HCAW 162

Chapter 162: Extra – Poor Parenting (Part 2)

In an instant, sword-light burst forth, streaming like pale rainbows. Fang Jingyu tried his best to block, but was forced to retreat step by step. Chu Kuang surged forward like a fierce tiger baring its fangs and claws, laughing wildly:

“Come on, runt! Your swordplay’s so soft, it’s like you’re using a back scratcher on Grandpa!”

The little nine-tentacled octopus clung to his shoulder and said, “Laborer Chu, you’re being way too arrogant. You’re gonna scare your little brother so bad he’ll piss himself and never dare to face you again.”

Chu Kuang replied, “Wouldn’t that be even better? That way, he’d finally see the awe-inspiring might of his elder brother!”

Fang Jingyu floundered, drenched in sweat and completely bewildered. The man before him looked a great deal like his brother, but from the very start had come at him with deadly intent. He had no idea why. What’s more, this man’s strikes were vicious and shameless, targeting all the low blows—completely different from the usual style of Fang Minsheng.

In the blink of an eye, the sword flashed like lightning and sent him crashing to the ground. Chu Kuang moved quickly, grabbed a hemp rope, and in no time had him tied up tight like a rice dumpling and hung from a tree. Once done, Chu Kuang tapped his shoulder smugly with a disciplinary ruler. Fang Jingyu glared furiously at him:

“You damned scoundrel! How dare you break into the Fang estate! If Langgan Guard sees you, he’ll make you regret it!”

Chu Kuang was unfazed. “Langgan Guard? What of him? If he comes, who knows if he’ll side with you or with me.” Saying that, he yanked down Fang Jingyu’s trousers in a flash.

Fang Jingyu let out a cry, his face instantly going deathly pale. His white buttocks were exposed to the air, like two steamed buns. Xiao Jiao cried out, “Aiyo, no peeking!” and quickly shut her six little eyes—except one, which snuck a greedy peek at Fang Jingyu’s behind. Fang Jingyu clenched his teeth and hissed:

“Fang Minsheng, you despicable dog! Pretending to be mad and idiotic, even using some sort of sorcery to fake a double pupil—just to humiliate me. I… I… from this day forward, we are mortal enemies!”

In this world, Fang Jingyu and Fang Minsheng were estranged brothers—but that had nothing to do with Chu Kuang. He just wanted an excuse to beat Fang Jingyu up.

Ignoring him, Chu Kuang raised the disciplinary ruler and delivered dozens of smacks to the boy’s rear, reddening his backside. Fang Jingyu kept his lips tightly sealed, refusing to utter a sound, though his expression was burning with shame and fury.

As he struck, Chu Kuang mused, “Strange, what did he mean just now about ‘faking a double pupil with sorcery’?” Then he asked aloud, “What were you talking about earlier? The Fang Minsheng in this world doesn’t have a double pupil?”

Fang Jingyu snapped, “I don’t know what nonsense you’re spouting! What’s wrong with your eye that you made it look like that? If the sleazy old scum of the Mohe Guard sees it, who knows what he’ll accuse our family of!”

Chu Kuang suddenly understood—so in this world, Fang Minsheng wasn’t born with a double pupil. He recalled the letter his father had sent, mentioning there were things about the eye he hadn’t yet explained. This stirred doubt in Chu Kuang’s heart—what was the secret behind that eye?

He got lost in thought and unconsciously struck even harder, drawing tears to Fang Jingyu’s eyes. The boy still didn’t make a sound, biting his lip so hard it bled, red welts blooming across his skin like a patch of vivid toad lilies.

Chu Kuang cackled. “Why are you crying! Your brother spanks you a little and you drop golden beans like that? And you still call yourself a Fang? Now do you feel Grandpa’s might?” But in his heart, he was thinking: “This little brat looks strangely good with tears in his eyes. I should find more chances to make him cry.”

