HCAW 61

Chapter 61 – The Lone Bird in a Cold Forest

The storm overturned the skies, purple lightning scorched the clouds. Fang Jingyu and his group hurried by boat toward Lei Ze Camp.

But halfway there, they encountered a patrol fast boat from the camp. The soldiers on board, seeing them, were shocked. Yan Xin looked on in surprise: “Your Highness, why have you returned here?”

But the moment he saw who Fang Jingyu was cradling in his arms—Chu Kuang, covered in blood, barely breathing—he immediately had them brought aboard and summoned the camp’s physicans. Chu Kuang was unconscious, letting them move him as they wished, while Xiao Jiao, miraculously, had already healed and lay sleeping peacefully.

Fang Jingyu explained what had happened in Qingyu Gao Palace. Yan Xin’s expression turned grave. “I hadn’t expected Yu Ji Guard to return early. That was my failure. Brother Chu’s injuries are grave, and our medicine stores are lacking. Let us retreat to Lei Ze Camp for now. We’ll plan our next move from there.”

Fang Jingyu gripped Chu Kuang’s hand—his pulse was as thin as a spider’s silk. Forcing himself to remain calm, he shook his head. “We don’t know if Yu Ji Guard is following. Better we sail into the storm to throw off pursuit, and wait for a better time to return.”

“But Brother Chu…”

Fang Jingyu glanced at the bloodless face. Blood poured from under Chu Kuang’s body, staining the whole bed in moments. He looked toward the pigskin pouch of meat slices and gritted his teeth. “Use whatever medicine we have. If it’s not enough… we still have a last resort.”

The fast boat plunged into wind and rain, tossed by one crashing wave after another. Fang Jingyu’s heart was heavy. Would the storm truly hinder Yu Ji Guard? That old monster had crossed the dark sea on nothing but a bamboo raft—this might be nothing more than an ant trying to shake a tree, and might only lead Chu Kuang into deeper danger. As his thoughts whirled, he heard a soldier on deck shout, “The Lei Ze ship is smoking!”

He and Yan Xin rushed out of the cabin. Sure enough, through the storm and pouring rain, they saw black smoke billowing from the ship in the distance—like a waving black flag.

Yan Xin’s hands went cold. He turned to Fang Jingyu. “There may be an ambush aboard. You must not return to the ship!”

Zheng Deli panicked. “But there are more wounded than just Chu Kuang—and without supplies, they’re all as fragile as eggshells. What do we do?”

Yan Xin considered a moment. “Your Highness, remain here in the fast boat. I’ll take a team to investigate the Lei Ze ship. It may not be an ambush—perhaps the brothers on board caused some chaos by accident. And even if it’s the enemy, they might already be gone.”

Fang Jingyu shook his head. “That’s too dangerous for you, Lord Yan. Let me go instead—I’ve fought both Yu Ji Guard and the palace guards before, I know their tactics.”

Yan Xin smiled. “In a game of xiangqi (Chinese chess) who ever sends their general out first? If Your Highness is harmed, we lose everything.”

“And you’re not the general of Lei Ze Camp?”

“Compared to you, I’m just a pawn. We could send scouts, but if they’re captured and tortured, they might reveal your location. If I go, my brothers will fight to the death before they talk.” His reasoning was cool and steady.

Fang Jingyu looked at Yan Xin in silence. This dark-skinned, thick-browed youth already bore more of a leader’s aura than he did. He had the loyalty of Yingzhou’s slaves, and as the last ember of Yu Jue Guard’s legacy, he could one day lead them all to sunlight.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ll be back soon,” Yan Xin said.

“Take care,” Fang Jingyu sighed deeply, knowing further words were useless. He struck fists with Yan Xin. “I’ll wait for your triumphant return.”

Yan Xin smiled, returned the gesture, and departed.

Outside, the rain poured like curtains. Thunder rolled, and the heavens seemed to tip upside down. Yan Xin and his men boarded another fast boat and sped toward the Lei Ze ship.

What they found stunned them into silence. The ship’s mast was snapped, its ropes and straw sandals torn, and its hull full of holes. Rain had extinguished the fire in the rudder house and storage holds—but could not suppress the smoke.

Yan Xin’s heart sank. “Ah Chu!”

His pregnant wife was still aboard. A surge of heat rushed to his head—he leapt onto the gangplank like a panther and raced into the ship.

The floorboards groaned. The enemy was gone, but signs of a massacre were everywhere. Blood splattered the floor in blotches like plum blossoms. Bodies of soldiers littered the ship, severed limbs and torsos strewn about—as if a man-eating beast had rampaged through.

