HCAW 65

Chapter 65: A Sigh for the Past

Ruyi Guard agreed to take Chu Kuang as her disciple and brought him back to the Fenglin Ship to teach him archery.

The silver-masked man quickly moved his bedding onto the Fenglin Ship as well. When Ruyi Guard saw it, she shouted angrily, “You damn blockhead, always taking advantage!” But her expression was filled with joy.

Every time she saw the silver-masked man, Ruyi Guard would scold and grumble like sizzling chilies, yet her eyes would constantly sneak glances at him, warm as a spring breeze.

Chu Kuang couldn’t bear it. He asked her, “Ruyi Guard, do you want to be my Master’s wife?”

“Pah! You damned brat, all you do is flap that mouth of yours!” The little girl instantly leapt three feet high and flicked his forehead.

But Chu Kuang could see she truly liked his master. Most of her words each day revolved around him. What puzzled Chu Kuang, though, was that Emperor Bai and the Xian Mountain Guards were figures from nearly a century ago. That meant Master and Ruyi Guard were likely around the same age—well into their twilight years. Yet their appearances were youthful. Chu Kuang secretly cursed them as: Old monsters!

Ruyi Guard, for her part, took her teaching seriously. She taught Chu Kuang how to prepare leather and bind horn, how to practice the “three pairs” of archery. Chu Kuang trained tirelessly and progressed rapidly. One day, Ruyi Guard rubbed her chin and declared confidently:

“I remember I once cast a divination for Yu Ji Guard decades ago—it foretold great misfortune when he encounters metal. Arrows and blades are metal, aren’t they? Maybe someday he’ll die pierced by weapons. If you train hard, perhaps the one to slay Yu Ji Guard will be you!”

Chu Kuang’s hand paused over the arrowhead. “I’ll take your words as a blessing.”

When they had spare time, he chatted with her. “Master said you’re skilled in divination. Can you divine a fortune for us—see what fate awaits him and me in Yingzhou?”

But the little girl shook her head. “I can’t read a fortune for you two. I don’t know why.”

“You can’t divine it?”

“Exactly. Your hexagrams shift constantly—changing every single day.”

Chu Kuang felt a bit disappointed but said, “No matter. My fate is mine to make, not heaven’s.”

He tried asking her about his Master, but Ruyi Guard refused to say anything. When pestered too much, she would scold, “Not things for a child to know!”

Chu Kuang thought: Master is wrapped in mystery. He wouldn’t get anything out of Ruyi Guard. So he turned to the silver-masked man, hoping to catch a slip—but Master always had a reply and brushed things aside easily. “Youth doesn’t last forever,” he’d say. “Now that Ruyi Guard is willing to teach you, why waste your time asking questions instead of learning?” So Chu Kuang could only slink away, defeated.

Likely due to eating that meat, Chu Kuang constantly felt like there was wild strength inside him, hard to control. He often broke bowstrings and snapped bow staves. By day he trained, and at midnight he carved new bows. But Yingzhou had no earth—bamboo and wood were rare—and he struggled to find material.

One day, the silver-masked man came to find him and saw him fiddling with reed shafts in the cabin, lost in thought. When asked what troubled him, Chu Kuang explained everything. The silver-masked man thought a moment and said, “If there’s no bamboo or wood, use something else.”

“What else can be used?” Chu Kuang rolled on the floor. “Master, this place you brought me to is barren! Even Guxie Mountain was better!”

His whining had no effect. The silver-masked man simply smiled. “Then use bone to make your bow.”

“Bone?”

“Let me tell you about a place from the Nine Provinces. In the Chu Ci,¹ it says: ‘Soul, go not north, for north there is Cold Mountain… the sky is white as snow, and cold condenses thick.’ It describes a frozen land with no plants, where people eat raw meat. The people of Cold Mountain hunted sea-lions and made bows from their bones, strings from their tendons. Yingzhou has no bamboo or wood—why not follow their method and hunt a great fish, using its tendons to make a bow?”

Chu Kuang rolled his eyes. “That sounds harder than chopping bamboo on Qingyu Gao Mountain!” The silver-masked man laughed and gave his head a pat.

But that pat seemed to open a floodgate—pain surged like a torrent. Chu Kuang’s face went pale, and he cried out, clutching his head as he collapsed. The silver-masked man rushed to catch him. “Chu Kuang, what’s wrong?!”

Chu Kuang’s mind clouded like mist. The world—sky, sea, everything—blurred into nothing.

When he next opened his eyes, it was already dawn. He sat up and saw himself covered with the silver-masked man’s black cloak.

Just then, his master entered with a smile. “You passed out yesterday. Gave me quite the fright. Feeling better now?”

