HCAW 113

Chapter 113: Hidden Moths and Silent Shapes

The mist thinned under a cutting, wintry wind. After a long gallop, the two arrived at a nearby mountain village.

Both of them were spent. Chu Kuang burned with fever, his breathing faint and labored, his face deathly pale—he looked ready to collapse at any moment. Fang Jingyu was faring no better. Since his iron bones had been extracted, he had relied on one breath of inner energy to keep himself upright. Now, exhaustion was catching up with him—his limbs weak, his spirit spent.

Yet before they could find a place to rest in the village, they saw from afar several tall flagpoles planted at the entrance, each hung with a blood-drenched corpse—those gruesome “meat banners” they had grown used to seeing in Daiyu. Alarmed, they tethered their horses and crept forward through the woods, peering into the village. In the distance, several black-robed Daiyu Xian Mountain officers held up arrest warrants and shouted:

“If anyone is found sheltering the criminals Fang and Chu, they shall be punished with the harshest of penalties!”

Fang Jingyu felt a spike of pain in his chest. Just then, he saw one of the Xian Mountain officers step forward, grab a scrawny child by the wrist, and drag him from the crowd. A woman screamed and collapsed, crying out, “Sir, sir! What are you doing with my child?”

One of the officers sneered, “We’ll string him up to make another ‘meat banner’!” The woman shrieked and nearly fainted. “We’ve never even seen those fugitives, let alone sheltered them! What crime have we committed?”

“If you’re innocent, all the better,” the officer said coldly. “We’ve heard the criminal is a coward. A little intimidation should bring him crawling out of hiding. He’ll know—every day he hides, another person will suffer. Another body on the pole. That ought to scare him straight.” He scanned the villagers. “Listen well! You are forbidden from hiding these criminals. In fact, you must help us hunt them down. For each day they remain at large, we’ll hang another one of you!”

The villagers backed away in terror. No one dared defy them. The crowd dispersed in miserable silence. Hidden in the trees, Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang watched it all, hearts twisted with rage and helplessness.

Suddenly, Fang Jingyu felt his wrist gripped tightly—Chu Kuang was holding onto him.

“Your Highness, don’t act rashly. Don’t show yourself.”

“I know,” Fang Jingyu said stiffly, teeth clenched.

Chu Kuang murmured, “It’s just like a game of chess. Losing a few pawns is nothing. But if the general dies, it’s all over.” Fang Jingyu’s hands trembled slightly. “If there’s nothing left but the general, with every other piece captured… can you really still win?”

“We won’t lose everyone,” Chu Kuang said, intertwining their fingers and looking at him solemnly. “I’m still here. I’m your ‘advisor’.”

Since the village was no longer safe, they decided to circle back to the other side of Wuda Lake to meet the contact “Mule” had mentioned. The lakeside was likely still crawling with Gu Bi Guard’s men—and with Bai Huan Guard’s subordinates—but that was what made it safe. She would assume they had fled far away and send people to pursue them elsewhere. The most dangerous place was often the safest. In that gap, they might just reach the contact point.

They made up their minds and spurred their horses into a wide arc back toward the lake. On the way, Fang Jingyu heard a yawn in his ear—Xiao Jiao, nestled within, said, “Tight-lipped gourd, my powers are still weak. I’ve been suppressing the fire poison in you all this time—I’m worn out. I’m going to nap for a bit. Don’t worry—even asleep, I’ll keep the poison in check. I just won’t be able to talk to you.”

Fang Jingyu said, “Thank you for everything.” Then after a pause added, “Not speaking suits you better. Every time you talk, you’re unbearably noisy.” Xiao Jiao shrieked and bit his ear, making him wince—but soon quieted and fell into deep sleep.

Before they reached the lake, they heard soft whistle-calls from the river. Fang Jingyu turned to look—there was the same boatman who’d first met them. He parted the reeds and whispered, “Your Highness—this way!”

Startled but pleased, they dismounted and approached. The boatman smiled, “I figured Your Highness would escape this way, so I waited along the water route. Headed for Yuanqiao, yes? I know a shortcut—no one will catch us.”

They boarded. The boat looked small and humble, but the interior was surprisingly spacious. Supplies were already prepared—water, medicine, mats. At last, they let out the breath they’d been holding. Weariness swept over them. Fang Jingyu gently pushed Chu Kuang down onto a mat and said, “You’ve got a fever. Rest for a while—I’ll bandage you up.”

Chu Kuang gave a faint “mm” and didn’t resist. He lay down at once, clearly too exhausted to do otherwise. Fang Jingyu picked up a packet of healing powder, only to realize the wrapping paper was… a leaflet.

He unfolded it and saw the leaflet covered in horrifying headlines: “The Heir flies into a rage and executes multiple prisoners by a thousand cuts and beheading.” It detailed how, after their escape, Fatty Ji had flown into a wrathful frenzy and taken it out on the civilians of Daiyu—cutting off feet, halving bodies, roasting flesh. Every conceivable cruelty was inflicted. Beneath the blood-soaked words was an illustration of hellish torment, like something from the cries of the damned. Fang Jingyu trembled violently in body and soul. He sat dazed for a long while, then put the leaflet down and stepped out of the cabin.

By now the sky was dusk. The boatman was quietly steering and waved a hand at him, whispering, “Your Highness mustn’t step outside the cabin—lest spies of Gu Bi Guard spot you from the shadows.”