There was no sign of Ah Chu. Yan Xin tore through the ship like a madman. Then he saw it: a sheet of coarse paper nailed to a beam, blood-written.

A soldier saw him take the paper and went pale.

Smoke billowed. The wooden walls groaned as if screaming in death. The ship was on the verge of sinking. Another soldier asked, “Sir, I can’t read. What does it say?”

Yan Xin crushed the paper in his fist and slammed it to the floor.

“It’s from that castrated old bastard Yu Ji Guard! He came here while we were away—everyone who died here was killed by him!”

The soldiers turned white. The Lei Ze ship was far from Qingyu Gao Palace—Yu Ji Guard had looted it and still reached the palace in time to ambush Fang Jingyu’s group? Did he already know their hiding place all along? Had he only refrained from acting out of amusement? They all knew Yu Ji Guard’s arrogance—he didn’t even sully his hands with slave’s blood. He was a terror like a god or ghost, a monster who could cross the Ming Sea on a bamboo raft—no doubt he could leap from the Lei Ze ship to the palace in moments.

They had never truly escaped his grasp.

“What was written on that paper…?”

“Yu Ji Guard said—he’s taken my wife Ah Chu, Si Chen, and the others hostage. If we don’t hand over Emperor Bai’s son and ‘King Yama’ within a day, he’ll execute one prisoner every hour!”

————

One ceramic cup after another shattered against the deck.

A thunderous cry erupted in unison:

“Hand over Emperor Bai’s son!”

However, that shout was soon drowned out by the clamor of voices. Someone said, “If we hand them over, will Yu Ji Guard really let us go? Either way we’re meat on the chopping block. Better to fight to the death!”

Inside the Lei Ze ship, the remaining soldiers were in heated discussion. The deck had been roughly patched up enough to stay afloat, and the blood and corpses had been mostly cleaned away, but the thick stench of blood lingered, casting a grim pall over everyone.

Yan Xin had already sent medicine to Fang Jingyu’s group and instructed them to remain on the fast boat. Most of the soldiers had returned to the Lei Ze ship, while he remained onboard, seated in the middle of the outraged troops.

Whether or not to hand over the two men was a pressing matter causing fierce debate among the soldiers. They sat divided on both sides of the deck—one faction urged surrendering Emperor Bai’s heir, the other insisted on protecting Fang Jingyu. One shouted angrily, “Emperor Bai’s son is just a passerby. How could he compare to our captured brothers?” Another retorted, “To protect His Highness, even if the fields are filled with bones, we would not retreat!” The argument boiled over like a pot left on the flame, with red-faced shouting on all sides.

Ling’er listened nearby. Usually, when these rough soldiers started talking, he had no place to speak. But now he timidly said, “I—I have an idea…”

Surprisingly, the crowd went silent and turned sharp eyes toward him. Ling’er immediately shrank back, as if facing a pack of wolves. Yan Xin nodded. “Let’s hear it.”

“Can we find two corpses?” Ling’er said. “I can strip the flesh, paint their faces to resemble His Highness and Ah Chu. We give the heads to Yu Ji Guard, and then secretly send the real ones away.”

“Ridiculous!” someone slammed a cup down and stood. “You might fool them for a moment, but what about when the rain hits? The paint will wash right off!” Another said, “If Yu Ji Guard finds out, he’ll fly into a rage and wipe us all out!” Ling’er knew it was a deceitful trick and quietly shut his mouth.

Yan Xin raised a hand, and the noise died down. His face was grim. “It’s not that I would abandon the brothers Yu Ji Guard captured. Ah Chu and Si Chen—one is my wife, the other mu sister the Yu Jue Guard entrusted to me—they are like family to me. But if Emperor Bai’s heir dies here in Yingzhou, everything we’ve done will be for nothing.”

He let out a long sigh and picked up a short sword sheathed in sharkskin. “Let me think it over before making a decision.”

Yan Xin left the Lei Ze ship and took a black-canopied boat, slowly drifting toward the fast boat. The cold rain fell steadily between heaven and earth. Lanterns began to light the water, glimmering like scattered gold, but Yan Xin felt only lonely. He was torn, uncertain. A boat slid silently past, and he thought he heard silvery laughter from a group of fisherwomen. Looking after the retreating skiff, he thought of Ah Chu.