Chu Kuang nodded gloomily. “A little. But Master, what’s with this headache? When will it go away?”

“It won’t pass easily. That meat you ate—it’s nearly enough to bring someone back from the dead. But the hidden side effects are severe. If you want to recover completely… it’ll take time. Likely not until you reach Guixu.”

Guixu? Was there some magic medicine there that could cure this pain? Chu Kuang gritted his teeth against the saw-like throbbing. His master added, “Rest a bit more. I already asked Ruyi Guard for the day off. Once you’re feeling better, I’ll take you for a walk around Yingzhou. We arrived in a hurry, and you’ve been cooped up on the ship training—you haven’t even seen what this place looks like.”

Half a day later, the two donned cloaks and rain boots and stepped onto the floating bridge. A light rain fell as the sun rose, and the sky held a tint like blue clamshell. Along the way, hidden alleys and tight streets curled behind them. Many “walking meat” lay sleeping there, trembling in the mist.

Chu Kuang saw them and felt pity in his heart. The silver-masked man sighed. “Yingzhou is under the command of Yu Ji Guard. That man is arrogant, bloodthirsty. Since the late emperor’s passing, he’s done as he pleased. He likes to make furniture from human bodies. Bone chairs, bone tables—hundreds of them sit in Qingyu Gao Palace. I’ve even heard that the foundations of his house in Penglai are filled with living people.”

Chu Kuang clenched his fists. The wounds in his palms began bleeding again.

Just then, they heard a horse’s whinny. Chu Kuang was surprised—there were horses in Yingzhou? He looked and saw several yellow-haired steeds galloping toward them. The bridge, being wide and leading to Qingyu Gao Palace, was fit for mounted travel.

As the horses drew near, Chu Kuang saw a strange rainbow trail on the bridge—red, white, and yellow blending together. On a sunflower-shaped stirrup was tied a large brush… no, not a brush. It was the corpse of a slave, dragged behind the horse. The head was split open, brain and blood spilled across the planks.

Chu Kuang gagged. The silver-masked man’s face turned grim. “The saddle bears rooster patterns. It’s Yu Ji Guard’s work.”

“Why would he do this?” Chu Kuang growled.

“You were once his prisoner—don’t you know? These are likely slaves who disobeyed his orders. He punishes them like this. Yu Ji Guard sees himself above all. Whether he kills one or a thousand—it’s all the same to him. He’s a tyrant, and this is his realm.”

Chu Kuang stood trembling in the cold rain, remembering the torture he suffered in Yu Ji Guard’s hand. After a moment, he looked up at the silver-masked man.

“Master,” he said, “Ruyi Guard told me your former title. Now that I’ve seen Yingzhou for myself… I want to be like you—to become the ‘King Yama’ who punishes the wicked and protects the people.”

The silver-masked man was not surprised. He patted Chu Kuang’s shoulder. “If that’s your will, then take the name—it’s yours. Whatever you wish to learn, I’ll teach you everything I know.”

From that day forward, a rumor began to spread across Yingzhou.

A young master from an aristocratic family, known for his cruel abuse of penal slaves, suddenly went missing. When he was found again, it was as a corpse swarming with flies in a thatched latrine, his head neatly placed among a pile of polo balls.

Not long after, a notorious river bandit—long feared for his killings—was discovered hanging inside a Taiping¹large hanging basket sometimes used for display or storage basket, his body half-eaten by fish.

Prominent figures in Yurun Town—local gentry, wealthy financiers, and bullies—were attacked one after another: some maimed, others killed.

Each time, beside the corpse, there was always an arrow—marked with a red arrow flower.

People said there was a shadow moving through Yingzhou, slaying the strong, helping the weak. Word spread: the red arrow flower marked King Yama. Though Yingzhou had no emperor to uphold justice, it now had King Yama of the underworld. Before him, right and wrong were clear. He was fair to all.

When faced with injustice, people would kneel and bow toward the north, call his name—and hope he would appear to punish the guilty and protect the innocent.

Some said King Yama had a blood-red demonic eye. Yu Jue Guard’s troops, in battles with Qingyu Gao Palace, found themselves suddenly aided in dire moments by “King Yama.” Rumor had it his gaze pierced the heavens, and every arrow hit its mark.

Even the Lei Ze soldiers heard the rumors. When they crossed paths with Chu Kuang on the ship, they saw the dual pupils sometimes revealed under his messy hair and no longer dared call him “drafted convict.” Instead, they muttered awkwardly, “Ah Chu.”

Chu Kuang always responded calmly, then returned to the rear deck and used a cloth to polish his bow.

Several arrows were placed beside him, each nock engraved with a vivid red scarlet arrow blossom.

