HCAW 68

Chapter 68: Burning Beans to Boil the Stalks

The gold knife came down, slicing through flesh. Warm blood splashed across the face. His hand reached downward and touched something slick and squirming—entrails writhing like water between his fingers. He extracted a bone, shaved and drilled it, washed it in the Ming Sea’s waters, and there it was: a clean, polished fragment. But one piece was too short. He twisted sinew into thread, strung the bone pieces together—and forged a bone bow.

In the dream, the Chu Kuang of five years ago leapt up joyfully and said to the silver-masked man, “Master, I know how to make a bone bow now!”

The silver-masked man sat beside him, smiling as he nodded. Chu Kuang plucked the bowstring, then frowned. “Logically, a bone bow isn’t as flexible as one made from wood. But this one fits my hands so well. Why?”

The silver-masked man said with a laugh, “Because this is no ordinary bone bow. It was made from my bones.”

In that instant, Chu Kuang’s whole body trembled. A white mist veiled everything around him, thick as gauze. He stared helplessly as his master’s body decayed and fell apart, flesh separating from bone. In the remains of meat and gore lay a pristine bone bow.

Hands shaking, he lifted the bow. It had a name—Fan Ruo, like the divine bow used by Hou Yi to shoot down the suns.

Suddenly, his body trembled violently, and a thunderous roar erupted from his chest. From that night five years ago in Yingzhou, his heart had burned with hatred. The world roared with storm and thunder. His hatred, etched into his very bones, surged outward.

A voice in his mind howled: I will become a bloodthirsty wraith. I will kill Yu Ji Guard!

Then—suddenly—a voice called out urgently: “Chu Kuang!”

He felt himself being pulled upward by that voice, lifted from a mire and into warmth. Someone was shaking his shoulder gently. He opened his eyes and saw the dust-smeared ceiling of the cabin above.

Blinking again, he realized a hand was tightly holding his own—Fang Jingyu was staring at him.

Only then did Chu Kuang realize it had all been a nightmare. He was wounded, had passed out, and had dreamt a long dream about the past.

“You were having a nightmare. I couldn’t wake you,” Fang Jingyu said softly.

Chu Kuang stared at him for a long time, realizing he had awoken from the dream. Yingzhou, Lei Ze Camp, his master—they were all in the past. Yet five years later, the wounds in his heart still bled fresh.

His gaze shifted. There, on the table, lay the bone bow Fan Ruo, broken by Yu Ji Guard’s punch. His eyes blinked fast, and tears spilled down.

Fang Jingyu looked startled. Seeing him cry was more jarring than seeing him bleed. He pulled out his sleeve and gently wiped the tears away. “Is it the pain? We encountered Yu Ji Guard in Qingyu Gao Palace—he pierced your chest with his iron claw. We’re on a pleasure boat now, recovering. Do you remember?”

Chu Kuang nodded. When he moved his hand, it pulled at his wound, making him grimace—but he still reached out and clutched Fang Jingyu’s arm tightly. “Don’t go.”

Fang Jingyu stared at him, dazed. Chu Kuang’s gaze was fragile, his face pale with a feverish flush—pitiful to behold, stirring something tender and fierce in the heart. Chu Kuang’s voice was low:

“If you go… I’ll truly be all alone.”

Evening light seeped in through the storm clouds, raining as it fell, but still casting golden rays. Fang Jingyu held his hand, feeling the thrum of his pulse like a lifeline. A shadow flickered in his eyes before he finally said quietly, “I won’t go.”

“You won’t go do something stupid, right?”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t believe you. You told Yan Xin earlier, didn’t you? That you wanted to face Yu Ji Guard alone.” Chu Kuang shook his head and squeezed his hand harder. “Don’t go.”

Fang Jingyu replied, “I won’t.”

“Liar.”

Chu Kuang’s fingers trembled as he clung to him. Fang Jingyu pointed at a shattered white-glazed cup, broken in the scuffle earlier. “If I break my word, may I end up like that cup.”

Only then did Chu Kuang relax a little, still clutching his hand as he fell asleep again. Their fingers interlocked tightly, no space between them. Fang Jingyu gazed at him, his expression complicated.

He had lied.

He did intend to face Yu Ji Guard alone. Because he wasn’t afraid of being torn apart—he dared to make such an oath.

Was there any other way to stop Yu Ji Guard, that ghost-like terror of the Xian Mountain Guards? If his own death could guarantee the safety of Yingzhou’s rebel army, he would go without hesitation.

He rose, only to feel Chu Kuang’s grip still tight around him. The faint twilight painted a slash of crimson across Chu Kuang’s cheek—like a streak of blood and tears.

Something in Fang Jingyu’s chest felt hollow. He sat back down, holding his hand in silence, awash in sunset.

_____

Lately, a rumor has spread across Yingzhou—of a man-eating beast called the shanxiao¹ 山魈 (shānxiāo) a mythical creature in Chinese folklore prowling the land. This shanxiao looks human, but bears a mouthful of sharp fangs. Anyone who runs into it is torn and clawed apart—many have had the flesh stripped from their faces, their limbs bitten and broken. For a time, fear gripped all of Yingzhou.

