HCAW 82

Chapter 82: Each Alone in His Shadow

The sky was boundless, the earth barren. The wind lashed her face, cold and sharp with the brine of the sea.

Xiao Jiao blinked in a daze and sat up.

She remembered clearly she had been lying on her cot—yet now, upon opening her eyes, she found herself in a strange place. Around her stretched a hazy, mist-shrouded world, no day or night discernible. The sea rippled in endless layers, converging into massive whirlpools, as if the heavens and earth had yet to separate.

“Tight-lipped gourd?” she called timidly. “No-balls Zheng…….Chu Laborer?”

No one answered. In this desolate world, it seemed she alone still lived.

The sea was pitch-black and endless, dotted with sparse reefs. Suddenly, she saw a line split the sea vortex, dividing the waves. Black in the center, white on both sides—a giant eye surfaced from the deep, staring straight at her.

Xiao Jiao broke out in a cold sweat. She saw that the countless whirlpools across the sea had turned into eyes, all fixed upon her. Black water slowly crept along the ground, converging into human shapes. Shadows in ink-black hues slithered and closed in.

The liquid was strange—it looked like water, yet viscous as if solid. It reminded her of the ‘Immortal Elixir,’ or perhaps the black blood of the frenzied “walking meat” she had seen that night in Milu Village. Suddenly, countless hands extended from the black water, clawing at her, trying to drag her into the sea.

She looked down in shock—her arms and legs had dissolved into black water too, flowing outward and merging with the deep sea.

“Ah!”

Xiao Jiao screamed and awoke. Darkness filled her visions, and turning her head, she saw a waning moon framed in the porthole—like a half-lidded eye on the verge of sleep.

Her chest heaved violently, her heart pounding with lingering terror. She sat in the dark for a long time before her fear finally subsided. Looking down, she saw her hands white and whole—it had just been a dream.

But when she pressed her chest, she felt only hollowness—no heartbeat. That’s when she realized: waking felt even more like a nightmare. Ever since Yu Ji Guard had clawed out her heart and she survived, she was no longer like other people—more like a demon.

Xiao Jiao tucked in her blanket and lay down again, but sleep eluded her. Her eyes remained wide open until dawn.

_____

In Yingzhou, light mist and fine rain drifted on a chill breeze.

After Yu Ji Guard’s defeat, celebrations filled every floating boat. The outside world was loud with joy, but inside the Fenglin ship’s cabin, all was quiet. Two figures sat across from each other, heads bowed, whittling bones.

One was a girl in a short jacket with a turned collar, wearing a tiger-head hood adorned with silver tassels. A rasp danced in her hands, soon producing a gleaming bone fragment. The other was a lean youth with shoulder-length black hair in disarray, his face pale and sunken, dark circles around his eyes, and one of them a luminous double pupil.

These two were Ruyi Guard and Chu Kuang. Chu Kuang whittled the bone while distracted. These were bones his master had left—immensely hard. Even knives forged with rare Heavenly Mountain gold struggled to cut them.

When he had made Fan Ruo, he had been steeped in grief and carved the bow without even noticing. Now that his mind was clearer, it was strangely harder to start. Heart heavy with emotion, he finally said to Ruyi Guard:

“Madam, I have something to ask.”

Ruyi Guard, idle these days, had taken to crafting the bow with him. As she stroked the bone in her hand, memories of old times stirred. She nodded, signaling him to go on.

Chu Kuang drew out the jade ring and passed it over, hesitantly saying, “You must know what’s carved on this, don’t you?”

“I imagine you know by now,” Ruyi Guard said mildly.

“Why does it have…” Chu Kuang gritted his teeth, forcing the dizzy spell away as he got the words out. “‘Fang Minsheng’?”

Ruyi Guard’s grip on the bowpiece tightened. “Because that is the Tianfu Guard’s real name.”

Outside, waves rose and fell. A swell crashed into the ship’s prow, spraying white droplets like snow. Chu Kuang trembled all over. His heart surged with stormy confusion as he looked at Ruyi Guard—yet she appeared calm, as if she had known it all along.

“Why? Why would the Tianfu Guard… have that name?” His throat caught, voice hoarse. “I… I’m the one who’s…”

“Fang Minsheng.”

Ruyi Guard suddenly called him, cold and clear.

Her expression turned solemn. Waves battered the Fenglin ship one after another, making the vessel shake. Goosebumps pricked Chu Kuang’s skin. He suddenly realized—she wasn’t talking about the words on the ring.

She was calling him.

He nodded instinctively. “I’m here.”

Her eyes lit up like twin lanterns, glowing in the gloom. “You have only one purpose in this life: to protect His Highness all the way to Guixi. That is the destiny you were born into. Even if you tried to run, you’d never escape it.”

A tremor rose from deep within him. Chu Kuang counted on his fingers, whispering, “Master—Tianfu Guard—Fang Minsheng… and me—are the same person?”

His mind had never been quite right since that arrow to the head. Now it felt like a paste had filled his skull. Everything seemed absurd. His master was called Fang Minsheng. He was also called Fang Minsheng. Could it really be a coincidence—just two people with the same name?

But his gut said otherwise.

Yet how could one person appear in two places at once, and look completely different?

His thoughts knotted tighter and tighter—until Ruyi Guard said:

“None of that matters. Just remember one thing—you must escort His Highness to Guixi. No matter the perils, you must not hesitate. Though I could accompany you out of Yingzhou, if the bone pieces are right, the time hasn’t come yet. You two must go first.”

She paused, then added, “Since eating that meat, have you been hearing whispers?”