————

The years passed like lightning, time flowing like an arrow. Before they realized it, many years had gone by.

Yan Xin had grown tall, straight as ripening grain. Under his leadership, Lei Ze Camp became a strict and disciplined force, now strong enough to stand against Qingyu Gao Palace. And Chu Kuang… slowly, he had been accepted as one of their own.

Over the course of several years, his archery skills progressed, and he often used flying arrows, saving soldiers from the Lei Ze camp several times, even pulling them back from the brink of the Yellow Springs. The soldiers, upon seeing him now, would enthusiastically invite him for drinks. Though they might make a few crude remarks, they regarded him as a brother. The legend of the “King Yama” had already spread, like a ghostly shadow, lingering in the hearts of the Qingyu Gao Palace soldiers.

At this time, the tensions between the Lei Ze camp and the Qingyu Gao Palace had grown more frequent, with both sides sensing that a catastrophic clash, like a landslide or tsunami, was imminent. Meanwhile, a terrifying rumor spread rapidly among the military officers.

It was said that the Lord of Yingzhou, the Yu Ji Guard, was preparing to wipe them out.

The Yu Ji Guard was not always in Yingzhou; sometimes he was assigned by Emperor Changyi to be stationed at the Earth’s Lung Mountain or accompanied the emperor himself, fulfilling his royal duties. In recent years, he had often been in Penglai, leaving him with little time to attend to the minor affairs of Yingzhou. However, now he finally had the leisure to turn their attention to the Lei Ze camp.

Dark clouds gathered over the Lei Ze camp. A few days before the battle was set to ignite, the soldiers sat around a fire, drinking cup after cup, silently.

“Even the Yu Jue Guard has fallen…” someone sighed, and in an instant, the group’s spirits drooped even further. Everyone knew that fighting against the Yu Ji Guard meant that the chances of returning alive were slim.

Someone spoke up, “It doesn’t matter. We still have Yan Xin.”

“But if Yan Xin falls too, who will hold the Lei Ze camp together?” another soldier asked. The group exchanged glances, all wearing worried expressions.

Sitting by the fire, Chu Kuang suddenly spoke, “There’s still me. And there’s still all of you.”

The firelight illuminated his strange, double-colored eyes, and for a moment, the group fell silent, as if the weight they had been carrying lifted. Someone suddenly raised their cup, “Right, there’s still us! The Yu Ji Guard is nothing but an old thief who got ahead by drinking ‘Immortal Elixir’! One of us dies, and ten brothers will take their place! The Yu Ji Guard can kill us, but we won’t die—we’ll live on in the hearts of our surviving brothers!”

For a moment, the group tossed their cups and cheered, the sounds echoing, no longer filled with despair or unease.

In the flickering firelight, Ruyi Wei sat beside Chu Kuang and smiled at him, “Little monkey’s words are well said! I’ll help out when the time comes.”

“Didn’t you say you don’t get involved in worldly affairs? Why do you want to help us?” Chu Kuang asked. “Is it for the Master?”

Ruyi Wei blushed for a moment before angrily saying, “Pah! It’s because we can’t stand what the Yu Ji Guard is doing!”

“You’re all part of the Xian Mountain Guards. Are you really going to kill each other?”

“The Yu Ji Guard betrayed the late emperor and took Yingzhou for himself. This land of Yingzhou was never meant to belong to him,” the little girl attendant sighed deeply. “He deserves to be punished.”

The two of them stopped talking and quietly continued drinking. Chu Kuang had retired early because his headache had been acting up again, and each episode felt like his bones were being sawed through.

In the following days, despite the pain, he went to the battlefield. The drums of war echoed, and the fire between the Lei Ze camp and Qingyu Gao Palace officially flared. Great ships cut through the waves, flying stones fell like locusts, hammering down on the sea. The sound of cannons rumbled, and the sea roared, as if it were a beast gone mad. Over ten thousand floating ships, chained together with iron, crowded the waters.

Water combat relied on bows and crossbows. The Lei Ze soldiers used mounted crossbows, and Chu Kuang fired arrows from behind the battlements, never missing. Ruyi Guard was also by his side, pulling back her bowstring, and every shot seemed like a wave crashing forcefully, with tremendous power. But at some point, the battle took a dangerous turn. Chu Kuang noticed the sharpness in their lines had begun to fall back. The flames up ahead shot into the sky, and amidst the war cries were cries of agony.

“The Yu Ji Guard is here!” a soldier, in panic, rushed back to the Lei Ze ship, only to be shot in the head by a lead bullet. A gunship, heavily armed, came from a distance, the cannons spewing stone balls. Its sails were embroidered with the pattern of a rooster—Yu Ji Guard’s gunship.