The story spread like wildfire, yet it had not reached Si Chen, imprisoned in Qingyu Gao Palace.

Ever since she brought Fang Jingyu there and she was captured, Si Chen had been locked in a side room, forbidden to leave.

She had refused to obey Yu Ji Guard, unwilling to kill Yan Xin, the brother who had been her sole companion for years. But one thing still left her reeling, as if in a dream—

Yu Ji Guard had said: She was his daughter.

That was a bolt from a clear sky—her mind still buzzed.

She had grown up in the scum pits, without father or mother, born with a rooster brand. Everyone called her “Si Chen” and feared her. If what he said was true, many of the mysteries about her origins would suddenly make sense.

She suspected Yu Ji Guard had spread his seed all over Xian Mountain. She was unlikely to be his only child. He probably saw her as no more than a pawn.

For the first time, Si Chen felt a profound hatred for her own birth. She would rather have been the discarded child of two cruel servant-slaves—anything would be better than being kin to this plague of Yingzhou.

But even as a pawn, she refused to let herself be played.

She tapped the floorboards, testing for soft spots. Where the sound was dull, she pried with her hairpin. After many days, a board finally loosened. The guards were lax, so she quietly opened a hole. Beneath it lay the dark Ming Sea. She dove in and swam away.

Si Chen swam well. After a long stretch, she climbed up onto the floating bridge. Rain fell like fine silk. The stalls along the bridge sold coarse wares, steel whips, and firecrackers. The few vendors sat expressionless, saying nothing.

She was surprised how easy it had been to escape Qingyu Gao Palace. Yu Ji Guard seemed to treat her like wild grass, with no real intention of keeping her locked up.

As she passed one stall, she overheard vendors whispering:

“The Shanxiao struck again last night. They say the widow by the upper deck had half her face bitten off!”

Si Chen shivered and leaned in unconsciously to listen.

Another man added, “The Shanxiao is a strange one. They say it looks like a slick, hairless monkey, but it talks.”

“What does it say?”

“Even weirder than the beast itself. It goes mad when it sees people, lunges forward, and yells—” The vendor glanced around nervously and whispered, “‘Yu Ji Guard, you old bastard!’”

Si Chen’s ears pricked up—her unease deepened.

This didn’t sound like a monster. It sounded like a man—driven mad.

Suddenly, chaos broke out near Yueying Bridge ahead. Slaves scattered in all directions like headless flies, some charging toward her. Someone shouted:

“Shanxiao! The man-eating Shanxiao is here again!”

The crowd surged like a furious tide, swallowing Si Chen in an instant. A sense of dread weighed heavy in her chest as she pushed forward against the flow. When she finally reached the side of Yueying Bridge, she was met with a horrifying sight: bodies lay strewn across the bridge, twisted and mangled, the air thick with the stench of blood.

Blood soaked the bridge like moss, staining it crimson. In the middle of that carnage stood a hunched shadow, chest caved, clothes in tatters, skin charred like burnt coal. It howled like a beast. Suddenly, the figure lunged with a wide-open maw, aiming for a woman beside Si Chen!

“Watch out!”

Without thinking, Si Chen darted in front of the woman. She was unarmed, but she had studied martial arts for years under Yu Jue Guard. Swiftly, she tore off her outer robe, wrapped it around her hands like a thick rope, and caught the creature’s snapping jaws just as it pounced.

But the thing had monstrous strength. It knocked her to the ground. She could feel it gnashing against her robe, drool pouring from its mouth, the stench of blood overpowering. It snarled incoherently: “Yu Ji Guard… I’ll kill you… I’ll kill you!”

Si Chen’s heart clenched. She got a good look at him—his face blackened like discarded kiln bricks, yet still recognizable with those thick brows and large eyes. She gasped:

“Brother Yan Xin!”

It was her brother—Yan Xin.

Back on the Fenglin ship, after stealing Ruyi Guard’s “Immortal Elixir,” Yan Xin had drunk it all in one gulp, thirsting for vengeance. His blood surged hot, strength swelling beyond measure. He stepped out, seething with rage, and at the bridge’s edge, he saw a towering figure approaching—dressed in pheasant-embroidered robes. It was Yu Ji Guard.

Roaring, Yan Xin lunged, fists flying. Perhaps because of the elixir, Yu Ji Guard seemed weak as paper—falling in a pool of blood after just a few strikes. Elated, Yan Xin looked around—and saw dozens more Yu Ji Guards in the stalls and boats. Some wore green, some red; some were old, some young—but all bore that same hateful face.

He understood: the old bastard had hired men to impersonate him, so he wouldn’t know who was real. Enraged, Yan Xin launched himself into the crowd, tearing and clawing, barehanded and furious—blades felt useless in this madness.

He fought for what felt like forever. Around him lay dozens of “Yu Ji Guards,” all bleeding, barely breathing. Yan Xin laughed wildly, head thrown back, eyes bloodshot.

“Ah Chu, my daughter—I’ve avenged you both!”

But when he looked up again, he saw hundreds more white-haired, wrinkled Yu Ji Guards staring back, retreating slowly with wary eyes. Panic struck. Why wouldn’t this old monster die? He roared and charged again, killing everyone who bore that cursed face. The elixir made him invincible, relentless.

