HCAW 85

Chapter 85: The Heart of an Old Friend

Within the Lei Ze ship, the soldiers raised their cups in song. The table was laden with rare delicacies, and the bowls brimmed with broth.

This was the most carefree night the people of Yingzhou had ever known. Everyone toasted Fang Jingyu and his companions with joy and congratulations. Chu Kuang no longer sulked either, burying himself in sugar crisps. That night, there was no one who didn’t drink and sing in merriment until morning.

After resting for several more days, the group finally finished preparing their belongings and was ready to set off. On the day of departure, everyone gathered at the foot of Qingyu Gao Mountain. Nearly all of Yingzhou had come to see them off—heads stretched as far as the eye could see.

At that moment, the morning light broke through, and a fine misty rain fell from the sky. The Ruyi Guard also came to see them off, smiling as she said to Fang Jingyu:

“Your Highness, beyond Yingzhou lie Yuanqiao, Fanghu, and Daiyu. I will remain here, thinking of you all. Once the Yingzhou floating boats are repaired and the time is right, I’ll follow your trail. For now, take care on the road ahead.”

Fang Jingyu nodded, thinking back on everything that had happened in Yingzhou—it felt like a dream. They had arrived as fugitives, yet had become hosts, defeating the Yu Ji Guard at a great cost of blood. But there was one thing even more important—

He turned to glance at Chu Kuang, who was still dressed in filthy clothes, hunched over, chewing on a candied fruit with his cheeks puffed out like a hungry rat. Fang Jingyu’s face flushed as he wondered how he had ended up sleeping with this man. Ever since that wild night, their relationship had become muddled—entangled in an inexplicable mess.

As for the road beyond Yingzhou, few in this world knew it. The Xian Mountains were isolated from one another, and the people living there rarely had contact. This time, Mule once again volunteered to be their guide. Years ago, the Bai Huan Guard had followed Emperor Bai on his expedition and was well-acquainted with the lands between the Xian Mountains. As his descendant, Mule also had some knowledge of the path to Fanghu.

Si Chen also came to see them off. For the first time, she had carefully dressed herself—lip rouge and powdered cheeks, wearing a blue robe with a floral sash, her girlish charm fully displayed. Since the Yu Ji Guard had been slain, Yingzhou had seen sun after rain, and her expression had also cleared, no longer dark and stormy. She smiled and bowed to Fang Jingyu, saying, “I hope we may meet again, Your Highness.”

The Ruyi Guard chuckled beside her, “Fanghu is vast and wide. I hear the people there keep terns to send letters. It is said the terns live off the Ming Sea and are messengers of the Great Immortal Yonghe, with wings strong enough to cross ten thousand miles. If Your Highness is willing, you may use them to write to us. Just one word from you, and distance will not keep us apart.”

Fang Jingyu bowed repeatedly in thanks. Just then, the soldiers of Lei Ze camp raised a chorus of cheers. Looking closer, Fang Jingyu saw they were all dressed in stone-blue uniforms with black cloth headwraps—simple yet tidy. Suddenly someone shouted:

“We swear to follow His Highness out of the pass!”

The cry rang out like a stone tossed into still water, causing wave after wave of echoing voices: “We swear to follow His Highness out of the pass!”

For a moment, the deafening roars seemed to shake the clouds. Fang Jingyu was stunned. Sichen smiled and said, “I couldn’t stop them! They’ve all been inspired by Your Highness’ words and wish to follow you to Guixu. They all want to prove they’re not cowardly little shrimp!”

The soldiers stood solemnly at attention. Fang Jingyu recalled that, in order to boost morale, he had once challenged his fellow troops and made a bold offer to any who would accompany him to the Guixu. But it hadn’t truly come from his heart. After thinking a moment, he raised his hand and said, “There’s no need for you to come with me.”

The soldiers exchanged looks. After his rousing words, everyone had been fired up and had fought fiercely in the battle against the Yu Ji Guard, hoping to carve their names in history alongside the son of Emperor Bai. Now, to be refused, many were disheartened, their spirits deflated.

“Yingzhou still needs your strength,” Fang Jingyu sighed. “If you leave, who will support it? Who will repair the floating ships and bring new life to this place?”

His tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority. The soldiers bowed under his words. He added, “Just a few sailors to row and steer the boat will do. Too many people might raise suspicion at the Daiyu Pass.”

The crowd reflected in silence, but most understood his meaning—Fang Jingyu didn’t want them to abandon Yingzhou or Si Chen. He was gently reminding them of their duty.

Someone laughed, “Then let a few of us go with His Highness. After all, someone has to row—he can’t very well be both captain and rower.”

