HCAW 117

Chapter 117: A Moment, A Thousand Autumns

Chu Kuang stepped out of the crumbling house. It was midday; the sun hung high, and the sky and streets were as bright as a sheet of white paper. Shadows pressed close beneath his feet, yet the cold wind whistled sharply, carrying the same unchanging chill of years past.

Zheng Deli was sitting in the narrow alley. When he saw Chu Kuang, he stood and called out:

“Brother Chu.”

“Have you made up your mind?”

Zheng Deli nodded. Chu Kuang handed him the Hanguang Sword. Beneath the sharkskin scabbard were a dark robe and a bamboo hat—clothing that Fang Jingyu had worn earlier. Zheng Deli accepted them with both hands, and his heart sank as if they weighed a thousand catties. His gaze unconsciously drifted toward the house. “Will Jingyu… come after us?”

Chu Kuang sighed. “He’s too weak right now to even get up. I’ve told Ah Que to take His Highness to Yuanqiao.”

“Jingyu must be feeling incredibly unreconciled right now. When we first left Yingzhou, we had dozens of righteous soldiers from Yingzhou with us. But after all the twists and turns, in the end, we only managed to save one.”

“A single life is still a life. Even if it’s only one person, His Highness’s journey was not in vain.”

Zheng Deli lowered his gaze and smiled faintly. “Brother Chu, do you know about those bone fragments I always carried when we left Penglai?”

Chu Kuang replied, “I heard they were a parting gift from your father—ancient historical records.”

“Indeed. The script on them is twisted and obscure, but they record events yet to come. The Bai Huan Guard had fragments too, and she told me: if you link them and read, you can divine a coming event. They said only I would make it out of the gate alive. Everyone else would perish here.”

Chu Kuang’s expression grew solemn, but he still gave a snort of laughter. “That’s not a funny story.”

Zheng Deli continued, “But you and Jingyu gave me a glimmer of hope. Maybe the future won’t play out exactly as the bones predicted. Maybe those of us left really can make it beyond Daiyu without losing a single one. I choose to believe in that. I’m willing to stake everything on it.”

Chu Kuang gave a sharp laugh. “Not losing a single one isn’t going to happen. At the very least, I’ve already decided I’m dying here today.”

Zheng Deli laughed as well. “I probably won’t make it either. But if I don’t, that will prove the prophecy about only me surviving is nonsense. It would mean the others besides me can live—and make it past the pass.”

The two men gazed at each other, as if wanting to etch the other’s image deep into their eyes. They both knew this journey might be their last farewell. Chu Kuang raised a fist; Zheng Deli reached out, and their fists met gently.

Chu Kuang said solemnly, “Young Master Zheng, I do hope you’re not so eager to rush to the underworld. If you die here today, not even the history books will record your name. You’ll die a nameless pawn. No glory for a hundred generations—no legacy at all. The world will forget you. Only if you reach Guixu can your name echo through the ages.”

“If one can die for righteousness, why care for fame?”

“You’ve got backbone, Young Master Zheng. I’m not like you—I’m a petty man who craves fame and profit.”

They smiled at each other again. Zheng Deli looked at Chu Kuang. The youth before him was thin and tall, with features as sharp and cold as if carved from a blade. From their first meeting, Chu Kuang had been an enigma—he seemed mad and broken, yet in truth was cunning and meticulous, at times heartless, and at times full of emotion and loyalty.

Suddenly, Zheng Deli grew serious. “Brother Chu, did Jingyu ever tell you? I once had another name—Zheng Chengyi. I was always one who gave himself for justice. So today, if I must risk everything for Jingyu, it is a duty I must bear. Even if you try to stop me today, you won’t succeed.”

“You’ve said it like that—how could I stop you? But hearing you say that reminded me of something.”

Chu Kuang smiled gently and looked at him with sincerity.

“I, too, once had a name—Fang Minsheng.”

Two swift horses burst out of the alley, charging toward the Daiyu Iron Cavalry clad in armor and bearing golden halberds, like a raging storm. One of the riders wore short sleeves and tight cuffs, exuding youthful arrogance.