By day he hid, by night he hunted—again and again he twisted necks, broke backs. But Yu Ji Guards were everywhere, countless.

Then, on Yueying Bridge, he saw one again. He tackled him to the ground, ready to kill—but this Yu Ji Guard cried, tears welling in his eyes, his lips silently forming words.

Yan Xin thought, Trying to talk your way out, you old rooster? He threw a punch—but it missed. This one dodged, weaved. He snarled and turned toward another nearby figure who looked the same and struck—but the first one scrambled up and threw himself in the way.

Furious, Yan Xin struck blow after blow. This Yu Ji Guard didn’t cry out, didn’t fight back. Unlike all the others, he just opened and closed his mouth in silence, seemingly trying to speak.

Yan Xin’s fingers formed a blade. One final strike—he would punch through the bastard’s chest and end it.

They tumbled across the bridge, wooden planks groaning beneath them. His eyes burned red, ready to kill—

Then a sharp pain pierced his chest. He looked down.

A hairpin had stabbed into his heart.

“You vile swine—shameless bastard!” he cursed, but darkness overwhelmed him.

When he awoke again, clouds rolled above, rain falling like needles onto his chest wound. The hairpin had sunk deep. He had already burned through all the strength the elixir had given him. His body had reached its limit. That stab… it was likely fatal.

His face burned with unbearable heat—the torment the elixir left behind. Ever since taking it, he had lived in hellfire. He looked around, searching for Yu Ji Guard.

Instead, he saw Si Chen, her face streaked with tears.

Her hair was loose. Her once-beautiful face was bruised and battered.

Yan Xin blinked. His fury vanished. He smiled weakly, pain lancing his chest. “Little sis… you’re okay?”

She burst into tears, hugging him. “It’s my fault… I should’ve stopped you…”

“I’m fine…” she sobbed. “I got out on my own—I wasn’t hurt.”

But he saw her bruised face and bloodied body, and his heart ached. He whispered, “Liar…”

Pain surged again. He couldn’t understand why Yu Ji Guard carried a woman’s hairpin. But now, seeing Si Chen holding him, weeping, something felt wrong—but he couldn’t tell what.

“I killed a lot of Yu Ji Guards…” he murmured through blood. “At least Lei Ze Camp… will have peace for a while…”

Si Chen opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. Yan Xin asked, “Who hit your face?” She said nothing—just sobbed.

Yan Xin clenched his teeth. “Who dared… to touch my little sister… I’ll teach them…”

He tried to raise a hand to touch her cheek. But his eyes drifted shut, limbs turning cold.

“No one… hurts my little sister…”

Suddenly, his hand went limp.

In that moment, Si Chen felt the weight in her arms lighten. The flicker of life had gone out—leaving only the ashes of a soul.

A harrowing scene unfolded before the eyes of Yingzhou’s common folk.

Yueying Bridge had become a blood-soaked charnel house. Guards, women, vendors, laborers—all lay dead. In the middle of the carnage, a girl with unkempt hair held a corpse close.

The man’s face was blackened, his chest pierced by a hairpin.

And beneath the cold rain, the girl cried out with a grief so raw it shattered the sky.

_____

On the pleasure boat, a red-robed girl lying on a bed suddenly fluttered her lashes and opened her eyes.

Zheng Deli, dozing beside her, jolted upright in excitement.

“Miss Qin—you’re awake!”

Forgetting his own fatigue, he rushed over. “Do you feel pain anywhere? Is anything uncomfortable?”

Xiao Jiao blinked, eyes dazed, staring at the cabin ceiling. Slowly, she shook her head. Zheng Deli suddenly felt something was wrong. She’d had her heart clawed out by Yu Ji Guard—how could anyone survive that? Was she still… human?

“We ran into Yu Ji Guard in Qingyu Gao Palace,” he explained nervously. “You were badly wounded. Thanks to Lei Ze Camp’s soldiers, we escaped and are now hiding here.” He hesitated, then asked gently, “Miss Qin, how do you feel? Any pain?”

But the next moment, Xiao Jiao shouted, “All that jabbering—my ears hurt! I’m starving!”

She rolled out of bed, snapping her fingers. “Hey, no-balls! Go fetch me a bowl of porridge. If there are stuffed buns, bring those too!”

Seeing her as lively as ever, Zheng Deli was overjoyed and rushed off to fetch food.

Once he was gone, Xiao Jiao sat quietly, her playful demeanor vanishing.

She remembered everything—Yu Ji Guard’s golden claw piercing her chest, the agony as he crushed her heart. Everything after was a blur—except for a burning warmth that rose through her body, healing her wounds.

One thing unnerved her: though she could speak and move as usual, when she pressed her hand to her smooth, unscarred chest…

She couldn’t hear a heartbeat.

It was silent. Like a tomb.

A long-buried question stirred once more. Sitting in that dim cabin, Xiao Jiao stared into the shadows and murmured:

“What… exactly am I?”

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  山魈 (shānxiāo) a mythical creature in Chinese folklore