HCAW 157

Chapter 157: Riding the Wind, Breaking the Waves

With a thunderous crash, a massive block of solid ice collapsed. Snow spray flew as soldiers wielding ice picks scrambled aside. Once the dust settled, a roar of cheers surged through the crowd.

“Just a few more days of effort and we’ll break through this wall and see the world beyond!” a soldier shouted.

His cry was echoed by many. Soon, the rhythm of ice-chiseling rang out once more, persistent and unbroken.

Several months had passed in Guixi since they began hacking at the ice wall. It had grown thinner, bit by bit—but with ammunition exhausted, the people were left to rely on ramming it with iron-clad ships and chipping away by hand. The great ships had been smashed to pieces several times. Soldiers worked day and night to repair them, but the hulls and keels had been cracked too many times. Their strength was failing. With every failed strike, hope dimmed further, and faces grew more despondent.

That night, they built campfires beside the ice wall, warming themselves with burning liquor. Beyond the snow windbreaks, gales howled over the dome of the world. The stars above were pale—like pitiless eyes staring down at mortals.

A soldier from Yingzhou took a swig, hiccuped, and sighed: “We’ve given it our all. We even dismantled our Taoyuan stone gate back in Yingzhou. If food and water run out, we might really die here.”

Sichen scolded him. “Watch your mouth! Don’t talk nonsense in front of His Majesty!”

Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang sat quietly beside the fire, faces grim and silent.

Zheng Deli hurried to smooth things over. “Enough, enough. Arguing changes nothing. Better to think if there’s still any other way.”

Fang Jingyu suddenly spoke, sweeping his gaze across them. “Are you all still willing to follow me?”

The soldiers looked at each other. The liquor in their systems faded fast. They elbowed the one who had just spoken and began shouting at once:

“Your Majesty, don’t listen to that fool’s drunken blabber. We’re all loyal to the death!”

Fang Jingyu smiled faintly. “Even if this place is covered in wind and snow, and we’re left with nothing at all?”

“But we’ve got you, haven’t we?” they clamored. “You’re our new emperor!”

The dark-clad youth set down his birch bark cup, straightened his back, and said, “Let me be clear—though I’ve taken the throne from Emperor Bai, I do so only to stand with you all. I’ll only hold this title until the ice wall breaks.”

They looked at his hands, blood-blistered from weeks of labor. They knew how much Fang Jingyu had worked alongside them, hacking at the ice day after day without complaint. He didn’t act like royalty—he was one of them.

“Then… what happens after the wall is open?” someone finally asked, voice cautious.

Fang Jingyu exchanged a glance with Chu Kuang. Their eyes were like stars and moonlight, clear and deep. Chu Kuang’s hand inched over, and the two pressed their palms together.

Everyone held their breath, watching Fang Jingyu.

The dark-clad youth smiled and said, “After that—I’ll just be Fang Jingyu.”

After a few more rounds of drink, the soldiers passed out one by one. Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang were completely drunk, arms and legs tangled like gourd vines as they staggered back to their tent.

As soon as they got inside, Chu Kuang collapsed like a starfish. Fang Jingyu dragged a sealskin blanket over them and fell as well, wrapping them together.

Chu Kuang slurred, tugging at his clothes. “Your Majesty, now that you’re the emperor, can’t you appoint me a high official position?”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be Grand General—the best of all Xian Mountain Guards!” Chu Kuang grinned proudly. “Then even Dad would have to treat me with respect. We could drink without all that etiquette! I’d call him: ‘Little Xian Moutain Guard, bow three times to the Grand General.’ He wouldn’t dare stop at two!”

Fang Jingyu, also drunk, bit his ear. Chu Kuang yelped and slapped him across the face. Dizzy, Fang Jingyu muttered, “What Grand General? Worthless title. Want me to make you Empress instead?”

That sobered Chu Kuang up halfway. He pushed Fang Jingyu off and sat up, annoyed.

Fang Jingyu grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong?”

Chu Kuang said, “I just remembered—you’re royalty. You’ll need to have heirs someday, to secure the line. Being with me isn’t proper, and it’ll only get in your way.” As he spoke, he began rolling up his bedroll. “You’re grown now. Brothers in other families split up at this point. We should sleep separately. Otherwise, Dad will start muttering again.”

But Fang Jingyu tightened his grip, pulling him back down. The two crashed together again.

“Why the rush?” he asked. “Didn’t you hear what I said tonight? I’ll only be emperor until the ice wall is broken. After that, I’m just Fang Jingyu—the Fang Jingyu who can run wild with you. Concubines? I’ve never cared for anyone else. Just you.”