So Fang Jingyu took off his outer robe, wrapped it around his head and face, and sat beneath the awning to gaze outside. In the distance, an enormous, blood-red setting sun hung like a glowing brand of iron. He saw the riverbanks stretch endlessly on either side, with countless “meat banners” rising and falling in sparse or dense clusters, leaving brutal silhouettes across the sky. A surge of despair rose within him, as if the entire world had been set ablaze by twilight’s flames—and only he remained alive. Because of him alone, how much blood had been spilled on the lands of Penglai, Yingzhou, and Daiyu?

Was he truly so precious that people would charge forward, one after another, to die for him? He was merely born into an imperial household, a child whose limbs had been weak since birth—what was there in him to inspire such reverence? Fang Jingyu suddenly yearned, with painful intensity, that his origins were not as they were. If he weren’t the son of Emperor Bai, if he were just a bullied child in the Fang household, perhaps life would have been much more peaceful.

“I can’t allow more people to die for me.” He thought to himself, quietly.

Fang Jingyu returned to the cabin and looked at Chu Kuang’s pale sleeping face, a wave of sorrow washing over him. Chu Kuang might seem mad, but his mind was sharp, and he made clearer decisions than he ever could. On top of that, his archery was superb, and his swordplay even more fluid than his own. If they were to make it beyond Daiyu’s city gate, Chu Kuang was the better candidate.

While he was lost in thought, he suddenly saw Chu Kuang blinking drowsily awake and softly call:

“Your Highness…”

“What is it?”

“Don’t bother applying medicine on me. I heal slowly. It won’t help. Save it for yourself.”

Fang Jingyu shook his head. “If you don’t use medicine just because healing takes time, isn’t that putting the cart before the horse? That’s like saying you shouldn’t eat today just because you’ll get hungry again tomorrow.” Without another word, he peeled back Chu Kuang’s garments and gasped. Chu Kuang’s body was covered in wounds—far worse than he’d expected.

He went to the stern, where a layer of mud covered the boat planks, topped by an iron plate and jujube branches to allow for boiling water. He brewed a bowl of medicine and brought it to Chu Kuang. But Chu Kuang, burning with fever and childish petulance, cried out:

“I won’t drink it!”

Fang Jingyu had no choice but to take a mouthful himself, then cupped Chu Kuang’s face and slowly transferred it mouth to mouth. Chu Kuang couldn’t dodge in time and whimpered miserably as the bitter liquid went down, his whole face wrinkled in agony. Fang Jingyu asked, “Are you going to drink it yourself or should I keep feeding it to you?”

Chu Kuang’s cheeks turned scarlet—whether from fever or shame was unclear. But he yanked the blanket over his head and yelled, “I won’t drink it! If you have the guts, keep feeding me!”

So Fang Jingyu dragged him out of the covers and force-fed him sip by sip. The two were like desperate fighting fish, clumsily clashing again and again. Chu Kuang bit his lip, but fever left him weak, and when Fang Jingyu bit back at his tongue, it was more bashful than fierce. In the end, their saliva mingled. Chu Kuang shivered, coughing and sputtering through most of the medicine, eyes drooping shut, grabbing at Fang Jingyu’s robe and mumbling, “Deadface… you’re just taking advantage of me again…”

Fang Jingyu said, “You’re the one who told me to. If you want the medicine, this is how you’re getting it.”

Chu Kuang looked at him, hesitating, then closed his eyes with a weary sigh. After drinking the medicine, he felt overwhelmingly drowsy. “I’ll sleep a bit,” he said. “Your Highness should rest too. Once I recover, I’ll get up and serve you.”

“I don’t need you serving me,” Fang Jingyu chuckled. “It’s you who still needs looking after.”

Chu Kuang smiled faintly. “Just don’t serve me too well while I’m asleep. I might drift off into some celestial ecstasy.” Fang Jingyu replied, “If you truly want such pampering, that can be arranged.”

Chu Kuang was too tired. The moment he closed his eyes, he nearly dropped into slumber. In his dream, he saw a vivid image: Fang Jingyu sitting beside a mat, the candlelight casting golden shadows across his sorrowful, drawn face. Fang Jingyu’s lips moved slightly, as if trying to say something. Chu Kuang knew his younger brother’s nature—all sorrow was buried deep, never voiced aloud.

And then, as if struck by divine clarity, he suddenly understood what those lips were trying to say:

“Farewell, Chu Kuang.”

Chu Kuang jolted awake, soaked in sweat, as if ripped from a nightmare. He suddenly realized what he’d overlooked—keeping Fang Jingyu physically safe was not enough. After witnessing so much cruelty, his heart could not remain untouched. He would blame himself, feel guilt—because beneath the icy exterior, his heart was made of flesh and blood. Better to die than watch others die for him.

Morning light spilled into the boat cabin—it was already dawn. Chu Kuang reached out and felt nothing beside him. Alarmed, he called out:

“Your Highness?”

The cabin was empty. The satchels remained, but the Hanguang Sword and the Vipashiyin Blade were gone. Chu Kuang rushed out onto the deck—only the boatman was dozing at the bow. He stood there, stunned.

There was no sign of Fang Jingyu anywhere. Only a single blood-red sun rose in the sky, spilling dawn’s light like a torrent of gushing blood.