Before the cavalry could react, they saw him draw his bow and release seven arrows in rapid succession. The arrow shadows were like wolf fangs, piercing through eyes and skulls with ease. In an instant, they were chilled to the bone. Someone cried out:

“That’s—King Yama!”

It was indeed a young man who looked like a King Yama—his black hair loose, one of his pupils blood-red, unsettling to behold. He reminded people of the general who once slit his throat at Wu River¹Xiang Yu (项羽), a famous military leader and warlord during the late Qin Dynasty.. Chu Kuang charged on horseback; with each twang of his bowstring, someone fell. In his eyes, the silver-masked figure appeared again, smiling and calling to him, “Chu Kuang.”

Chu Kuang nodded slightly. Ever since he ate the meat slices, he’d often seen illusions of his master. His master could guide and speak to him—more than an illusion, it felt like a living soul. Seeing his master now brought not fear, but warmth. He knew he was not alone—his master was still by his side.

The silver-masked man said, “I have already passed all my knowledge to you. Do not be bound. Strike with the claws and fangs of a beast—leave your enemies with no armor intact.”

Chu Kuang said, “How could I dare compare with you, Master? You were the Tianfu Guard. I’m still far beneath you.”

The silver-masked man shook his head. “If you are willing, I will not only be the Tianfu Guard, but also Fang Minsheng.”

His ghostly hand lightly touched Chu Kuang’s shoulder. “You are me. And I am you.”

The Xian Mountain officiers advanced with double-curved shields, but the youth with the red eye suddenly drew a sword. The blade was pitch black, without a hint of light—when swung, it was like a still wind in the dead of night. No one could react in time. It was the Chengying Sword, a gift from Emperor himself. He charged like a reaping ghost, unstoppable in his path. Beside him was a man in a bamboo hat and a dark cloak patterned with peach blossoms, Hanguang Sword at his waist—undoubtedly Fang Jingyu.

Chu Kuang shouted low to him, “Your Highness, I’ll cover the rear—go, now!”

The man nodded, squeezed his horse’s flanks, and galloped toward Daiyu’s city gate. The cavalry, seeing this, spurred their horses to intercept.

But at that moment, Chu Kuang raised the Chengying Sword and slashed across the air. In a breath, a row of armored heads dropped to the ground as if wheat had been cut by a scythe—blood and flesh flying, black foul water gushing like mud.

The cavalry arrayed themselves in formation, preparing to press forward like a mountain of ten thousand fathoms. Yet Chu Kuang did not panic—because he heard his master’s voice at his ear:

“Go. I will lend you a hand.”

In Chu Kuang’s vision, the silver-masked man shot forward like a fully drawn bow, wielding a sword identical to the Chengying Sword in his own hand. Wherever the silver-masked man passed, horses neighed and men screamed. Lamellar armor, bright plate mail, heart-protecting mirrors—all split under his blade like soft beans and milk.

This was the power of the Tianfu Guard: unstoppable, like a spear thrust through bamboo. Chu Kuang’s spirit wavered; the clash of metal and thunder of drums surrounded him, yet he seemed to be lost in a dream. Suddenly, he jolted awake and realized the master’s figure had vanished. The one holding Chengying and fighting with all his might wasn’t his master’s shadow—it was himself!

Flashes of light and shadow flickered before his eyes—presumably the memories of his master: rumbling carts, shattered iron armor, chaotic drums, a lone figure slipping through enemy ranks, casting bloody rain in every direction. These were all battlefields his master had once experienced as the Tianfu Guard.

Dream and reality merged. His surroundings grew clearer—cavalry thrusting spears from horseback, foot soldiers swinging maces and twin-hooked lances, stabbing from all sides, piercing his body. Two fists could never beat four hands—let alone one man facing ten thousand. And yet, though stabbed and slashed into a porcupine of blades, Chu Kuang still made his enemies tremble and retreat. They saw a red double pupil glaring with a blade-like gaze that cut into their hearts. Everyone who met his eyes shuddered: this was a man-eating demon! Blades pierced the demon’s flesh and tore open his belly, yet nothing could halt his steps.

Amidst the searing pain, Chu Kuang panted and opened his blood-soaked palm—still clutched within it was a slice of meat, glistening with ominous blackness.

