HCAW 112

Chapter 112: Mountains Hard to Cross

Outside, the clamor swelled like a swarm of mosquitoes. Everyone’s hearts were in chaos. In a rush, Mule shoved them toward the tunnel and hissed, “Hurry along this path!”

The stone slab closed behind them, followed by the scrape of a clay jar being pushed into place. All was plunged into muffled darkness. Zheng Deli grabbed Fang Jingyu’s sleeve, urging, “Jingyu, let’s go—just listen to him!”

Fang Jingyu’s heart pounded wildly. “We… we’re leaving him behind again?”

“Brother Chu is still seriously injured, and you just had your bones removed—you can’t even lift your arms. We’re in no condition to face them. Mule knows this terrain far better than us—he likely has his own way out. If we get caught here, it’s all over. Come on!”

Fang Jingyu bit down hard, forced a breath of qi through his body, and hoisted Chu Kuang onto his back. He remembered Chu Kuang’s bitter words: “Sacrifice the pawn to save the king.” Regret surged through his chest. He was always this powerless, always watching these scenes repeat in front of him again and again!

The tunnel was narrow and dark, but a faint breeze stirred the air. Zheng Deli lit a fire striker and took the lead with their supplies. No one knew when the pursuers might arrive, and their hearts thudded furiously, sweat pouring down their backs. After what felt like an endless flight—perhaps ten li, or a hundred years—they finally saw a glimmer of light ahead. They climbed a set of stone stairs and found, at the landing, a vermillion jar containing disguises: black robes marked with peach patterns. They changed into them and pushed open the stone lid.

Outside lay deep forest, the wind cool and rustling through the trees.

The two of them emerged and looked around, unsure where they were, until they spotted a nearby lake. Fearing that Mule might escape through the same tunnel later, they left the exit unsealed. Zheng Deli checked their location on a map and realized they were in the countryside outside Daiyu—just ahead was Wuda Lake, which led to Fanghu.

Following Mule’s instructions, they traveled half a li west and came upon a small mountain outpost. Four black flags fluttered at its corners. Though no people were visible, several sturdy horses stood in the stable—hearty Tianzu breeds. These, too, had likely been arranged by Mule.

Relieved, Zheng Deli quickly untied the reins and helped Fang Jingyu hoist the semiconscious Chu Kuang onto a horse. They rode on, past fields of white lilies. Despite the cold season, white blossoms had bloomed, and a few flower-farmers rested in the sheds nearby.

A breeze suddenly lifted their hoods. The farmers, sipping water, glanced up—and froze.

Zheng Deli and Fang Jingyu noticed nothing, but in that brief instant, the farmers’ eyes turned black and empty of all human emotion, gleaming with ominous light.

Soon, they arrived at the shores of Wuda Lake, tied the horses to a paper mulberry tree, and signaled with a few sharp whistles. Before long, a small boat drifted toward them. Onboard stood a scrawny boatman who eyed them cautiously.

“Crossing the lake?” he asked.

“We’re not here to cross. We’re looking for someone. Mule said there would be a contact here,” Zheng Deli replied.

At those words, the boatman’s eyes flicked to Fang Jingyu—and he paled slightly. Then, out of nowhere, he recited:

“A loyal heart dies first.”

It was an old passphrase—one of the Fang family’s ancestral codes. Fang Jingyu instantly understood and answered:

“Serve the Emperor with utmost devotion.”

“Which Emperor?”

“Emperor Bai… Ji Zhi.”

The boatman nodded, accepting their identities. “Where to?”

“Yuanqiao,” Zheng Deli answered—just as a cloud of dust rose in the distance. His heart tensed. No need to guess—Gu Bi Guard’s men were in pursuit. But they had come through a secret route—how had their location been exposed?

He turned—and saw the flower farmers in the fields. Their pitch-black eyes stared toward him like blades. A chill swept through him. Even in the remote wilds, Gu Bi Guard had spies!