His wife Ah Chu had once been a fisherwoman. Yan Xin had once had no intention to marry—his life was dedicated to carrying on Yu Jue Guard’s mission. But one day, working as a porter, he saw a fishing boat stranded near Qingyu Gao Mountain. He helped tow it, and a pale, delicate woman stepped ashore and thanked him with a smile as bright as spring water. She took his hand and slipped a few lotus seeds into his palm—lotus seeds that only grew on Qingyu Gao Mountain and were as precious as pearls.

They crossed paths a few more times, and each time, Yan Xin felt like a fish caught in a net, his heart leaping. One time, as she gave him more lotus seeds, she leaned close and whispered, “There’s an ambush ahead.” His heart raced faster. “Who are you?” he asked.

She smiled. “I’m Ah Chu.”

“I didn’t ask your name,” Yan Xin said coldly. “I asked—what kind of person are you, to tell me this?”

She grinned, breath fragrant at his ear. “You’re one of Yu Jue Guard’s people, aren’t you? I won’t tell anyone else. I only told you.”

“My parents were killed by pirates long ago. Yu Jue Guard avenged them. I owe her my life. And when I see you, I think of her. It would be such a shame if someone like you died.” With that, she gracefully boarded her little boat and paddled away, her reflection on the water as pure as a lotus blossom.

After that, she would pass him secret messages, saving his life more than once. Slowly, feelings grew between them.

In the bitter winds of Yingzhou, Yan Xin found his haven—Ah Chu was his harbor. Together they slipped through the water channels of Yingzhou. He rowed lazily, she sang soft songs sweet as rice wine. The moon was full, their shadows side by side on the water—love gentle and lingering.

Now Yu Ji Guard threatened to destroy it all. Should he hand over Emperor Bai’s son and “King Yama” to rescue Ah Chu, Si Chen, and the captured Lei Ze soldiers—or should he protect Fang Jingyu to the end? Yan Xin’s heart felt as though it were being cut by knives. He clenched his fists hard.

Arriving at the fast boat, Yan Xin boarded and met Fang Jingyu face to face. His heart was in turmoil, and he felt ashamed just looking at him. But Fang Jingyu smiled. “Lord Yan returns victorious?”

Yan Xin sighed and described what Yu Ji Guard had left behind on the ship—but when he got to the part about exchanging hostages, he deliberately gave a false date, saying they had one extra day. Fang Jingyu’s brow furrowed as he listened. “If that’s so, then let me go.”

His answer came so easily, it made Yan Xin even more ashamed. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head. “You can’t go, Your Highness. You’re Emperor Bai’s heir!”

Fang Jingyu let out a breath. “I’m Emperor Bai’s heir—not the Bai Emperor. What’s the point of keeping me alive? Will my survival guarantee anything?”

Yan Xin was speechless. Fang Jingyu stepped forward, eyes gleaming. “Was Emperor Bai a ruler who cowered in his tent, unwilling to move? Better to charge forward than to watch others drown from the riverbank. The late emperor was that kind of man. I am his flesh and blood—our tempers are not so different.”

The legend of Emperor Bai was known to all in Xian Mountain. He often charged into battle alone, always at the forefront, and soldiers revered his awe-inspiring valor. Yan Xin gave a bitter smile. So that’s how it was—Fang Jingyu truly carried Emperor Bai’s legacy.

But he sighed and said, “Your Highness, have you considered another option? That is… to hand over Brother Chu.”

Fang Jingyu’s face went pale.

“Brother Chu is now on the verge of death. No medicine can save him. The journey across the mountains is perilous beyond measure—he might only become a burden. If we give him up, we can buy time and avoid Yu Ji Guard’s relentless pursuit. Then, Your Highness may find another opportunity to leave Yingzhou.”

“I heard he once fought side by side with you,” Fang Jingyu suddenly snapped. “Didn’t you once say that not even ten thousand taels of gold could make you betray him? And now that danger is at your door, you want to trade his head for a reward?”

“Then should my wife, my sister, and the soldiers of Lei Ze Camp all lose their heads instead?” Yan Xin shouted, his voice trembling with fury, finally unleashing all the frustration bottled inside. “I cannot save everyone! No one deserves to die—but Your Highness, you are the one who least should!”

They stared at each other like lions, only to realize afterward that venting anger on one another was meaningless. Rain dripped from the corners of their eyes; they looked at each other and saw in one another the semblance of tears. In the end, Fang Jingyu turned back into the cabin, leaving only one faint sentence behind:

“The day after tomorrow, I will go see Yu Ji Guard.”