Chu Kuang grumbled, “Smooth-talking bastard… who knows what sweet lies you’ll use to trick me next?”

Fang Jingyu replied, “I’m emperor now. A ruler’s words are never spoken in jest.”

Chu Kuang was secretly delighted, then thought, Wait, no. Why am I being all jealous here? I’m his brother! Sleeping around like this is outrageous!

He tried to get up again, but Fang Jingyu pulled him close and gave him a sticky kiss. Chu Kuang’s bones nearly melted. His thoughts became a muddle: I’ve had too much to drink. Maybe I’m dreaming. I’d better not hit him again—what if this is real and he has me executed for treason later?

After the kiss, Fang Jingyu whispered, “Brother Minsheng, what are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Chu Kuang mumbled. “Just… thinking about that Grand General title.” Fang Jingyu said, “Before the ice wall breaks, name any post you want—I’ll grant it.”

Chu Kuang perked up and rattled off a long list—claiming dozens of titles. Eventually, their mouths met again, the bedding pulled over, and the two tangled together in passion until dawn.

_____

Days passed. The great ship finally gave out—splintering apart completely. All that was left was manual chiseling, bit by bit.

The people were exhausted, physically and mentally. Complaints started murmuring through the crowd. Fang Jingyu racked his brain day and night but could think of no better way to breach the wall.

So he turned his hopes to Chu Kuang. Chu Kuang often had strange, ingenious ideas that left others astonished. But these past days, Chu Kuang had been frowning in silence, crouched alone in the snow—no one knew what he was thinking.

Fang Jingyu stepped into the snow and saw Chu Kuang crouching by the edge, scribbling with an arrowhead in the snow. He walked over—only to see that Chu Kuang had filled the ground with drawings of giant turtle—and burst into laughter.

“At a time like this, when things are so dire, you’re doodling instead of thinking up a way out for us?”

Chu Kuang puffed out his cheeks like two stuffed buns and huffed, “What, not even nightfall yet and you’re already picking fights with me?”

“I’m being serious.”

Chu Kuang tapped the snowy turtle with his arrowhead. “So am I. Right now, we’re relying on manpower to chip away at the ice—and it’s killing us. If morale breaks, we’ll just repeat the same failure Emperor Bai suffered. So I’ve been thinking… can we ditch manpower and use a greater force?”

“A greater force?”

“Remember when we left Yingzhou for Yuanqiao? That storm scattered our ships.”

“I remember. That was because of the ao turtle stirring up waves.”

At that, Fang Jingyu’s eyes widened as if struck by lightning. Chu Kuang saw the realization dawn and jumped up, arms gesturing excitedly.

“Yes! The ao turtle! Liezi records: ‘The roots of the Five Mountains are unmoored, floating with the tide and unable to stand still. Fearing they would drift to the far west and lose their sacred residents, the Emperor ordered Yuqiang to command fifteen giant ao to lift and bear them, stacked in three layers, exchanging every sixty thousand years. Thus the Five Mountains stood unmoving.’ Our Xian Mountain was built on those ao turtles!”

Fang Jingyu was stunned. Chu Kuang often spoke madly, but this idea was mad beyond measure. Ao turtle are huge, some as big as an entire continent—and had borne the mountain for centuries. Now Chu Kuang was saying they could use those creatures… to break the ice wall?

Chu Kuang grinned. “My guess is the ao turtles here in Guixi are dead. With no support, the mountain has been sinking. But the ones in Yuanqiao still have life. If we could capture one and drive it into the ice wall—wouldn’t we have a way out of Guixi?”

“But the ao turtles are so enormous. There’s no way they’d fit through the current Taoyuan Stone Gate. They’d crash straight through it.” Fang Jingyu frowned.

“Didn’t Father and Miss Si already dismantle the stone gates of Penglai and Yingzhou and send the stone here?” Chu Kuang said with a cunning glint. “We just expand the gate with that stone. And if it’s not enough—we go through the gate, grab more from other worlds. There are countless Taoyuan Gates. We’ll pile up the stone as high as we need.”

Fang Jingyu laughed. “Then let’s do as you say.”

The next day, they gathered the crowd and explained the idea. Everyone stared, slack-jawed and silent.

Emperor Bai clapped his hands and roared with laughter. “That never would’ve occurred to me! And if it were the Tianfu Guard, with his rigid mind, he wouldn’t have thought of it either!”

Chu Kuang preened, looking as if his tail might wag. “A brain like mine, full of holes, sometimes leaks out clever things.”

