HCAW 101

Chapter 101: Sinking Deeper

Outside the shed, light frost and a dusting of snow; behind a wind-blocking wooden door, it was warm as spring.

Dead branches crackled in the fire, the flames blooming like a fierce and radiant flower. Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang were huddled together in thick clothes, tightly embracing, their bodies joined with no space in between, entwined like tangled vines. Chu Kuang was buried against Fang Jingyu’s shoulder, still letting out those soft, cat-like cries, slipping past clenched teeth with every thrust.

“Damn gourd… dog-fucked master…” Chu Kuang had no fire left in him, murmuring curses while being entered, brows tightly knit, sucking in cold breaths from time to time, biting Fang Jingyu’s shoulder hard. Fang Jingyu caught sight of a dog-shaped brand seared into that pale neck—so stark it hurt the eyes.

He reached out and gently stroked the rough scar. Chu Kuang trembled, letting out a weak, pleading sound. Fang Jingyu loosened his arms slightly. Chu Kuang’s face flushed faintly, a dazed, dreamlike look in his eyes as he glanced back, lips slightly parted, a thin line of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth.

That pale, delicate face was veiled in misty vulnerability—hard not to feel pity. Every time he looked at that face, Fang Jingyu couldn’t help but see his older brother in Chu Kuang. But now he hesitated: if it were his brother, he’d fight to the death before doing such a thing. Yet Chu Kuang had agreed without resistance—this didn’t seem like Fang Minsheng.

As thoughts swirled chaotically in his mind, he heard Chu Kuang crying out in broken curses: “Little braying donkey… damned gourd seed…”

He leaned in and gently bit Chu Kuang’s earlobe, replying to the filth with tender, heated whispers:

“Brother Minsheng.”

Chu Kuang shuddered, his eyes suddenly tight, and snapped, “You’re… talking nonsense again!” Fang Jingyu gasped, “Don’t bite so hard.” Chu Kuang lay slumped against his shoulder, grumbling, “If you admire your brother that much, go marry his memorial tablet!”

After a while, between whimpers, Chu Kuang asked pitifully, “Damn gourd, how many dragon iron… are embedded in your body?”

“A hundred and twenty-six.”

“Even in that cudgel of yours… don’t tell me you’ve got some there too?”

Fang Jingyu replied, “If I did, I wouldn’t be letting you off so easy right now.”

Chu Kuang tried to keep rambling, but was silenced by a kiss. Outside, the wind rose and snow fell. Inside, the fire flickered, casting dancing shadows. Within that play of light, they moved in rhythm. They grew ever more familiar with each other’s bodies, learning what brought pleasure. At last, Chu Kuang was drained, voice hoarse:

“Your Highness, do what you like. You haven’t taken a consort yet anyway, so I guess this wretch has to be the one to take the pounding.”

He spoke between gasps, eyes shut tight, as if he refused to see Fang Jingyu’s face. In the past, when he was forced to lie with strangers, he’d always try to console himself through the pain—that spending the night with someone he didn’t know was merely a punishment. But now, rolling with Fang Jingyu, it felt like a torturous indulgence in forbidden wine.

They were brothers, ruler and subject, officier and criminal—two incompatible men, like two beasts with sharp horns, doomed to wound each other the closer they got.

Snow fell silently. Wood cracked softly in the flames. In the end, Chu Kuang lay between his thighs, expertly cleaning him with his mouth. Then he rinsed his mouth with winter aster tea, swallowed it all without spitting any out.

Fang Jingyu lay there in a daze, face flushed red. It was always like this—every time they fooled around, they ended up making another terrible mistake. But Chu Kuang, so skilled in affairs of the bed, seemed to grow clumsier whenever it came to Fang Jingyu, as if his feelings muddled his sense. Once dressed, Chu Kuang finally lay down, but with his back turned, sulking in silence.

“What’s wrong, why are you angry now?” Fang Jingyu rolled him over, pressed his forehead to his, and asked softly.

“Not angry. If Your Highness wants pleasure, I can only oblige. After all, if the ruler demands the subject’s death, the subject must die; if the ruler wants to fuck the subject, the subject just has to take it.”

Chu Kuang turned his face away stubbornly, burying it deep into his clothes like a huddled quail, a storm of emotions inside him. Fang Jingyu, of course, had no idea what he was thinking. But Chu Kuang was starting to realize— the more he did this with Fang Jingyu, the closer they got, the harder it was to admit that he was Fang Minsheng. Even though they weren’t blood-related, they were still brothers. For brothers to behave like husband and wife—it was unnatural.

Fang Jingyu said, “It’s my fault. I only meant to tease you, but you went too far, eagerly offering yourself to my bed.”

Chu Kuang grew furious and bit his shoulder. “Nonsense!” But he was tired after all, and only fussed for a moment before leaning against him and falling asleep. Fang Jingyu gazed at his sleeping face, unable to suppress a wave of regret. After all this effort, he still couldn’t get the truth out of Chu Kuang. Was Chu Kuang really his brother? That question remained unanswered.

But thinking back, though his brother had always seemed gentle and refined, deep down he had a stubborn streak too. He often took beatings from their father just to cover for him. In that regard, Chu Kuang was very much like Fang Minsheng.

Fang Jingyu let out a quiet sigh and pulled Chu Kuang into his arms. That body was so thin, like it would fall apart at a touch.

A sudden pang of sorrow welled up in his chest. At last, he closed his eyes. In the boundless night, the two of them drifted into sleep together.