He wondered—after eating this slice of meat, what would he become?

These past days, though the headaches had faded, the hallucinations worsened, often blurring dream and reality. His wounds no longer healed easily, and his limbs were gradually stained with the dark hue of the Ming Sea. He knew well he was following in his master’s footsteps. And yet, to fulfill his vow, he was willing to become a vengeful ghost.

The sun hung high like a great eye, watching his every move, casting a blinding light across the land. Chu Kuang shut his eyes, tilted back his head, and dumped the meat into his mouth, swallowing it all.

In that instant, the visions in his mind grew sharper: the battlefield was ablaze with war, the Milky Way trembling with battle cries. A man in silver-leafed white armor rode a warhorse, heroic and dazzling.

Chu Kuang felt a jolt of dread—this was Emperor Bai of the past. Some deep, fated pull had been guiding him to chase this legacy all the way to Daiyu.

And at that moment, Daiyu Xian Mountain officiers recoiled in terror. They saw a bloodied beast crawling from the underworld, eyes sharp like an eagle, wounds rapidly healing under the meat’s power—a monster that could not be killed, come to claim their lives. Chaos erupted.

“Retreat… retreat! We can’t match him!” someone in front shouted.

But another group yelled, “Cowards and gutless worms! Just one injured boy—what’s to fear? All forward!”

Yet that ghostly figure drew arrows and strung his bow. Each shot cracked like thunder, and every arrow pierced an enemy’s eye. When cavalry drew near, he met them with blood-red, vicious eyes and swung Chengying in wild, swift arcs. His momentum surged like a charging bull. The Xian Mountain officiers around him fell like severed kites. Screams rang out in succession.

Suddenly, Chu Kuang felt his heart lurch. The visions vanished—he woke as if from a dream. Reality returned, and with it, unbearable pain. He looked down and saw several blades lodged in his body; he had been stabbed through like a beast of bronze quills. Though unstoppable before, he had fought too long —his injuries had grown too severe to endure.

“He’s done for—kill him! Capture the escaped son of Emperor Bai!”

The Xian Mountain officiers roared like thunder. Cavalry pressed in, torches igniting thunder bombs, hurling them at him. Chu Kuang seized the moment, and before the fuse burned down, he struck the thunder bomb with his leather scabbard, knocking it back into the ranks.

The iron casing exploded among the cavalry with a deafening blast. Their armor couldn’t withstand the shock. Screams filled the air, limbs flew, and Chu Kuang broke out through the wave of flames. The thunder bomb shredded iron cavalry and foot soldiers alike, spraying black ichor everywhere. These were all clones of the Gu Bi Guard—the more he killed, the more he sapped his strength.

“I won’t let you… chase His Highness!” Chu Kuang gasped, his expression ferocious and terrifying. Anyone who tried to bypass him to pursue the man in the peach-patterned cloak was cut down like madmen. Chu Kuang roared hoarsely:

“As long as I’m here—no one takes another step toward His Highness! No one!”

His hair hung loose, face splattered with blood, and that double red pupil locked onto his enemies, making even seasoned warriors tremble in fear. Amid the sprays of blood, he killed several Daiyu cavalrymen—but his injuries worsened, until someone drove a sword straight through his back.

Just then, the black water on the ground pooled and took shape—condensing into a humanoid form. The Gu Bi Guard emerged from within: graceful, but brows tightly furrowed in fury toward Chu Kuang.

“So you came after all, Tianfu Guard,” the Gu Bi Guard growled with hatred. “You’re always so arrogant and reckless, looking down on everyone. Do you really think you alone can break through Daiyu’s city gate? This isn’t your little Xian Moutain playground—this is the Three Xian Mountains under my command!”

The Gu Bi Guard sent his consciousness into the distant cavalry—and saw that, thanks to Chu Kuang’s distraction, the man in the peach-patterned cloak had broken through the encirclement and was riding straight toward the city gate. The Gu Bi Guard cursed himself inwardly—Chu Kuang had drawn his focus, and he had forgotten Fang Jingyu. But no matter—once he killed this arrogant fool, he could stop Fang Jingyu afterward.