Thus a small group from the Lei Ze soldiers joined Fang Jingyu’s party. For the first time, Fang Jingyu stepped onto Qingyu Gao Mountain. Before him were elegant peaks shrouded in heavy mist, and verdant forest rolled out like green satin beneath his eyes.

By midday, they had climbed to the summit. Everyone was panting from the climb. Fang Jingyu looked out in all directions, seeing only the vast, boundless Ming Sea. The sea breeze stirred faint ripples, with no visible shore. He thought, “Strange. Yingzhou is surrounded by sea, yet there’s no end in sight. How are we to leave?”

Just then, someone shouted, “Your Highness, look! That’s the gate of Yingzhou!”

Fang Jingyu looked up—and was stunned. At the mountain’s peak stood a black stone plaque held aloft by four dark pillars, engraved with the words: “Yingzhou.” Below it was a pitch-black cave mouth, with a rope ladder of cowhide hanging down, leading into the unknown.

The Mule, guiding from the front, bowed and said, “Your Highness, this is the path out of Yingzhou.”

Fang Jingyu asked, “We climb down from here? Is Fanghu underground?”

The Mule replied, “Not underground—there’s a path beneath the water that leads to the Three Xian Mountains.”

Fang Jingyu couldn’t help thinking to himself—what a hassle, to build the exit at the mountaintop, only to climb all the way down into the ground again!

The group descended the rope ladder. In the darkness, time seemed to stretch endlessly, as if they had been climbing for centuries. After an unknown length of time, their feet finally touched solid ground. They continued walking forward for a long while until, upon looking up, they saw a chamber open up before them—spacious enough to hold a hundred people. Iron lampstands were embedded in the stone walls, still burning with shark oil lamps.

Mule said, “These are everlasting lamps left behind by the Yu Ji Guard. In the past, leaving the gate was strictly controlled—permits and bribes were indispensable. Once we pass through this iron gate, we’ll be officially out of Yingzhou.”

They saw a door standing ahead, made of fire-resistant century-old elm, lacquered and studded with iron. No Qingyu Gao Palace guards stood watch here. The Lei Ze soldiers removed the thick wooden bolt and pushed the door open—and the scene beyond left Fang Jingyu in shock once again.

The moment the door opened, a gust of salty sea breeze rushed in. Before his eyes was a vast, open sea.

But this sea was different from the Ming Sea—it was clear and blue, reflecting the sky and clouds, with distant green mountains rising from the waves. Fang Jingyu stared, speechless. “This… is this still the Ming Sea?”

“It is,” Mule replied. “But it can only be seen by taking the hidden passage from Qingyu Gao Mountain.” He pointed toward the mountains in the distance. “Your Highness, look closely—isn’t that mountain moving?”

Fang Jingyu looked carefully—and it truly was. The mountain was slowly shifting. He recalled what the Ruyi Guard had told him about the old legends of the Nine Provinces: that the other three Xian Mountains were borne on the backs of giant ao turtles, which swam the seas, carrying the mountains with them. He glanced aside and saw a seafaring vessel moored at the shore, its four sails folded.

“That’s the ship the Yu Ji Guard used for his sea voyages,” the Mule said. “Your Highness can see for yourself—the mountains move. If we don’t catch up now, we’ll be swept farther and farther away with the wind and currents! Choose your crew, and we’ll set sail.”

Since the journey ahead was long and food supplies limited, it wasn’t feasible to bring too many people. Fang Jingyu selected just over twenty sailors to accompany them; the rest remained behind in Yingzhou to repair the floating ships.

With the mooring lines cast off and the wind in their favor, the ship slowly pulled away from shore. Fang Jingyu stood at the stern, waving farewell to the people of Yingzhou. Along the densely packed crowd lining the shore, he spotted familiar faces: Si Chen, Ruyi Guard, the Lei Ze soldiers. As the ship drifted away, those faces grew smaller, until they were mere black specks like sesame seeds. Someone called out loudly:

“Your Highness—safe journey!”

The farewells were carried away by the wind. Fang Jingyu thought, fate is truly strange. It can bind strangers together and scatter those once close across distant lands.

His heart suddenly felt heavy. Back when Emperor Bai reached Guixu, he had still returned victorious. But he himself—so weak, so alone—likely had no path of return. All those he’d met in Yingzhou, the bloodshed and the sleepless nights, would be sealed in memory. Even the mighty Emperor Bai would leave barely a line in the annals of history, let alone countless nameless soldiers like them, swallowed in the sea of time.

