HCAW 39

Chapter 39: King Yama

Fang Jingyu’s house was enveloped in a heavy silence.

Several days had passed since Fang Jingyu was taken away. Most of the Xian Mountain officials who had stormed the estate were withdrawn by the Mohe Guard, leaving only two stationed outside the gate to prevent Xiao Jiao from acting recklessly. After all, she was also an official of the Xian Mountain Guard and close to Fang Jingyu—no one knew how she might break down.

Yet in these days, Xiao Jiao seemed like a frost-bitten leaf, lacking any spirit to stir trouble. She moved a small stool into the yard and sat there with her head hung low. When Zheng Deli came to visit, he saw the somber scene and felt a pang of pain in his heart. Apologetically, he said to Xiao Jiao, “Miss Qin, it’s because of me that this has happened to you. If I hadn’t insisted on avenging Xiao Feng, Fang Jingyu wouldn’t have been entangled with that Young Master Tao. Alas…”

Zheng Deli recounted how he had entrusted Chu Kuang to avenge Xiao Feng. As expected, upon hearing this, Xiao Jiao’s spirits lifted, and she jumped up to slap him, tears streaming as she shouted, “It’s all your fault! All your fault!”

After giving Zheng Deli a bruising, she crouched down, tears dropping with a soft patter, “Although your desire for revenge is noble, Tight-lipped gourd was captured. What can we do now? I was saved by him, joined the Xian Mountain officials for him. Without him, I have nowhere to go!”

Zheng Deli, with his face swollen and red like a monkey’s bottom, listened silently. He rarely heard Xiao Jiao speak of her past. He only knew that Fang Jingyu had known her since youth, that they were as close as siblings and depended on each other. That was why Xiao Jiao was so heartbroken now.

As they sat lost in thought, Chu Kuang appeared, wrapped in a paper-thin coat and carrying a coarse cotton bag, as if preparing to leave. Zheng Deli asked curiously, “Brother Chu, where are you going?”

Chu Kuang said, “I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Where to?”

“Chaotian Pass, Zhenhai Pass, Chunsheng Pass… anywhere will do. I need to find someone to take out beyond the borders. It seems that person won’t be Fang Jingyu.”

“What do you mean? Tight-lipped gourd redeemed you from the slaver’s hands! And now you want to betray him and leave?” Xiao Jiao jumped up, her face flushed with anger.

Chu Kuang’s gaze drifted to the distance. In truth, these days he’d been pondering one thing. To fulfill his master’s dying wish, he lingered in Penglai, hoping to find the person his master spoke of and bring them out. But was his memory really accurate?

He had once been pierced by an arrowhead in the forehead. Since then, his mind felt like it was filled with glue—forgetfulness often plagued him. Recently, his headaches worsened, causing him to doubt himself. Did his master truly say those words before dying? Or was it a false memory? Even if his master said it, why did he stubbornly insist that he “must bring Fang Jingyu out of Penglai”?

Chu Kuang never understood his own thoughts. At this moment, his years-long headache flared again. He shook his head and snapped at Xiao Jiao, who was questioning him, “Yes, I am ungrateful. Without that Fang, what money do I have working here?”

“I can pay you wages!” Xiao Jiao cried sadly. “I saw your skills in Milu Village. You’re strong—why didn’t you help Tight-lipped gourd that day? Why didn’t you save him?”

Chu Kuang shrugged. “Why should I save him? What is he to me?”

“He’s the one who redeemed you from the slaver’s hands! You owe him something… Besides, it’s the three-year execution season in Penglai soon—Tight-lipped gourd will die!”

“That’s a small debt,” Chu Kuang said. “I actually wanted to bring him out before, but now he’s been captured by the Xian Mountain Guard, locked away in the inner prison, surrounded like an iron barrel. You want me to deliver his prison meal? Risk losing my head to save him? Dream on.”

Xiao Jiao was speechless. She didn’t know Chu Kuang’s background, only that he showed incredible archery skills in Milu Village. With the captain dead and Fang Jingyu captured, Chu Kuang was her last hope—and now that hope was slipping away. She naturally didn’t want to let him go.

But she couldn’t stop Chu Kuang. She could only watch helplessly as he left the estate. No matter how much she shouted, “Come back! … You ungrateful wolf, come back!” he didn’t even look back.

Chu Kuang wandered into the town.

Familiar scenes of gray walls and tiled roofs bored him. He had roamed every street and alley of Penglai under the shade of jujube trees, feeling like a speck of dust in the world.