Chu Kuang stared at the Gu Bi Guard, panting heavily. His lungs were pierced, and he couldn’t speak—each breath brought a spray of blood. Even so, he mouthed the words in silence: Spare me the nonsense.

The Gu Bi Guard seemed provoked, his face twisting with hate, his gaze crawling like worms across Chu Kuang’s bloodied face. At last, he forced his expression calm and sneered:

“Fine. Draw your sword. Let’s see who’s better!”

In an instant, that elegant youth’s figure disintegrated again. Black sludge burst like a flower blooming, boiling violently. The land for ten li in every direction was filled with churning, flowing black mud. At the center of this tide, Chu Kuang surged forward like the tip of an arrow, swift as thunder. The Chengying Sword in his hand became a black arc, piercing straight for the Gu Bi Guard’s heart.

Black mud sprayed, staining heaven and earth in moments. When the sludge dispersed, a sharp metallic clang rang out—Chu Kuang slowly sank to his knees. Blood spread beneath him. This solitary vanguard had finally fallen here, his spear broken.

The cavalry slowly approached, forming a wall around him. The Gu Bi Guard emerged from the mud, his expression indifferent, without the slightest trace of emotion. When the foot soldiers hauled Chu Kuang up, blood poured from his battered body in a flood. Yet those blood-red pupils still glared viciously at the Gu Bi Guard.

“Take him away,” the Gu Bi Guard said coldly, turning away. “Everyone else—pursue the son of Emperor Bai. Do not let him escape my grasp.”

But who could have predicted that the moment Chu Kuang heard the words “son of Emperor Bai,” he began to struggle again. The Xian Mountain officiers felt as if they were holding down a dragon turning in the earth—within a blink, an immense force sent them flying. Chu Kuang’s eyes bulged with fury, blood pouring from his mouth. With a flick of his foot, he kicked up a fallen broken sword and caught it, charging once more toward the Gu Bi Guard!

Instantly, black tentacles shot out from all sides, impaling him. Sludge erupted from the Gu Bi Guard’s body, weaving into a great net that ensnared Chu Kuang at the center like a moth caught in a web, suspending him in the air.

The Gu Bi Guard’s face was expressionless. Chu Kuang’s battered body had never stood a chance against him—like a moth throwing itself into the fire.

So he bent down, picked up the Chengying Sword, and without hesitation, drove it through Chu Kuang’s chest.

______

The alley twisted deep, and shadows gave chase like a black cloud blocking the sky. Zheng Deli, head covered in a bamboo hat, peach-patterned cloak swirling, felt his heartbeat thundering, as if it might burst from his chest.

He glanced back quickly—what he saw were not armored troops, but common people of Daiyu in short-sleeved garments. Yet their pupils were pitch black, faces blank and stiff. Zheng Deli was horrified: a horde of walking corpses, their minds enslaved by the Gu Bi Guard!

Just before departure, he had donned the clothes Chu Kuang handed him, disguising himself as Fang Jingyu to head for Daiyu’s city gate. Chu Kuang had sworn to protect him with his life, to divert the Gu Bi Guard’s suspicion. During this diversion, the only Yingzhou soldier rescued—Ah Que—would take the unconscious Fang Jingyu to Yuanqiao. He and Chu Kuang were decoys, sacrificial pawns.

Suddenly, a mounted unit appeared ahead—Daiyu cavalry wielding long sabers. Spears, swords, and arrows flew like a locust swarm. Zheng Deli swung his cloak to cover his left hand, pretending it had been severed, but he was still struck by several arrows. Gritting through the searing pain, he drew a fire lance from his chest. He’d taken it from Chu Kuang’s gear, intending to use it for self-defense. It was already loaded with black powder and cast-iron shot. He lit the fuse and fired at the charging cavalry.

A thunderous bang erupted. A tongue of fire flared through the air—though it missed the riders, it spooked their horses, throwing them off course. Zheng Deli, drenched in sweat, seized the chance to bolt forward. All around him, the chaos roared like heaven collapsing.

In that breath, countless thoughts surged through his mind. On the edge of life and death, he suddenly remembered those days back in Penglai—skipping classes, sneaking medical books, carrying dumplings with fine filling to play with Xiao Jiao, drinking tea with Fang Jingyu in the quiet little courtyard. Those peaceful days now seemed infinitely precious.

