite former. To be precise, Mule’s father had once been a close companion of the Langgan Guard, bound through life and death. Mule inherited his father’s will and had secretly worked for the Langgan Guard ever since. After Langgan Guard was placed under house arrest by Emperor Changyi, it was Mule who quietly sent supplies to the Fang household, never letting them go without.

When Mule was still young, Langgan Guard would often laugh heartily, clap his shoulder, and say:

“Little brother, one day I’ll have you run a big job. I’ll make sure you earn a potful of silver from it.”

Back then, he asked, “What big job? What do you want me to deliver? Where to?”

“I want you to take someone beyond the Heavenly pass of Penglai!” Langgan Guard laughed heartily. “As for the reward—whatever you fancy from the Fang household, take it all!”

Now, the time for that job had finally come. Mule had waited by Chunsheng Pass for more than ten days, just to wait for this “cargo” to arrive alone.

Sure enough, dust rose in the distance, and before long, a black steed came galloping over. A young man in black robes, armed with saber and sword, rode atop. He stopped in front of Mule, dismounted—his face sweaty and pale, yet the dust could not conceal the brightness of his features.

Mule stepped forward and asked quietly, “Young Master Fang?”

The young man nodded. “Yes.”

“Your father sent word to me, asked me to smuggle you across the Ming Sea and help you escape Penglai,” said Mule. “In a few days, it’ll be Penglai’s triennial execution season. The criminals will be taken to Zhenhai Pass for public beheading. Chunsheng Pass is far from Zhenhai Pass—right now the guards are at their most lax. This is the best time to take flight.”

They looked around. The area outside Chunsheng Pass was overgrown with weeds; the city walls were ancient and slightly crumbling. In the distance, a few black-robed Xian Mountain officials sat in the shadows beneath the walls, drinking and playing finger-guessing games. Their eyes were unfocused, slack like salted fish.

Mule asked again, “Have you made up your mind to leave Penglai?”

To his surprise, there was hesitation on the young man’s face.

“I… haven’t decided yet.”

“What did the Langgan Guard say to you?”

The black-robed youth lowered his gaze, lost in thought. Fang Jingyu’s memories drifted back to that moment not long ago, when he was still in the cold, desolate Fang residence, bidding farewell to his father. His father had suddenly called him into the inner room, brought out Hanguang, and revealed the truth—that he was the orphan of Emperor Bai, and that the Fang family had carefully prepared for this over the years. The revelation had shocked him to his core.

At the time of parting, Langgan Guard had said to him, “Jingyu, don’t trouble yourself with avenging me or Fang Minsheng. As the son of Emperor Bai, there are more important duties you must fulfill.”

More important duties? Back then, Fang Jingyu had lowered his head in silence. He had lived like a starving wolf on the frozen soil of Penglai—hatred had been his only sustenance.

Langgan Guard went on to sigh: “The late emperor once ventured beyond the Heavenly pass, but every expedition ended in failure at Guixu. He never found a way to break Penglai’s frozen curse. To hold back the snow and wind, he drained the people’s resources and imported strange stones called Taoyuan Stones from across the Ming Sea, using them to build four heavenly passes. Year after year, Penglai fell into debt. The people resented him and called him a tyrant. But I hope His Highness will complete what the late emperor could not. That’s why I named you ‘Jingyu.’”

“You are a child of heaven, destined to save the people of Penglai.”

Those words struck Fang Jingyu like a stone thrown into the still waters of his heart, stirring endless ripples. Even now, he could not calm himself.

That once towering man now seemed old. Fang Jingyu had seen the fine strands of white hair and the wrinkles on his face. Time, like slow poison, had worn down his heroic presence. Langgan Guard’s final words to him were:

“There’s someone waiting for you outside Chunsheng Pass. He’s a brother I trust. He will take you out of Penglai. The longer you remain, the greater the danger. Go quickly, Jingyu. You don’t belong only to Penglai—you belong to a broader world.”

What broader world? Fang Jingyu suddenly felt a wave of panic, like a feather tossed in a raging wind, drifting and lost as he stumbled out of the Fang residence, dazed and broken. He had always thought of himself as a frog at the bottom of a well—yet overnight, he had become a swan that others envied. As if by simply being born the son of Emperor Bai, he was meant to shoulder the burden of salvation and live up to the expectations of the masses. Suddenly, he was lost. He had no idea which direction to take.

“…Young Master?”

“Mule” suddenly called out, pulling Fang Jingyu out of his thoughts. At the base of the city wall, the mountain ranges stretched far, the sun dipped low, crickets chirped across the wilderness—night was falling.

“The execution period only comes once every three years. If we miss tonight, there may be no more chance to escape Penglai’s Heavenly pass. Beyond the pass lies Yingzhou. Have you made up your mind?”