Then his headache struck fiercely. He clutched his head and groaned loudly before collapsing, convulsing like one having a seizure. Passersby gave him a wide berth(meaning they avoided him). After a long time, the pain subsided, and he slowly got up.

When he felt better, he hobbled to sit under the dry-water bridge, staring blankly into the distance. Penglai was vast; where would he find the person his master spoke of? Maybe his master’s wish was just a fantasy his mind had conjured. From the start, he had no reason or purpose to live.

The idea of bringing someone out of Penglai was a delusion, and the person he wanted to take was Fang Jingyu—nothing but a hallucination from his illness.

His headache flared again, and Chu Kuang collapsed, curling up.

His head felt like it was being shattered by a hammer. Countless scenes flooded his mind like a torrent. During his headaches, he saw baffling visions—some seemed to have truly happened, vivid in every detail; others were hazy as mist, unreachable. He saw Xiao Jiao just moments before, crying wet tears, shouting at him, “You have to save Fang Jingyu!”

Why should he save a stranger? Why, upon seeing Fang Jingyu for the first time, did he decide he was the one he was meant to find?

The shifting light and shadow made him feel as if he were inside a gilded tent—a place he had dreamed of many times. The drifting scent of distilled wine, the clatter of copper dice rolling, he felt himself gravely wounded, lying on the ground. A golden eagle-feather arrow from a tossing game rolled to his hand, and he weakly picked it up.

Chu Kuang groaned, his eyes closing tightly as his consciousness sank into a long, dark night. He passed out.

____

Chu Kuang had a dream about a time long ago.

Nine years ago, in the gilded tent of Difei Mountain.

This place was not far from Ying’en Pass, with only a stretch of water separating it from Yingzhou. Though the north wind blew cold and the sun was low beneath thin clouds, it was bitterly freezing. Yet, with a Xian Mountain Guard stationed here, they were often blessed by heaven’s favor, with no shortage of food and drink. Many sons of powerful Penglai families often hung around here to make themselves known and seek military achievements.

The Yu Ji Guard entered the gilded tent, where a victory banquet was underway. Inside, lanterns blazed brightly as flutes and drums played in unison. Several young nobles dressed in painted sharkskin armor were gambling, shouting and cheering. Some were playing pitch-pot, repeatedly leaning on the rod; several jars of wine were overturned on the ground.

Upon seeing the Yu Ji Guard, the nobles hastily and respectfully rose. Some still held captured female slaves in their arms. The slaves wore small-sleeved long skirts, some half-undressed after recent favors, their cheeks still flushed. The nobles bowed and said, “Greetings, Lord Yu Ji Guard!”

The Yu Ji Guard chuckled, pressing his palm downward to signal them to sit. “No need for formalities. Tonight, whatever mischief you want to get up to is fine. Is there enough wine and beauty?”

“Enough! Enough!” The debauched youths eagerly nodded and, taking the Yu Ji Guard’s word, resumed their revelry. The Yu Ji Guard took a seat on a drumskin-covered armchair in the tent’s center and sipped his wine, then noticed a youth lying on the ground.

The boy appeared to have been brutally beaten and abused. His undergarments were open, lying in a puddle of mud beneath him. His wounds were horrific. Blood flowed from his head, and his eyes were lifeless. Several decadent youths kicked his chest and stomach, but he didn’t react, like a ragged cloth. When he turned over, the Yu Ji Guard saw a dog-shaped brand on the back of his neck—the mark of a slave.

Frowning for a long moment, Yu Ji Guard recalled this was a lowly bonded slave, captured for a grave family offense and forced into debauchery. Emperor Changyi loathed him deeply and ordered he not be killed outright, but instead to have his heart carved out and marrow cleansed through this torment to break his spirit. Thus, this boy had been passed from the beds of influential nobles, toyed with by dissipated youths, then thrown into the military tent to serve as a slave worse than swine or dogs.

Yu Ji Guard secretly recalled their first meeting—then the boy was a bright, proud, and spirited youth, like a graceful green bamboo. Yet barely a year later, he had been crushed into something like a patch of sludge.

Perhaps only months remained for him to live. But as the son of a tyrant of the former dynasty, what difference was there between dying by thousand cuts or in this endless torment?

Yu Ji Guard took another sip of wine. At that moment, a noble grasped the boy’s wrist, threatening to assault him, but the boy suddenly struggled fiercely and threw him to the ground.

“You worthless slave!” The noble was furious, grabbing the boy’s hair and slamming his head into the ground. Yu Ji Guard’s gaze was drawn to the boy, and he slowly set down his wine cup.