He recalled the day he left. Xiao Feng under the locust tree, her eyes bright as autumn waters. He said to her, “I’m leaving.” She nodded with a smile and replied, “I’ll wait for you.”

He remembered the Bai Huan Guard showing him the bone fragments with solemn expression: “You are the only one who can leave Daiyu’s city gate and pass through the Taoyuan Stone Gate—you are the child of destiny.”

He remembered his father’s emaciated hand resting on his shoulder. His father had told him: “Withdraw, and you become no more than a common man, dragging out a wretched life. Step forward, and you die with dignity, a glorious death.”

All these thoughts tangled and converged into one image: a stage raised at Jinshan Temple, surrounded by thunderous cheers, with Xiao Jiao in red robes, radiant, sword raised high as she cried: “To leave a kindness unpaid is no way to meet again. To see injustice and do nothing is no courage at all!”

The cavalry surged toward him like feral crocodiles in a flood. Zheng Deli’s hands trembled as he loaded another iron shot and fired—this time striking a rider’s helmet, knocking him from his horse. But Zheng Deli had not seen another pursuer from the side—he was struck across the back by a curved saber, and blood gushed like a spring.

The blow made him drop the lance, leaving only a small pouch of iron filings in his hand. He had never trained in martial arts; with all his strength, he could at most take one man with him. Now his vision blurred, hands shook, ears rang—he stuffed the filings into the barrel, but the cavalry were already upon him, surrounding him like wind and storm. Blades glinted white all around—there was no path left.

Daiyu Xian Mountain officiers shouted:

“Surround him! Capture Emperor Bai’s son!”

Zheng Deli gritted his teeth, raised the fire lance with all his might, body soaked in sweat and trembling. He knew this was the moment he had to decide. He had always been a supporting character—if he would ever be a leading man, it was now. And yet this was a play without an audience. As Chu Kuang had told him—if he died today, no one would know.

Zheng Deli kept asking himself: “To die here—would it be worth it?”

He had spoken bold words, but was still human. Now, in the grip of fear and trembling, he had no choice but to keep moving forward. He asked again: “If I die here, and still can’t save Jingyu—what then? Would it all be for nothing?”

Suddenly, he bit down hard on the tip of his tongue. Stop the nonsense! All he had to do was focus. Fang Jingyu, Chu Kuang, Xiao Jiao, the old Langgan Guard, the Yingzhou soldiers—who among them hadn’t risked their lives again and again, just to break through the pass? Now it was simply his turn for peril. Zheng Deli took a deep breath, raised the barrel once more—but this time, not toward his enemy.

He aimed it at his own face.

Cicadas live underground for over ten years, only to sing for a single summer. A strange sense of fate settled over him—as if his whole life had led to this moment. Even if it meant descending to the Yellow Springs today—for this one instant, it would be worth more than living ten thousand years.

Amid the chaos, a sharp explosion rang out. Fire flashed. The cavalry saw the man in the peach-patterned cloak fall from his horse.

“What happened?”

“Looks like the gun backfired! Stupid brat missed us and got himself killed!”

As they gathered around, the Xian Mountain officiers found the man already collapsed, bamboo hat rolled aside, cloak stained with blood. His face and left hand had been blown apart by the iron shrapnel from the misfired gun—he was clearly beyond saving. A cheer broke out—the great threat to the Gu Bi Guard was finally eliminated. All around, men celebrated, whistled, and shouted.

A sedan chair was brought up. His body was placed on it. Everyone believed without question that this was the son of Emperor Bai, and that he had died from his own foolish blunder. No one knew the struggles and pain that had preceded his death. No one guessed that a moth had flown into the fire—not to survive, but simply to die without revealing its true face.

The sedan was quickly carried off toward the royal palace. The cavalry withdrew. The noise faded. The streets fell silent and cold once more.

Only a large pool of blood flowed between the cracks of the blue bricks, warm and bright red, as if forming a paper-cut window decoration.

• 1
  Xiang Yu (项羽), a famous military leader and warlord during the late Qin Dynasty.