HCAW 32

Chapter 32: Darkness and Dread

Chu Kuang’s arrows flew swift as lightning, piercing both skulls before anyone could react. Fang Jingyu was still in shock, too stunned to stop him from blurting out those treasonous words. But before he could speak, the Xian Mountain officers had already erupted in thunderous cheers:

“Well shot!”

While Fang Jingyu stood dazed, the others had already clustered eagerly around Chu Kuang, exclaiming all at once:

“Little brother, your archery’s incredible—who taught you?”

“I thought Captain Fang was hiding a mistress, but turns out he was raising a hidden talent!”

The chatter grew rowdy.

Flush with praise, Chu Kuang became smug, basking in their attention. He cupped his hands and grinned, “Flattered, flattered.” But when he glanced up and caught sight of Fang Jingyu’s face, it was like thunderclouds in midsummer—ominous and dark.

Fang Jingyu strode over, yanked him from the crowd, and hissed sharply, “Didn’t I tell you not to say anything about leaving Penglai again?”

“Hmph, and you’re still playing house with this lot?” Chu Kuang sneered. “So—are we going or not? Give me a straight answer!”

“I’m not going! And even if I were, now’s not the time. Why do you keep hounding me? Why are you so desperate to drag me over the Heavenly Pass and commit a capital crime?” Fang Jingyu was furious.

“Because you…” Chu Kuang blinked, as if searching for a reason why he had to bring Fang Jingyu with him. Finally, he said, “…have extraordinary bones.”

Fang Jingyu was speechless.

His eyes fell on the bamboo bow in Chu Kuang’s hands, then darted to his satchel that had somehow been opened without his notice. He fell silent. Because of Chu Kuang’s forceful draw, the bow limbs were now warped beyond recognition. The freshly replaced sinew had snapped. His brother’s keepsake—once again ruined by this damned lunatic.

Seeing the ruined bow, Fang Jingyu’s rage surged, though his face remained cold. He snatched the bow away, carefully wrapped it in cloth, and returned it to the satchel. Then he gave a dark warning:

“Do you believe me when I say—if you ever dare speak of leaving Penglai again, or so much as touch this bow—I’ll carve you into strips!”

“Tch, raw egg,” Chu Kuang muttered, pouting.

“Back to the point. Why are you so good at archery?” Fang Jingyu asked, his suspicion rekindled as he packed away the bow.

This time, Chu Kuang flinched. He stammered, “I-I used to work in a brothel. Served a lot of wealthy patrons—played pitch-pot with them all the time, so I picked it up.”

“Pitch-pot isn’t the same as drawing a bow.”

Chu Kuang mumbled nonsense, managing to deflect the question—barely. But Fang Jingyu remained skeptical. How could a mere servant shoot with such deadly precision? Then again, someone with the nerve to try to assassinate the Yu Ji Guard had to have some real skill.

When Fang Jingyu returned to the group, the one-eyed man sidled up and said in a low voice, “Jingyu, that servant of yours…”

“What about him?”

The man’s face was solemn. “His archery is impressive…”

Fang Jingyu’s heart gave a twitch. He knew this man, his former captain, had a sharp eye for people. Had he seen through Chu Kuang’s disguise?

But the one-eyed man’s expression turned thoughtful, even hopeful. “…With that kind of aim, he might be able to take on ‘King Yama’ himself! Jingyu, you’ve picked up a treasure!”

Fang Jingyu was at a loss for words. To him, Chu Kuang was just a two-tael lunatic he’d ransomed on a whim—and a highly suspicious one at that. How could no one see through his act?

What he didn’t know was that while the captain had harbored some doubts, he also respected Fang Jingyu’s judgment. If Jingyu had chosen to bring this man along, he must not be dangerous. On the other hand, since even someone like the one-eyed captain—who had fought “King Yama” face to face—wasn’t suspicious, then maybe Chu Kuang really wasn’t the infamous fugitive after all. Besides, Fang Jingyu thought, the man was so erratic and dimwitted—how could he possibly be that cunning, elusive criminal who had evaded all of Penglai’s forces for twenty years?

The officers dug a pit, buried the headless corpses and their grotesque skulls, then piled heavy stones over the grave. Even after it was done, everyone remained deeply unsettled. There was something very wrong with Milu Village.

Xiao Jiao looked pale as a ghost, her voice shaking. “What happened just now… did that count as really dead? What if—when we leave—they dig their way back out?”

No one could answer her.

She continued, trembling, “This village is scarier than ‘King Yama’ himself… Whoever’s hiding here must be a real underworld warden—able to command even the dead!”

And not just her. Everyone felt a growing, unspoken dread. What secret is buried in Milu Village?

They looked around. Bones littered the earth. The air hung heavy with ghostly chill. Above them, a flock of crows wheeled through the sky, croaking their bleak, rasping cries.

Once the injured had been bandaged, the group moved out again—this time with far more caution. The Xian Mountain officers all kept their blades drawn, tense and alert, with the previous chatter fallen to silence. As they passed a burial ground, they found the brick walls crumbling, and every single grave had been dug up—the pits were eerily empty.

Xiao Jiao said fearfully, “It looks like… there’s no one in those graves!”

What was going on now? The officers exchanged uneasy glances, a creeping chill winding up their spines like vines. Then someone shouted, “There’s someone ahead!”