“Son of Emperor Bai, having endured such hardship today, do you harbor resentment in your heart?” Yu Ji Guard asked.

The noble froze at the official’s words, afraid to move. The boy trembled as he raised his head; blood stained his brow, and his lifeless eyes suddenly flickered.

“Of course… I do.” The boy answered weakly, breath fading as if ready to meet death.

“Heh, but now you are a prisoner, powerless against your fate. Born as the orphan of a tyrant, even if you never commit a sin in your life, you will become a disaster that Penglai cannot tolerate. If you blame anyone, blame your father, Emperor Bai.” Yu Ji Guard called out the boy’s name, “Fang Minsheng.”

Fang Minsheng lay on the ground, breathing shallowly.

Severely wounded and burning with fever, after long torment his mind was unclear. He knew well he was filthy and lowly now, awaiting a fate worse than the eighteen mud plows.

Yet at this moment, he was laughing, the laughter growing louder. Yu Ji Guard narrowed his eyes in disbelief. Within those dim, ash-like eyes had suddenly ignited a flame—Fang Minsheng’s gaze seemed to burn him.

One pupil was ink-black, the other a blood-red dual pupil, once hidden beneath a silk blindfold. Since ancient times, such eye was a sign of kings or sages. When he broke into the Fang estate a year ago, Fang Minsheng removed the blindfold, revealing this pupil, which made Yu Ji Guard certain he was Emperor Bai’s son, leading to his capture and delivery to Emperor Changyi.

Now, seeing this pupil again, the Yu Ji Guard was strangely shaken. These were not the eyes of a sage or a king, but closer to those of a demon, sharp and fierce as a sword.

Fang Minsheng trembled and raised his hand. The Yu Ji Guard saw he was clutching a feathered arrow with a bamboo shaft and armor-piercing tip—likely one rolled away during the pitch-pot game earlier, which the boy had grabbed.

“No, it is not Emperor Bai I hate, but Penglai—and you.” Fang Minsheng took a deep breath, forcing himself upright, grinding his teeth. “This hatred will last forever, unyielding until death!”

His eyes opened wide, a chilling smile spreading across his face. For a year, he had lived in a living hell, abandoning his identity. At that moment, he was no longer the refined young gentleman raised in the Fang estate, but a man possessed by an evil spirit.

The Yu Ji Guard laughed heartily. “And what of hatred? My enemies are as numerous as mountains and seas—can every one of them have their revenge?”

Fang Minsheng said, “I suppose even if I live my whole life… I will never have my revenge.”

The Yu Ji Guard was surprised at his calmness. Though the boy’s eyes held deep resolve, it was suppressed. Though trampled, he was not yet broken.

“Indeed. I am the leader of the Xian Mountain Guards. You may be a dragon-slaying hero like the Tianfu Guard, or do you have the cunning and planning of the Mohe Guard? Honor alone means nothing.”

“I have nothing.” Fang Minsheng said. “I can never match you in this life.”

“Then what use is your hatred for me?”

“Lord Yu Ji Guard, Fang Minsheng’s path in this life has come to an end. It is time for me to hasten to the Yellow Springs (underworld).” Fang Minsheng smiled faintly, like a gentle spring breeze.

Yet the people in the tent sensed unease from this smile. They paused, their hearts pounding, eyes all on the frail boy. Armor clanged as swords were drawn, their cold blades aimed at him. But Fang Minsheng ignored them and struggled to sit up.

The firelight flickered, shadows danced wildly, sweeping across the faces in the tent again and again. Outside, the wind seemed to cease; the deep night spread like a dark shroud, and gloom covered all faces. Fang Minsheng raised the feathered arrow, its tip aimed at his temple.

“If revenge is impossible in this life, then we shall meet in the next. But next time, I will no longer be human. Then I will no longer be Fang Minsheng.” He spoke resolutely, “Lord Yu Ji Guard, I will become a vengeful spirit, risen from the blood river and hell below.”

The madness hidden in the boy’s smile was chilling—the final frenzy of a life’s end. Veins bulged on his neck as he suddenly drove the arrow into his forehead!

In an instant, blood splattered the tent. The nobles screamed and fled, watching Fang Minsheng slowly fall, lifeless. Yet his eyes still fixed unblinkingly on the Yu Ji Guard, shining fiercely with an eternal flame of hatred.

The Yu Ji Guard sprang up from his chair. For some reason, his chest heaved, his heart shaken—he was gripped by a lingering dread.

The boy lay in the pool of blood, a faint smile still on his lips—a smile none present would ever forget. In his final moment, he said,

“One day, I will become—King Yama, who claims your life!”