He was right in the middle of this thought when someone quietly approached from behind. A clear yet icy voice suddenly said:

“But Brother Minsheng, back in bed, weren’t you the one crying harder than him? Saying that now seems a bit hypocritical, doesn’t it?”

Chu Kuang whirled around in shock—only to find a black-clad youth behind him, head wrapped in a black scarf, a tern perched on his shoulder, gaze as cold as morning ice. It was none other than Fang Jingyu from his own world.

“You…” Chu Kuang gaped. “What are you doing here!”

Fang Jingyu replied blandly, “I was scouring the island for food and water. When I got back to the boat, you were gone. Then I saw the Taoyuan Stone Gate onshore and figured you must’ve teamed up with the Great Immortal again to cause trouble.”

Xiao Jiao called out, “It’s not trouble!” Chu Kuang, sweating, echoed, “The Great Immortal only does heaven’s work—never trouble!”

Fang Jingyu glanced around, then looked at the version of himself hanging from the tree. His face didn’t change, but his eyes gleamed with amused mockery. “So Brother Minsheng has this kind of kink, eh?”

Chu Kuang stomped in frustration. “Kink my ass! I was just teaching him a lesson about respecting his elders! If I don’t discipline him now, he’ll grow up to be a lecher like you!”

The tree-hung little Fang Jingyu stared dumbfounded, eyes darting between the two. He might never figure out why one of them looked just like his brother, and the other was the spitting image of himself. Just then, the older Fang Jingyu grabbed Chu Kuang by the back of his collar and began dragging him toward the Taoyuan Stone Gate. Xiao Jiao cackled in the background. The two figures faded into the distance, but their voices still carried:

“Let’s go back, Brother. If you’re into that kind of thing, we can try it tonight.”

“Like hell! You copy me and I’ll… I’ll…” Chu Kuang faltered, unable to think of a threat, then growled, “Stay here with the savages and be king of the mountain for all I care!”

“Whatever Brother Minsheng wants to do, I won’t stop you. Just remember—dragging others into this by using the Taoyuan Stone Gate makes it look awfully ugly. The me in this world isn’t the me of the past. If you’ve got a grudge, take it out on me.”

The younger Fang Jingyu, still hanging from the tree, watched the two vanish into the distance and shouted desperately, “Wait, don’t go! Let me down!”

But the two paid him no mind, leaving him swaying in the wind, bare-bottomed. His face flushed deep red as he mumbled:

“A-At least… pull my pants up…”

_____

Back on the boat, having passed through the Taoyuan Stone Gate, Fang Jingyu struck a flint, lit the lamp, and latched the cabin door. Chu Kuang shrank under the covers like a wary raccoon, baring his teeth.

Fang Jingyu said, “I didn’t expect the world beyond the gate to be so different—even with two versions of us constantly bickering.” He walked over, climbed onto the bed, and chuckled softly. “Compared to them, we’re like brothers in arms—a hundred times better.”

Chu Kuang muttered sulkily, “I’d rather be like them. At least over there, I’m not getting poked by my brother every damn day!”

Fang Jingyu leaned in and gently turned his face. Chu Kuang’s cheeks were flushed red like ripe apples—impossible to resist tasting. Fang Jingyu softly asked, “Did Father send another letter? What did he say?”

Chu Kuang recalled Langgan Guard’s instructions in the letter. Embarrassed, he hesitated, then mumbled, “Nothing much.” Fang Jingyu picked up the disciplinary ruler. “Father gave you this too, didn’t he?”

Chu Kuang stayed silent. Fang Jingyu said, “I never imagined Father to be so worldly. Maybe he read quite a few erotic books in his youth.”

That made no sense to Chu Kuang. What did the ruler have to do with erotic books? But before he could think further, he suddenly felt himself flipped onto the bed. He yelped:

“What are you doing?!”

Fang Jingyu asked, “Why did you go beat up someone who has nothing to do with us?”