Panic surged in his chest. He shouted to the boatman, “Go—now! Yuanqiao, Fanghu, anywhere! Just get us out of here!”

The boatman frantically took up the oars. But within moments, a mob of guards in peach-patterned robes swarmed to the shore. Their eyes were dead, but their movements were precise—they lashed together reed rafts and paddled toward them like madmen. Archers and foot soldiers surrounded them in layers, hooks and pikes stabbing into the boat, smashing its boards.

Fang Jingyu drew his sword. With grim resolve, he fought back, scattering enemies with his blade. But there were too many. Before long, they were surrounded.

The soulless guards grinned with voices unmistakably imitating Gu Bi Guard’s tone:

“Your Majesty hides well—but I’m best at catching rabbits in their burrows. No matter where you run, you’ll never escape my grasp.”

Amid the chaos, a cry came from Zheng Deli’s side. Fang Jingyu turned—and saw one of Gu Bi Guard’s men holding Zheng Deli hostage, sword to his throat. Chu Kuang had also been seized, limp in a Xian Moutain officier’s arms, blood soaking the blade pressed against his neck.

Fang Jingyu’s heart nearly burst. Like a rabbit charging a lion, he flung himself forward. His blade tore through flesh, blood blooming in the air. But he couldn’t hold them off forever. His sword danced like a storm, and in a split second he cleaved the boat apart, seized Chu Kuang, shielded his face—and leapt into the lake.

A great splash followed. Beneath the green waters, their fate vanished from sight. Zheng Deli also fell in and disappeared. From the shore, the Xian Moutain officiers’ leader bellowed:

“Search the bottom! Even if we must drain the lake dry—find them!”

Guards dove in, no longer afraid of the water.

Just then, from the mist came a towering pavilion-ship, bearing the banner of the ao turtle. A thousand soldiers stood upon it, drums pounding like thunder—it was a ship from Fanghu.

The vessel blocked the Xian Moutain officiers’ path, casting a heavy shadow over the lake. A cool, bell-like voice rang out:

“Hold.”

The officiers froze, staring up at a figure on the railing. Dressed in white immortal robes stood a serene, graceful woman—none other than the fourth-ranked Bai Huan Guard. Her expression calm and unreadable, she said:

“This is Fanghu territory. One step further, and it’s invasion.”

The Daiyu officiers exchanged glances. “My lady, we’re just pursuing a suspect in the murder of Bi Bao Guard. They jumped into the lake—they may be trying to escape to Fanghu.”

“I don’t care what you intend,” Bai Huan Guard replied. “Hunting people so brazenly here brings disgrace to Fanghu. Leave.”

“But—”

“Go.” Her voice was ice. A flick of her finger—and suddenly, the surface of the lake shimmered with silver threads, a deadly array of celestial silkworm silk. One misstep, and they’d be torn to pieces.

Faced with invisible pressure and her wintry glare, the officiers backed away. But they only retreated to the lakeside, pitching camp and staying alert—still watching, waiting.

Meanwhile, Bai Huan Guard’s ship drifted farther, out of sight. Behind the walls, boatmen lowered a plank and quietly pulled several figures from the water. Fang Jingyu, Chu Kuang, and Zheng Deli were all unconscious. The crew dragged them into the furnace room, buried them in ashes, and hung them upside-down to drain the lake water from their bellies.

Eventually, Fang Jingyu and Zheng Deli woke—though Chu Kuang remained unresponsive, still coughing up blood.

The two conscious men were brought to the command cabin. Bai Huan Guard stood at the window, gently stroking a sash, the same silver threads now stretching from her sleeves—the deadly wires from the lake. Zheng Deli fell to his knees.

“Thank you, my lady, for saving us. Your grace is a debt we’ll never forget, not even in three lifetimes.”