Indeed, a figure loomed up ahead. As they drew near, they saw it was a small, thin girl squatting in front of a grave, eating the offerings. She was dressed in ragged cloth that barely covered her, and her face was filthy. The officers relaxed slightly. Aside from the nearly dead “walking meat” by the roadside, this was the first living person they had seen in Milu Village.

The one-eyed man stepped forward and asked kindly, “Little girl, who are you? Why are you here?”

He asked three or four times, but she gave no reply. Finally, after another patient inquiry, the girl spoke in a voice as soft as a mosquito’s buzz: “Turn around and you’ll know my name.”

Puzzled, the man turned around—only to see a gravestone behind him. The engraving was so weathered it was unreadable. But before he could react further, a chilling sound like a beast drooling came from behind him. The little girl suddenly dropped her guise and pounced with a snarl!

Fang Jingyu leapt into action, thrusting his sword between her shoulder blades and pinning her to the ground. Black, foul-smelling fluid gushed from the wound. The girl’s eyes rolled and mouth twisted into a hideous grin as she muttered:

“Let me eat… let me eat your flesh. The Immortal wouldn’t give me meat porridge… so I have to find meat here instead…”

Her voice faded to silence. Fang Jingyu looked down—the girl’s limbs were stiff and cold. She’d been dead for some time. Yet she had just been speaking, crouched before a grave eating offerings—another corpse brought back to life!

Then a horrified cry rang out behind him. Fang Jingyu turned to see the officers gathered around the grave where the girl had sat. One stammered, “She… she wasn’t eating offerings…”

The grave had been dug up. A freshly buried corpse lay within—its flesh bore human bite marks.

“She was eating corpse flesh.”

The one-eyed man gritted his teeth. “This place has gone completely mad!”

The walking dead… the flesh-eating dead… was this some demon-haunted land? Fang Jingyu suddenly recalled something the girl had said: “Immortal.” He asked, “Could it be that if we follow the trail of smoke, we’ll find this ‘Immortal’ she mentioned who gives out porridge?”

The group said nothing, but all silently agreed. Who was this so-called “Immortal”? Feeding the dead in a cursed village was strange indeed. Perhaps if they found this person, they would uncover the truth of this ghost town.

They treated the girl’s body as they had the others—dug a pit, buried her, and covered it with stones. By now, night had fallen. Darkness spread across the land like thick ink. The old trees stood like silent corpses, black and chilling. A faint firelight flickered ahead. The officers moved forward, their steps heavy as if wading through a mire.

At last, they reached a clearing once used for drying grain. A few cedarwood tables had been set up. Behind them sat a huge cauldron, bubbling with porridge. A line of emaciated “walking meat” queued in front of it, holding pieces of birch bark and broken tiles for bowls, waiting listlessly for food.

By the pot stood a figure in a woven reed cloak and hood. The wide brim cast a deep shadow, hiding the face entirely. The person ladled porridge calmly, feeding the starving line.

“Is that… the ‘Immortal’?” Xiao Jiao whispered behind Fang Jingyu, her teeth chattering.

One officer murmured doubtfully, “This one’s just giving out porridge… maybe he’s just a kind-hearted rich man.”

They hid among the trees, watching from afar, not daring to approach. But Fang Jingyu’s sharp eyes saw something strange: after receiving their porridge, the “walking meat” crouched beneath the trees, lapping it up with their tongues. Moments later, their bodies convulsed violently, as if struck by lightning. They collapsed, eyes rolling back, skin cracking open, flakes falling like snow—

The porridge was poisoned.

Suddenly, the “walking meat” began clawing at each other, snarling and shrieking like beasts tangled in a knot. Some raked flesh from one another’s faces. In moments, the clearing became a blood-soaked hell.

As the officers watched, horrified, the cloaked figure let out a low, chilling laugh. Though the sound was soft, it carried clearly to every ear—as if a swarm of flies buzzed inside their heads:

“You’ve come a long way. What business do you have with this immortal?”

He called himself “this immortal”? The officers were too stunned to move, but Fang Jingyu stepped forward, shielding the group, and demanded loudly:

“Who are you?”

“Oh, no one of note,” the man replied in a sinister tone. “This land is rich in spiritual energy—dragon veins flow beneath it, embraced by four protective ridges. I simply chose it for my abode. From time to time, poor wretches who’ve crossed the Heavenly Pass and been punished drift here. I pity their hunger, so I offer a little porridge. Since you’ve come all this way, would you like a taste?”

His hoarse voice stirred something in Fang Jingyu’s memory—it sounded oddly familiar. The man placed a bowl of porridge before them. The officers saw that it was pitch black and reeked of rot—just like the black blood that had leaked from the walking corpses.

Fang Jingyu’s heart pounded. “You call yourself an immortal. What is your name?”

“Ah, I’ve not yet introduced myself. How rude of me.” The man chuckled coldly. “But my name is known far and wide—you’ve surely heard of it.”

As he laughed, the air shifted. The forest shook in the wind like a dark, lightless sea. The heavens had no stars, and the mountains vanished into the same black curtain. The firelight danced over the writhing bodies of the “walking meat,” and amid that sea of blood, the cloaked man said slowly and deliberately:

“I am the Great Immortal Yonghe—Patriarch of the Da Yuan Dao.”