_____

The next morning, when Fang Jingyu awoke, Chu Kuang had already rekindled the fire and was cooking carp soup in the pot. A rich, savory aroma filled the shed. Chu Kuang seemed to have been up early, pacing around the shed in a suspiciously secretive manner.

After Fang Jingyu washed up by the stream and returned, he noticed a few fresh green sprigs floating on the soup—just-picked purslane. Chu Kuang stared at him coolly, placing a bowl on the ground and nudging it forward.

“You’re still sulking?”

Chu Kuang replied frostily, “As long as Your Highness doesn’t… finish inside next time, I won’t be mad.”

Fang Jingyu flushed slightly, though he masked it with a calm expression. “So there’s going to be a next time?”

The words had barely landed before Chu Kuang pounced, fists and kicks flying as they wrestled each other in a whirlwind of dust. Red-eyed and flustered, Chu Kuang shouted, “Shut up—shut up! You lousy mutt, always bullying me!”

They scuffled until they were covered in grime. Fang Jingyu, pinned beneath him, nearly got a black eye. “When did I ever bully you? You’re the one who keeps fooling me!”

“I’m not that clever, and you always push me around,” Chu Kuang retorted. “You’ve tricked me into this more than once!”

Fang Jingyu, guilt-ridden, admitted honestly, “Sorry. You can have your revenge later. However many times you want to, your turn.”

“Bah! Like I’d want that!” Chu Kuang yelled.

They bickered some more before finally settling down to eat the fish soup and prepare to head out. The deeper they walked toward Yuanqiao, the thicker and greener the woods became.

Along the way, Chu Kuang kept his distance. Every time Fang Jingyu drew closer, Chu Kuang would step back, like the opposite poles of a compass. They wandered for some time, and just as the sky began to darken, a strange howling wind rose from afar. Through the haze, vague black shapes stirred.

A sudden chill swept over Fang Jingyu, making his hair stand on end. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword. To his surprise, Chu Kuang had already moved to stand protectively in front of him.

No more pretense, no more sulking—Chu Kuang’s expression was sharp and serious. “Your Highness, do you see it?”

Fang Jingyu looked into the woods. There, within the trees, black figures danced. He nodded. “Of course I see them.”

“The shadow that smashed the monk’s face at Jinshan Temple must have fled here. That’s them,” Chu Kuang said, unstrapping Fan Ruo from his back. “I’ll go scout.”

“You’re the archer. You should stay behind. I’ll go,” Fang Jingyu responded, drawing his sword and stepping past him. Chu Kuang couldn’t stop him and had to yield.

The cold wind picked up as leaves fell like rain. Fang Jingyu moved cautiously forward. The trees gave way to a clearing, where several black figures were kicking around a leaf-stuffed ball, playing like mischievous children. Their muddy heads, seven eyes, and slick limbs were strange, but they laughed and squealed like ordinary folk.

When they noticed him, they paused and stared with curious expressions. Fang Jingyu faltered. These beings were nothing like the savage attacker from the temple; they resembled the gentle monks of Yuanqiao.

What was going on?

Just then, one of them picked up the ball with a tentacle and held it out to him as a gesture of goodwill. Fang Jingyu’s heart softened, and he hesitated to approach—but in that moment, an arrow flew, striking one of the creatures in the eye!

The creature let out a shriek, and the others scattered in terror. Fang Jingyu whirled around and shouted, “Chu Kuang, don’t hurt them!”

He felt sure these weren’t the murderers they were after. But when he turned, Chu Kuang wore a confused expression too. “Your Highness, I didn’t shoot…”

Suddenly, the wind grew sharper, branches creaked, and shadows surged from the forest. They were mostly common folk in rough clothes and straw sandals—laborers, cooks—but their faces were twisted with greed. Among them were monks in robes. And then Fang Jingyu spotted a familiar figure—one of the temple’s visitors from the day before, the man who had cried out after falling.

Realization dawned. Fang Jingyu’s face turned cold. “You set us up?”

The man chuckled. “You two clearly aren’t from around here and don’t understand how precious ‘Immortal Elixir’ is—like jade among stones. I just said a few words, and you fell right into the trap. Thanks to your help in tracking them down, we get to enjoy the spoils.”

“And why are you after them?” Fang Jingyu asked.

Someone barked, “You clueless brat! That’s no ‘shadow’—it’s ‘Immortal Elixir’ that everyone craves!”

Weapons gleamed as they closed in. Fang Jingyu thought of the monks who had been forced to hide away in Yuanqiao—especially the elder nun with a floral bowl on her face. Her words echoed in his mind: “To hold a jade is to invite trouble.”

Now he understood. These seven-eyed, nine-limbed creatures were being hunted in Daiyu not because they were dangerous—but because their flesh could heal wounds and grant strength. Dismembered and sold, they became “Immortal Elixir.” The locals had tricked Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang into doing their dirty work.

As the mob surged forward, Fang Jingyu gripped his sword. But just then—fwip fwip!—a series of nets sprang up from the ground, followed by screams. Dust filled the air as thick hunting nets wrapped around the would-be attackers, binding them into a writhing mass.

Fang Jingyu stared in shock, then realized what had happened: these were the trap nets Chu Kuang had insisted on buying. So that was what he had been up to all morning—quietly setting traps around.

The nets were strong, and the locals couldn’t break free. Cries and curses erupted as they struggled in vain.

Chu Kuang stood nearby, arms crossed with smug satisfaction. “Your Highness, see? I’m not that dim after all. That’s called ‘mantis stalking cicada… while the hound waits behind!’”¹ “The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole (or bird) behind.”

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  “The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole (or bird) behind.”