They got right to work. Fang Jingyu issued orders—some rebuilt the Taoyuan Gate; others took two-hundred-stone boats and sailed out with cages of terns.

Chu Kuang arranged for a few large mengchong ships (ancient Chinese warships) to be loaded with monks from Yuanqiao—all bloated and burping, muttering to themselves.

Fang Jingyu sat at the bow as their boat entered Daiyu. Above, red clouds rolled like cotton. The once-glorious city lay drowned beneath the sea; only the black Ming Sea stretched endlessly under heaven. As waves surged, he recalled his vicious battle here against the Gu Bi Guard. A shiver ran through him. He quietly grasped Chu Kuang’s hand. Chu Kuang stirred but let it rest in his.

They rowed far, scanning the dark waters—but no sign of an ao turtle appeared.

A Penglai soldier muttered, “Bet they starved to death without feed.”

Bi Bao Guard said, “Ao turtles don’t eat grain. They live on the mountain’s essence.”

“Then how do we lure them out?”

“When we reach Yuanqiao’s boundary,” Chu Kuang said, “they’ll show. They’re sensitive beasts.”

They were chatting idly when suddenly—the wind shrieked, white waves climbed to the sky, and a great rumble shook the depths. Everyone stared in shock as mountainous waves rose like walls.

Then—an ao’s head burst from the water. Except for Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang, few had seen such a divine beast. Its hide was like jade, scaled and glinting. Its head resembled a dragon, trailing a mane of golden fur. Its fins spread like sails—one flap could summon storms.

The Ming Sea surged violently, as if the heavens would collapse. Fang Jingyu, recalling past disaster, shouted, “Turn! Turn now—don’t meet it head-on!”

They scrambled to steer, but the waves slammed in. Boats nearly capsized again and again.

“We’ll be turtle food before we even get back to the gate!” someone cried.

The boat rocked wildly, as if dancing at the lip of hell. Just then, Chu Kuang raised a hand and called to the monks on the other ship:

“Masters! It’s your turn!”

Only now did others notice—the monks’ boat barely moved amid the waves, steady as a rock. Like iron anchors in a storm. One by one, the bloated monks waddled to the rail and dropped into the sea like dumplings.

The soldiers were too busy rowing and yelling to see what the monks were doing. Fang Jingyu grabbed Chu Kuang’s sleeve.

“What are they for?”

Chu Kuang grinned. “You dummy. You’ve seen our Taoyuan Gate—how’s that fat turtle supposed to squeeze through?”

Fang Jingyu nodded. “So you’ve got another trick up your sleeve?”

Another wave drenched them both. Chu Kuang wiped his face and said, “Not a trick, really. Just a workaround. I did the math. To build a gate big enough for the ao, we’d need years—night and day, stone from countless worlds. We don’t have that time. So I asked Mule to prepare furnaces and bellows elsewhere—to melt the stone.”

“Melt it?” Fang Jingyu paled. The soldiers nearby gawked at Chu Kuang.

“Yes. Melted Taoyuan stone—turn it to slurry, and pour it into the sea in a ring. Let the ao turtle swim through. Much easier than building a gate.”

“But molten stone needs to be blistering hot—like a swordsmith’s forge. What could you possibly carry it in?”

Chu Kuang smirked wildly. “We didn’t have vessels. So I asked Bi Bao Guard one more thing—whether the Yuanqiao monks feared heat.”

Fang Jingyu’s eyes bulged. He remembered the monks, all round-bellied and hiccuping like firefish. “You—you made them swallow it?!”

The monks, being shaped from Ming Sea mud, feared no heat. Each had gulped a bellyful of molten stone. Now, hundreds of them dove into the sea, swimming circles around the ao and spewing the molten slurry.

The ao roared, thrashed its fins and tail. Waves slammed like thunder across a thousand miles.

Foam blanketed the sky. The little boat pitched wildly. Soldiers screamed. Fang Jingyu clung to Chu Kuang at the rail.

Suddenly—a wave like a mountain. The sky seemed to collapse. The sea opened wide like a beast’s maw. Then—on the water’s surface—appeared a ring of gray molten stone: a shimmering doorway, liquid and glowing.

The ao turtle roared and surged forward—right through the heart of the stone circle. Several monk-like figures clung to its tail, guiding it forward. The wind shrieked, water erupted.

The little boat crested the wave and followed the ao turtle. Wave after shadowy wave slammed down. The mast cracked and shrieked. Everyone was soaked and clinging for life.

Fang Jingyu choked on water, body trembling with fear. But Chu Kuang squeezed his hand, met his gaze, and smiled.

“Come on, Jingyu—let’s ride this big turtle back to Guixi!”