Chu Kuang said, “I was disciplining a stinky little brother! What’s wrong with that!”

“Repaying someone with their own methods—I suppose I should discipline my brother a bit, let him learn a thing or two.” Fang Jingyu lifted the hem of Chu Kuang’s robe. Chu Kuang suddenly realized what he intended, his body instantly prickling in alarm. He tried to resist, but Fang Jingyu swiftly restrained him, tying his wrists securely with a black ribbon. Chu Kuang’s outer garment slipped down, revealing a stretch of porcelain-white waist. Fang Jingyu picked up the disciplinary ruler and softly said, “This is how the discipline ruler is used, Brother Minsheng.”

The ruler fell with moderate force, not severe but still causing a stinging heat. Chu Kuang shivered, burying his face angrily into the pillow. He gritted his teeth in humiliation: an elder brother, yet being disciplined by his younger sibling!

“You dead-faced brat! Stop it right now!” Chu Kuang shouted in irritation, “Who do you think I am? Do you really enjoy doing this?”

“Don’t be impatient, Brother. Soon you’ll understand.”

The ruler continued falling like a gentle rain, neither too heavy nor too light, leaving Chu Kuang flushed with embarrassment, his muscles weak from the unusual punishment. His buttocks felt hot, like being baked under the scorching sun, and Fang Jingyu’s fingertips hovered and circled like dragonflies, each touch sending ripples across the lake of his heart. At this moment, just a light touch would make Chu Kuang unable to hold back a cry. Just then, Fang Jingyu pushed his penis in, and after a few movement. Chu Kuang like a wailing kitten, kept crying out, feeling much more embarrassed than usual, and his body couldn’t help but become much softer and warmer.

Afterward, Chu Kuang bit the pillow bitterly, his eyes misty with frustrated tears. Fang Jingyu leaned in to gently kiss him, whispering, “What’s wrong, Brother Minsheng? You’re crying more bitterly now than that little brother behind Taoyuan Stone Gate.”

Chu Kuang grumbled resentfully, “You shameless brat! I won’t sleep next to you anymore. I’ll become a mountain king and tie you up instead, disciplining you every day!”

Fang Jingyu softly replied, “Then this little brother will gladly become the mountain king’s concubine, ready to be disciplined as you wish.” He kissed Chu Kuang tenderly, his kiss gentle yet intoxicating, leaving Chu Kuang thoroughly dazed.

Later, after a muddled day together, Chu Kuang finally awoke clear-headed, remembering he’d meant to teach his mischievous younger brother a lesson, yet ended up being disciplined himself instead. Furious, he jumped off the bed, grabbed the discipline ruler, and began hitting Fang Jingyu in revenge.

Fang Jingyu woke calmly, merely asking, “Brother, what are you doing?”

Chu Kuang snapped, “You dared hit me! Even Father never disciplined me like this!”

“Father did discipline you,” Fang Jingyu reminded him. Chu Kuang became angrier and struck him several more times.

But Fang Jingyu didn’t protest; compared to the real pains he’d endured before, this punishment felt gentle, and seeing Chu Kuang flustered and frustrated amused him greatly.

Once Chu Kuang tired, Fang Jingyu jokingly said, expressionless, “Go ahead and hit me again, Brother Minsheng. Whip, ruler, even wax—I’d gladly accept it all.”

Chu Kuang exploded, “Get lost! Who would enjoy disciplining you like that?”

Seeing Fang Jingyu’s thickening shamelessness, Chu Kuang stormed out angrily.

On the ship’s deck, he saw another tern arrive carrying a letter. He opened it to find yet another admonishment from Langgan Guard: brothers should marry their own wives, have their own children, and follow proper rules.

Chu Kuang scoffed, crumpling the letter, grumbling bitterly, “Too late! Your two sons have already married each other—no children for the Fang family!”