Bai Huan Guard remained cold and impassive. “Think nothing of it. I only saved you—bringing the others was incidental.” Zheng Deli knew it was because of the prophecy written on the bone piece that she had intervened on their behalf, and the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He asked to borrow a few cabins so Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang could rest. Then he stayed behind in the private chamber. Once the room was empty, Bai Huan Guard finally spoke quietly:

“I only saved you. Come dawn tomorrow, I will have the rest thrown off the ship.”

Zheng Deli had expected she would have something to say, but not this. Her heartlessness stunned him to the bone. He broke out in a cold sweat and stammered, “Y-Your Excellency, why?”

“Gu Bi Guard is after the Emperor Bai’s son and his servant. If you take those two with you, you’ll only draw attention. Gu Bi Guard is, after all, the top of the Xian Mountain Guards. I have no delusion I could challenge him head-on.”

“But you’re one of the famed Xian Mountain Guards yourself! You’ve already chosen to help me—what harm in saving two more lives?”

She shook her head. “You’ve read the Heavenly Book. You know this as well as I do. Of those who leave Daiyu alive, only one is named—you. Helping the others is pointless.” Zheng Deli cried, “But how would we know unless we tried!”

“Then tell me—has anything so far happened outside what the Heavenly Book foretold?”

Zheng Deli’s face went pale. Slowly, he shook his head.

“They must be handed over,” Bai Huan Guard said firmly. “And if not handed over, then left behind to their fate.” She turned as if to leave.

But Zheng Deli suddenly clenched his fists. “In that case, I’ll go with them. Wherever they go, to knife’s edge or death’s mouth, I’ll be with them.”

“You can’t go.” She paused mid-step, a flicker of disturbance in her expression.

“Why not?”

“Because you are the child of fate. The only one who can pass through the city gates. You are the one I’m meant to assist.”

“I don’t believe that,” Zheng Deli said sharply, lifting his head. His eyes blazed. “I’m no child of fate. I only believe we can all break free—together.”

“Fool’s talk. You can’t have both. If you want to pass the city gate, there must be sacrifice. They are the price you must pay. At dawn, I will deliver them to Gu Bi Guard. This matter is not up for debate.” Bai Huan Guard’s tone and face were colder than frost.

Just then, a flash of cold light caught the corner of her eye. She turned and saw that Zheng Deli had somehow drawn a Heavenly Mountain gold dagger from his satchel and now pressed the tip to his throat.

His hands trembled. He’d only ever felt true killing intent twice in his life—once toward the young master Tao who defiled his maid Xiao Feng, and once now, toward himself. His voice was hoarse with fear, but he forced the words out:

“If you don’t let them stay, I’ll spill my blood here and now!”

Bai Huan Guard froze. She tilted her head slightly, as if puzzled. But her eyes had changed—there was shock in them now, and something like fear. After a long moment, she asked, “What are they to you, that you’d protect them like this?” Zheng Deli answered, “They’re comrades who’ve risked their lives with me.”

“And that’s enough for you to trade your life for theirs? You’re the only one in a thousand upon thousands who can reach Guixu after Emperor Bai. You’d throw that away?” Her voice suddenly grew heavy, her lips tightened, her brows knit together—for the first time, she seemed almost human.

Zheng Deli’s arms no longer trembled. He nodded, still holding the blade to his throat. Then he quietly recited a line from an old play, one that had haunted him since leaving Penglai: “They say, ‘To let a debt of grace go unpaid is not the way to meet again; to shirk what’s right is no courage at all.’”

“If you deem me worthy of fate,” he said, “then I refuse to be one who forgets his debts. I won’t stand by and watch them die. If it’s dragon’s pool or tiger’s den, I’ll charge in with them.”

The words exploded like thunder in the small cabin. Their sleeves fluttered like startled birds in the breeze. Bai Huan Guard said nothing for a long while. Finally, she swept past him and murmured:

“Put the dagger down. I’ll let them stay.”

After she left, Zheng Deli lowered the dagger. His palms were slick with sweat. It was the first time in his life he had threatened a Xian Mountain Guard with death—and never before had he thought his life worth so much.