Yan Xin stood alone in the cold rain, head bowed, figure lonely and helpless.

Fang Jingyu entered the cabin and sat by the mat. Chu Kuang’s face was as pale as snow, his breath faint and shallow, as if it would stop at any moment. Blood still seeped from the wounds under the gauze. Fang Jingyu’s heart ached as he touched his face, and Chu Kuang stirred, opening his eyes just slightly to meet his gaze.

“Fang Jingyu…” Chu Kuang gritted his teeth, his face damp with cold sweat—for once not calling him by some nickname. “If you dare go off to die… I’ll…”

It seemed he had overheard the conversation outside. Fang Jingyu gave a bitter smile and began slowly loosening the fingers clutched around his arm. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll… chase you to the underworld… and demand my wages.” Even in such critical condition, he still had the heart to joke. Fang Jingyu chuckled, but realized Chu Kuang was gripping him like an iron clamp—he couldn’t even pry his hand off. Looking at him again, Chu Kuang’s expression was dazed from pain and heavy blood loss, yet he still kept murmuring, “Don’t go… or I’ll bust the backs of your knees… don’t go…!”

Fang Jingyu felt a pang of sorrow. He leaned down to calm him, waiting until Chu Kuang lost the strength to hold on before gently loosening each of his fingers and stepping out to fetch the medicine.

The cabin was quiet, save for Chu Kuang’s faint, threadlike breaths. But just then, a shadow stepped silently into the room, eyes cold and glinting. From his robes, he drew a short dagger wrapped in sharkskin.

It was Yan Xin.

______

At noon the next day, Yan Xin headed to Qingyu Gao Palace with a blood-stained cloth bundle in his arms.

The blood-written note had instructed him to come alone, bringing the Emperor Bai’s son and the “King Yama”—alive or just their heads—to exchange for Ah Chu, Si Chen, and the soldiers of Lei Ze Camp. Yan Xin brought no living man, only the soaked cloth bundle.

He entered the palace. Outside the gate stood rows of soldiers like ants, the defense tighter than ever before. Yet the main hall was dark, lit only by a single candle. The windows, ceiling, and beams were all carved with rooster emblems, like a prison wrapped in eerie silence. Yan Xin couldn’t help but feel a chill.

He suddenly thought of an old story from the Nine Provinces, about a warrior named Jing Ke who brought the head of a traitor into the palace to assassinate the King of Qin. And now, he too had such an idea—if no path remained open, then he would take the road of death.

He would use this offering of a head as a chance to assassinate Yu Ji Guard.

He stepped into the front hall. Darkness gathered like drapes. Yan Xin threw the blood-soaked bundle to the ground and shouted:

“Yu Ji Guard, where are you? I’ve brought you King Yama’s head!”

His voice echoed, but there was no reply. He stepped forward and found only a chair in the middle of the hall, no one in sight—just another sheet of paper on the seat, written in blood.

It read: “The soldiers of Lei Ze Camp have already been cast into the Ming Sea. Their lives rest in fate’s hands. Behind the hall are two cells—your wife is in the left, your daughter in the right. You may bring only one. Save one, leave the other.”

Yan Xin felt a chill run through him. Yu Ji Guard had foreseen his move and left this note as a trap. But where was the old man now? Without a visible target, there could be no assassination—his plan was ruined.

But saving someone was urgent. Yan Xin rushed ahead, through the pitch-black corridor. Only one could be taken? He grew uncertain. Could he try to rescue both? Was Yu Ji Guard playing another trick, releasing the Lei Ze soldiers without a fight?

Then he remembered: Yu Ji Guard had referred to “your daughter” in the note. Did he truly take Si Chen as his own flesh and blood? That might explain the phrasing. Si Chen looked young; with their age difference, it wasn’t entirely unbelievable. But Yan Xin decided he would save Ah Chu—she was pregnant and couldn’t wait.

When he reached the left cell and pushed open the door, a cold dread gripped his chest.

He had forgotten—besides Ah Chu and Si Chen, there was one more life to save.

A gust of icy wind pierced him. But it was already too late. He opened the door and saw what lay within.

Ah Chu lay on the floor, blood flowing like a stream. Her body was lifeless, and her once full belly had collapsed inward, empty like a torn drumskin.

Yan Xin went blind with horror. His head roared with pain. In a frenzy, he flung himself toward the other cell and crashed through the door.

He remembered the note. The “daughter” was supposed to be in this room.

And there, he saw it:

A fetus, lying on the ground—still attached to its umbilical cord, soaked in blood.