But at least for now, he would remember everything in Yingzhou. With that thought, a rush of emotion broke open in his heart. Leaning over the side of the ship, Fang Jingyu called out loudly:

“My friends—until we meet again!”

Yingzhou faded into the distance as the ship sailed toward a new world. What awaited them ahead—joy or suffering, triumph or defeat—was still unknown.

Though they could vaguely see the silhouette of Fanghu in the distance, the journey there was far longer than expected. It would take many days to reach it.

In the days that followed, the group sat idly in the ship’s hold, each occupied with their own tasks. Zheng Deli studied the bone pieces daily, cross-referencing it with the booklet Ruyi Guard had given him. Eventually, he discerned the meaning of the inscription—and his face turned pale. He sat dumbfounded, no longer speaking to anyone. Aside from him, Xiao Jiao was also absentminded, sitting curled up with her knees hugged tight. Fang Jingyu spent his time speaking with the helmsmen and sailors, anxiously calculating how best to approach Fanghu.

Each person had their own worries—except for Chu Kuang, who continued eating and sleeping idly as usual. Fang Jingyu often reminded him to stay alert, so Chu Kuang begrudgingly borrowed paper, brush, and a medical text from Zheng Deli, pretending to be studious.

Chu Kuang started practicing with the character “一口紅”,¹separate characters: 一 = one 口 = mouth 紅 = red but no matter how much he wrote, he could only manage the character “一”. Being able to write even a single “口” was already a huge feat.

One day, Fang Jingyu entered the cabin and saw him sprawled on the floor, biting the end of his brush. Fang Jingyu flipped through his practice book and saw a page full of the character “丁”, so he asked, “What’s this supposed to be?”

Gnashing his teeth, Chu Kuang glared and replied, “Can’t you tell, you uncultured brute? That’s ‘clove’!”

Fang Jingyu turned another page and pointed at the character “七,” asking, “And this?”

“You illiterate buffoon, that’s ‘Seven-Star Sword’!”

“Why only the first characters? Where are the rest?”

“Why so impatient? They’re still on the way, haven’t made it into my head yet!” Chu Kuang snapped, scribbling furiously. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t remember—whatever clarity the meat slices had once granted was fading, and his mind was clouding again. Even the simplest words eluded him now.

Frustrated, Chu Kuang gave up writing and puffed his cheeks like a frog, glaring at Fang Jingyu. After a while, he muttered, “I can’t write any of these. Do you look down on me?”

Fang Jingyu looked at the notebook and sat down beside him. Chu Kuang warily scooted a few inches away, but saw Fang Jingyu dip his brush in ink and start writing. Peeking over, Chu Kuang could barely make out the characters for “red,” “clove,” “star,” and “sword.”

Fang Jingyu winked. “Master Chu, truth be told, I don’t know many strokes either, and my writing’s awful. If you know how to write the front parts, maybe teach me?”

Chu Kuang immediately picked up the brush in high spirits. He wrote “一口” in front of “紅,” added a “丁” before “香,” and filled in a “七” before “星劍.” After finishing, he put his hands on his hips and said proudly, “Look, little fool, your grandpa is still your grandpa—there’s no character too hard for me! I could make top scholar with my eyes closed!”

Fang Jingyu nodded, playing along, “Master, you’re amazing. When can you give me a few pointers so I can take the exams too?”

Chu Kuang flushed red, realizing he’d been teased, and shouted, “You’re hopeless—I can’t teach you. I’m done writing!”

Storming off in a huff, he didn’t notice Fang Jingyu quietly pull a hemp paper from his robes. On it, the words “五侯擁軒蓋” (Five Marquises Escort the Canopy. Or 5, 6, 7, 8) were scrawled in bold strokes.

Fang Jingyu stared at the writing, his gaze darkening. As a child, his older brother had guided his hand in learning to write. Back in Yingzhou, Chu Kuang had once written those very same words during a bout of clear-headedness. The strokes were so familiar—just like his brother’s handwriting.

He had long harbored suspicions about Chu Kuang’s identity, yet remained uncertain. If it were true, then all of Chu Kuang’s strangeness would make sense. But since Chu Kuang never admitted it, it might just as well be a coincidence.

He both hoped and feared that Chu Kuang was his brother. If Fang Minsheng were still alive, it would be the greatest comfort of his life. But if Chu Kuang truly was his brother, then the two of them had committed an unpardonable sin.

Fang Jingyu furrowed his brow tightly, folded the hemp paper, and tucked it away. Watching Chu Kuang’s retreating figure, he thought:

When will I gather enough proof to resolve this knot in my heart?

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  separate characters: 一 = one 口 = mouth 紅 = red