As he was about to toss it aside, he noticed tiny handwriting on the back, reading:

“To Minsheng: About your double pupil—after deep thought, I decided you should know. You weren’t born this way. To ensure your survival against the Immortal Elixir’s deadly poison, Tianfu Guard fed it to you first. Your double pupil appeared as a result.”

Chu Kuang froze, deeply unsettled. Had he really been given the Immortal Elixir as a child?

Recalling past conversations, he realized perhaps this explained his resistance to the elixir’s poison, unlike others who perished immediately. Remembering Emperor Bai’s words, he shivered. If his double pupil originated from Tianfu Guard, from whom had Tianfu Guard received his?

He felt he was part of a cycle extending endlessly backward, countless previous Tianfu Guards paving the path for him. Shaken, he continued reading:

“Whatever past storms, I hope my sons enjoy peaceful years ahead.”

Chu Kuang sighed heavily. At the end, another small note read: “How few true family members one gains in life; may you brothers get along harmoniously.” Chu Kuang grumbled inwardly, “Harmonious my foot—we’ve crossed far beyond harmony!”

The little nine-tentacled octopus surfaced, asking, “Chu, what’s troubling you? Did that gourd upset you again?”

Before Chu Kuang could reply, it continued cheerfully, “Don’t worry; many curious things await ahead, plenty of opportunities to discipline him.”

Chu Kuang’s mood lifted immediately. Returning enthusiastically to the cabin, he pounced on Fang Jingyu, surprising him with sudden affection. Fang Jingyu hesitated, confused by his brother’s abrupt change. Chu Kuang smirked, inwardly planning future mischief.

A few days later, at the Fang estate in Penglai.

Bamboo leaves cast a deep green shade, and the gauzy window curtain glowed a soft jade. The Langgan Guard sat before a writing desk, a letter spread open before him. The man stared at the letter, brows furrowed tightly.

It was a reply from Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang. The Langgan Guard had previously asked them to write about their recent situation. The letter was filled with crooked, twisting lines describing the scenery they’d encountered—clearly Fang Jingyu’s handwriting. And beneath those squirming ink marks, like spring earthworms and autumn snakes, there was a single word, sharp as a dagger, swift as a swallow’s tail stroke:

“Good.”

There was no need to ask—this word was undoubtedly written by Chu Kuang. The Langgan Guard studied the letter for a long time, guessing from its tone that the brothers likely hadn’t run into any serious trouble and were safe and sound. After reading it, he solemnly bowed toward the little nine-armed squid perched on the desk and said, “Thank you, Great Immortal, for delivering the letter.”

The little octopus replied, “Think nothing of it! I’ve been drifting around the Ming Sea these days with nothing to do. Just figured I’d deliver a letter while I was at it!”

The Langgan Guard looked at it, hesitating to speak. In the end, he hardened his heart and voiced the question that had been weighing on him:

“May I ask, Great Immortal… where are His Majesty and Minsheng now?”

“They’re still a ways off from the Nine Provinces,” said the octopus, “but the seas ahead are calm—likely no dangers in sight.”

“And their… relationship, at present?”

The little octopus narrowed its seven tiny eyes, blinking for a long moment. Then it extended two tentacles and languidly twisted them together in an entwined gesture. The Langgan Guard understood at once.

The man let out a long, heavy sigh and propped his forehead with one hand. The disciplinary ruler he’d sent had been useless; the admonishing letters hadn’t worked either. The two of them were like birds let out of a cage—heaven wide, earth vast, and he no longer had the reach to rein them in. What could he possibly do?

They would surely become even more shameless as time went on—casting aside all rites of ruler and subject, senior and junior, even the sense of shame. The Langgan Guard’s worry only grew heavier.

Outside the window, the bamboo leaves rustled noisily in the wind. Listening to the wind and the rustling, the man’s thoughts tangled like a knot of weeds. After a long silence, the Langgan Guard gave a deep sigh, and all the thousands of words in his chest condensed into a single phrase:

“I truly… have failed in raising them.”