The ship’s firepower was overwhelming, and the Lei Ze ships couldn’t approach. Yan Xin ordered, “We’ll fire red copper cannons directly at them to hold them off. At the same time, dispatch fast boats to the rear to board and take out their leaders!”

Chu Kuang left the battlements and said to Yan Xin, “Let me go.”

“Chu, you want to go too? You’re an archer!” Yan Xin said.

“So what if I’m a archer? I also learned some self-defense techniques from Master. In the past, I even marked you with arrows that made you roll on the ground,” Chu Kuang said.

Yan Xin was convinced and allowed him to go. Ruyi Guard shouted, “Go ahead! I’ll cover you here. If you can’t win, just retreat. I’ll take care of the one who emerges from the hole!”

“If you can come with me, that would be great,” Chu Kuang replied. However, Ruyi Guard suddenly flushed, saying, “I’m good at divination and archery, but in a direct clash with the Yu Ji Guard, my small frame can’t handle it. I’ll only cause trouble. It’s better for me to assist from here.”

Chu Kuang boarded a light boat, cradling his bow in his arms. He suddenly realized that since the battle began, he hadn’t seen Master. Where was Master?

Meanwhile, on the gunship, in the dark room, a candle flickered.

An elderly man sat in the darkness, deep in thought. He wore a golden robe embroidered with colorful pheasant patterns.

Outside, the rain poured, lightning struck, and the sound of cannons filled the air, but a steady sound of footsteps could be heard.

The old man suddenly opened his eyes, slowly stood up, his large frame blocking the candlelight. He was already wearing a pair of Tianshan golden armor, prepared for what was to come—the most intense confrontation in nearly ten years. A shadow appeared on the window, and someone was standing outside the room.

“Come in. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time,” the old man said in a low voice.

The shadow pushed open the door and entered. The candlelight traced along the intricate silver patterns on the newcomer’s mask, revealing his face. It was a young man in black clothes, holding a sword that seemed as dark as the night itself.

The old man looked at the sword in his hand, “It’s been over ten years. I’ve finally waited for the moment to clash with you. What a pity… now you’re not in your prime, even if I win, it won’t be as sweet. You’ve been corrupted by the ‘Immortal Elixir’ until you’re no longer human, haven’t you?”

The masked man smiled and slowly unsheathed the sword. It was a pitch-black blade. The old man recognized the sword—it was an imperial sword given by the Emperor, forged from Bamboo Mountain iron, tempered with antelope fat, called Chengying (Shadow-Bearer). It was named after a story from the “Liezi”²ancient Chinese philosophical text: “It was faint and seemed to exist, yet its shape was unrecognizable.” When swung in the night, the sword was silent and invisible, like a ghost.

The masked man’s face was no longer human. Half of it was delicately sculpted, like jade, while the other half was terrifyingly black, with veins throbbing. Not only his face, but his hands and feet also seemed to be rotting and decaying.

However, the masked man didn’t mind. He laughed and said, “So what? The Xian Mountain Guards are notorious for doing things behind closed doors. I might look ugly, but compared to those insane, madmen, I’m much better off. Don’t you think so? Yu Ji Guard.”

“Heh, you came here looking for a fight, it’s like seeking your own death. Wouldn’t it have been better to hide like before, back in Xian Mountain?” the old man mocked.

“I know there was always going to be a final battle between us. At least before I die, I’ll settle this,” the masked man said, spinning the Chengying sword in a graceful flourish, his expression calm. “I’ve already passed on my name to the next person. Even if I die here, I won’t regret it.”

Thunder exploded on the sea, like the beat of war drums. Heavy rain poured down, making the gunship sway violently. In the flashes of lightning, they stood facing each other, like ghosts. The old man also smiled, his fierce beard spread wide, and shouted, “Fine, I’ll accept your challenge! It’s time to see who stands at the peak of Xian Mountain!”

Another thunderclap shook the heavens, and the lightning swallowed everything. The shadows on opposite sides of the room quickly merged, sword light and claw-like shadows flying. Outside the window, the wind whipped the sea, the rain flooding over like a broken dam. What the world didn’t know was that in that narrow gunship room, a battle of world-shaking proportions was unfolding—one even more violent than the storm outside.

At that moment, no one knew that after this battle, the flames of Yingzhou would be extinguished once more, and an age of darkness would descend. It wasn’t until many years later, when Emperor Bai’s son arrived in Yingzhou, that the ashes were stirred, and the flames once again flickered into life.

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One of the most important collections of early Chinese poetry

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  large hanging basket sometimes used for display or storage
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  ancient Chinese philosophical text