Chu Kuang nodded. The more of the meat he consumed, the worse the headaches grew, and the more he heard murmurs by his ears.

“Listen closely—that’s someone guiding your path.”

Ruyi Guard’s words puzzled him. She always spoke so cryptically, and the moment he tried to press for more, she would say nothing. Guiding him? Chu Kuang had also sensed that among the chattering whispers, there was a familiar voice—his master’s. Though the murmurings disturbed him, they did not feel hostile.

Knowing he wouldn’t get much more from her, he gave up asking. Ruyi Guard rose and fetched a map from the inlaid cabinet. Her expression eased a little as she asked, “Let’s leave that for now. Ah Chu, you’ll be leaving Yingzhou soon, yes?”

“Once we’ve recovered a bit, we’ll go.”

“Even the most well-informed ‘Mule’ can’t lead you from Yingzhou now. I haven’t visited those parts in many years, but it’s said that the locations of Fanghu, Yuanqiao, and Daiyu—those three xian (immortal) mountains—are ever-changing.”

Chu Kuang chuckled. “Even mountains move? What, are they riding on the back of a giant turtle?”

“You jest, but that’s actually a tale of the Nine Provinces. They say an ao turtle bears the immortal mountains on its back, which is why their positions shift constantly, making them hard to find. They also say the waters of the Nether Sea are the ao turtle’s blood, blackened over centuries.” Ruyi Guard smiled. “But legends are legends. There are rope bridges connecting those mountains, and the checkpoints aren’t as strict as those in Penglai. You shouldn’t have too much trouble passing.”

Chu Kuang breathed a sigh of relief. By now, the bone piece in his hand had taken shape. Smooth as mutton-fat jade, it had been bound with sinew into a bow nearly identical to the old Fan Ruo. He turned the bow over in his hands, inspecting it with satisfaction.

Though he now recalled the Fang family sword techniques, after years of being an archer, a bow still felt more natural in his hands. Seeing the gloom lift slightly from his face, Ruyi Guard’s tone turned solemn again.

“Ah Chu,” she called, “let me remind you of one more thing.”

“Yes, madam?”

“The road ahead is long. By now, you should know this truth well—your master once told me the same.” She fixed him with a steady gaze. “You must not become His Highness’s weakness.”

It was as if lightning split his heart open—cold and blinding. Chu Kuang’s eyes widened. He lowered his head and bit his trembling lip.

But his loss of composure lasted only a moment. He quickly lifted his head and forced a careless grin.

“Oh, come on, madam. That’s nothing new to me.” Chu Kuang grinned, but secretly gripped Fanruo tight. “Bury the name and bones for a lifetime, right?”

_____

These days, Yingzhou held festivals every day—parading flower palanquins, lighting incense. Long tables lined the streets, laden with pork ingots, rib slabs, and boiled white eel. The benches were full of familiar faces.

As Chu Kuang passed, the Lei Ze soldiers popped up from every direction, winking and shouting:

“Ah Chu, heard you’ve been holed up with His Highness lately. Bet you’ve been getting up to more mischief, eh?”

“So tell us—do we call you Brother Chu, or Lady Fang now?”

He was annoyed. Perhaps it was Ruyi Guard’s words still lingering in his mind, but today the usual vulgar banter pricked like needles. Ignoring the soldiers, he quickened his pace, but they wouldn’t let up:

“So who’s on top, huh?”

“If Ah Chu dares top His Highness, he’ll lose his head for sure!”

One leered, “What’s His Highness’s ass taste like, huh?”

Chu Kuang growled, “If you lot keep spouting filth, I’ll cut off your dicks and stuff them down your throats. See how that tastes.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. The soldiers saw he meant it and scattered. Still fuming, Chu Kuang felt someone seize his wrist.

He spun, snarling, “What now?!”

The grip was firm—he couldn’t shake it off. He turned—and saw Fang Jingyu.

He didn’t know why Fang Jingyu had appeared on the bridge just then, but there he was, his dark robes fluttering, eyes lowered as he said sternly:

“No foul language.”

Chu Kuang’s face went pale, then flushed. He wrenched his arm free and stalked off, furious. Fang Jingyu followed briskly. After several steps, Chu Kuang barked, “Your Highness, do you have nothing better to do? Planning to follow me even to take a piss?”

“The Lei Ze ship is in this direction. I was picking up medicine and heading back.”

“What I say or don’t say has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re my servant. Speaking like a guttersnipe disgraces the household.” Fang Jingyu sighed. “Why this sudden change? The soldiers were only teasing, as always. You never cared before. Why so angry now?”

Chu Kuang was irritated. Ruyi Guard’s warning echoed in his mind. He was getting too close to Fang Jingyu. That was a mistake. He was Fang Jingyu’s older brother and his retainer. What they’d done before—kissing, fooling around—might be excused as a lost bet, or a mishap under the influence of drug. But from now on, he had to keep his distance.

Fang Jingyu, meanwhile, found his mood swings baffling. Just yesterday, Chu Kuang had seemed content, yet now he was cold again.

Suddenly, Chu Kuang’s face went white. His eyes fixed on something behind Fang Jingyu with a look of terror. Fang Jingyu turned but saw nothing.

“What is it?”

Chu Kuang stood frozen, staring past him in silence. In the fine rain, Yingzhou faded into mist. The whispers grew louder, clearer, calling his name:

“Chu Kuang—Chu Kuang—”

And just behind Fang Jingyu, a shadow stood. Clad in black robes, wearing a silver mask engraved with a swan goose.

His master—whom only he could see—stood silently, watching.