He staggered onto the deck. The ship had already sailed far from shore. Mist blanketed the lake, making it difficult for Gu Bi Guard’s forces to launch any surprise attack. Zheng Deli exhaled softly. He couldn’t bear to lose any of them—Fang Jingyu, Chu Kuang, or Xiao Jiao.

Fang Jingyu and Xiao Jiao were childhood companions, who’d driven off countless thugs and swindlers for him. Chu Kuang wasn’t a bad man either—he’d stood up for him when Young Master Tao needed a lesson. In the battle at Yingzhou, Zheng Deli had been useless; the three of them had faced blood and steel for his sake.

He had often asked himself: what can I do for them? What help can I offer?

He had always been the clown, the fool people mocked and laughed at. Now, suddenly cast as the leading man, he was at a loss. He leaned his head against the deck, closed his eyes—and in the darkness, a memory surfaced: a figure in a pale yellow dress waiting under a locust tree.

His heart began to pound. He whispered softly, “Xiao Feng…”

Whether his reunion with her would be joyful or tragic was already written in the prophecy. He was fated to return to Penglai alone, after reaching Guixu. But still—he could not resign himself. He wanted a different ending, one where everyone lived happily ever after.

He returned to the cabin and lay down. Perhaps because he had been wound tight for so many days, he slept deeply and dreamed much. But in the latter half of the night, he woke with a shiver. His body ached all over. He opened his eyes—only to find himself locked in the room, wrists shackled in iron chains, and a hemp gag stuffed in his mouth.

Just as he began to struggle, the door creaked open. Bai Huan Guard stood at the threshold, her face serene.

“Forgive me,” she said. “But I feared you would try to harm yourself again, so I had to take precautions.”

Her lips moved gently: “I will hand your companions over to Gu Bi Guard. You can rest here in peace.”

Zheng Deli’s heart blazed in panic. He threw himself at the boards, shouting “mmmph!” against the gag. Bai Huan Guard said, “Don’t blame me for breaking my word. In war, deception is necessary. Words alone mean nothing. I will see you safely out of the city, so the record is fulfilled. Just rest here quietly.”

She turned to the sailors. “Deliver the other two to Gu Bi Guard’s men.”

But moments later, a panicked crewman came running. “M-my lady! Something’s wrong! The cabin is empty, the porthole broken—they’ve already escaped!”

_____

Between the dense green leaves of the forest, two strong horses galloped wildly.

Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang were fleeing fast. Chu Kuang opened his satchel, counted the blood vials, and sighed in relief to find them intact. Fang Jingyu, more worried about his companion’s injuries, asked, “You were still unconscious yesterday—how do you feel now?”

Chu Kuang answered coolly, “No new wounds. The worst was being dunked headfirst into the lake by Your Highness—I caught a chill.” He sniffled a little.

“Now that we’ve fled, what about Deli?”

“He has a beauty guarding him. He’ll be fine.”

“How did you know something was off with Bai Huan Guard?”

Chu Kuang winced. “The drinking water reeked of knockout powder. Obvious they were planning to serve us up to Gu Bi Guard. Lucky the dose wasn’t strong—I actually felt a bit more alert afterward.”

Fang Jingyu asked, “So we’re going to Yuanqiao now?” Chu Kuang nodded, then swayed slightly and said, “Your Highness, my head’s still fuzzy. I may pass out again soon. If I do, I won’t be able to protect you—you’ll have to watch out for yourself.”

“Enough of that,” Fang Jingyu frowned. “Why do you care so much about me? You’re the one who’s worse off right now.”

Chu Kuang smiled. “How could I not care? The thousands in Penglai and Yingzhou, and me among them—we’d all die for Your Highness. You’re our sun in the sky. We all hope one day you’ll shine over Xian Mountain.” Fang Jingyu felt a pang in his heart and asked, “Nonsense. I’m just a pawn. What are you?”

Chu Kuang fell silent. The wind blew through, and he spoke softly.

“I am your morning star—the one you see only before the dawn.”