Fang Jingyu lowered his eyes and bit his lip. He knew he was still far too weak, not yet strong enough to stand against the Xian Mountain Guards. And beyond Penglai, in Yingzhou, Fanghu, Yuanqiao, Daiyu, and Guixu—everywhere was under the Xian Mountain Guards’ watch. All were lands of tigers and wolves. He also hesitated: though his father had told him not to worry anymore about the Fang family or to seek revenge for Brother Minsheng, could he really just walk away? Could he truly leave it all behind?

If he were a ship, Penglai was his anchor. This was his homeland. If he crossed the Heavenly pass, the memories of his family and brother might vanish like mist. From that point on, he would no longer be able to remain here and guard this land for Fang Minsheng’s sake.

The sun sank behind the mountains, and darkness gradually seeped into the sky. The sunset, once golden and fiery, had been dyed dim by the encroaching night. Night owls hooted in the distance, casting a chill across the vast wilderness. Mule’s previously calm and casual expression suddenly turned stern as he urged:

“Young Master! Are you going, or not?”

Perhaps leaving really was the best choice. That was his father’s wish, too.

Fang Jingyu opened his mouth to answer—but then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of light.

He abruptly turned his head and saw the open wilds, where tall grass surged in the wind like crashing waves. The mountains crouched in the dark, silent and unmoving. Yet in the blackness, a small light suddenly flared to life, swaying faintly.

The light floated toward him—at first just a single speck, then three or five, then hundreds. It was like a chunk of goldstone had been struck, scattering golden fragments in all directions. Many people were approaching, carrying storm lanterns and paper lamps. From afar, Fang Jingyu heard a chorus of voices calling out:

“Captain Fang—!”

“Lord Fang, where are you?”

From a distance, he saw a girl in red among the crowd. Her face was flushed red by the biting cold wind, like a ripe date. She was shouting anxiously, “You tight-lipped gourd! Where the hell did you go?” Beside her stood a wild-haired man wearing a thick coat of cattail fluff, shivering as he held up a tallow lantern, looking wholly unwilling. Fang Jingyu recognized them—it was Xiao Jiao and Chu Kuang.

Xiao Jiao shouted again, “Fang Jingyu, if you don’t come back, I’ll eat your family out of house and home!”

She was dripping with sweat from worry, while Chu Kuang was mumbling unhurriedly beside her, “Why look for him? That brat just ran off on his own, didn’t even tell me. I wanna leave Penglai too.” Fang Jingyu couldn’t hear him clearly, but saw Xiao Jiao give him a furious kick.

Only then did Fang Jingyu realize that it was already late—the moon had begun to peek faintly from behind the clouds. It had been quite a while since he left with the old woman in green. Likely, Xiao Jiao had sensed something off in his expression earlier and, seeing he hadn’t returned, rallied the neighbors to search for him.

In the distance, he saw many familiar faces—common folk of Penglai whom he had once helped: Aunt Zhao who swept snow at her doorstep, Uncle Du who sold clams, Madam Jia who sewed handkerchiefs, the scholar Fan whom he once aided. People he knew, people he didn’t—dozens were carrying lanterns, worry etched on their faces, calling loudly:

“Captain Fang, where are you?”

In the icy wind, the string of lanterns stretched like a silver river across the earth.

Suddenly, something in Fang Jingyu’s heart seemed to light up as well. Slowly, it began to glow, to warm.

He turned to Mule and said:

“I’m not going.”

“Why?” Mule asked in shock, lowering his voice. “Young Master, think it over! After tonight, security will only tighten. If you wait, you won’t escape, even with wings!”

Fang Jingyu turned around. The lantern lights behind him sparkled like strings of pearls. “These lights came for me—I can’t abandon them. I can’t forget my brother and his hopes. Penglai still needs someone to protect its mountains.”

“You are more than just an official. Lord Langgan Guard trusted me and once let slip a few words—You are of dragon blood. You are Penglai’s tomorrow! You will carry on the late emperor’s legacy!”

Yes, he was indeed Emperor Bai’s orphan. But had his identity changed, did that mean his heart should change too? Fang Jingyu didn’t think so. He wanted to remain true to his vow, to guard Penglai, to protect this land that held the memories of his family and brother.

“I am not Emperor Bai Ji Zhi,” Fang Jingyu said. In his black eyes, a glimmer of light shone—as if a river of stars was flowing within.

He stepped forward, walking toward that radiant brightness like daylight. Eighty-one years ago, Emperor Bai had left Penglai behind and marched to war. But now, he was moving in the opposite direction—back toward his homeland.

He said:

“I am Fang Jingyu.”