HCAW 119

Chapter 119: Suffering Without Measure

Fang Jingyu lay immersed in the lotus pond, face tilted toward the sky, silent.

The sky above was quiet and bright blue, betraying nothing of the storm of blood and slaughter unfolding somewhere below. The pond water rippled with pitch-black sludge. Xiao Jiao had told him it was ancient water from the Ming Sea, the source of her divine power—also the same origin from which the mud-bodied monks in the ancient temple were born. Sure enough, though his body was numb and aching under the soak, his wounds were slowly healing.

At the moment, his uninjured wrist was shackled with an iron chain. When he had first awoken, he had immediately flared up, eyes red, demanding Chu Kuang’s whereabouts. Xiao Jiao and Ah Que had tried to calm him down, urging him to recover first before taking any action. But seeing how distraught he was, fearing he would recklessly escape, they had chained him up for his own safety.

Now, Fang Jingyu’s heart was a tangled mess, as if a hook were stabbing into his chest again and again. He was tormented with worry for Chu Kuang and Zheng Deli—both of them had stayed behind in that perilous stronghold, facing ten thousand foes alone. The danger was unimaginable.

He stared into the sky, lost in thought, when he heard the sound of water softly rippling. Turning his head, he saw Xiao Jiao crawling toward him, the old nun with the porcelain bowl on her head following behind. Xiao Jiao cautiously looked at him. “Gourd Mouth, does the wound still hurt?”

“It still aches. When will I recover?”

“At least a few more days. The Gu Bi Guard’s poison has deeply corroded you. Even though I have healing power, that severed arm cannot be restored anytime soon.”

Fang Jingyu asked, “Even eating that pouch of black meat slices won’t bring it back?”

Xiao Jiao was startled. After a moment, it said, “Gourd Mouth… that pouch… we got it back in Milu Village, remember? It was given to us by the Da Yuan Dao’s leader. Even I don’t know exactly where it came from—only that it carries deep resentment and malice. If eaten in excess, it will cloud the mind. And the fire-poison left behind by the Gu Bi Guard is vicious—much of it is still gathered at your severed limb. Even if you eat that meat, it likely won’t heal your wound.”

“Then when can I finally set out to save Chu Kuang and Deli?” Fang Jingyu’s voice was cold, though his heart burned. “Every moment wasted puts them in greater danger—how can I just sit here and watch from the shore while the fire rages across the river?”

Xiao Jiao didn’t answer for a long while. Fang Jingyu turned his head and saw that black droplets were steadily rolling down from Xiao Jiao’s seven little eyes, soaking her whole body—like tears. Surprised, Fang Jingyu asked, “What’s wrong?”

Xiao Jiao sniffled. “Nothing.”

After regaining her divine power, Xiao Jiao’s sight could extend across a thousand li. She had already seen Zheng Deli’s fate—and it ached like a blade through her heart. Suddenly, grief surged through it. Unable to hold back, she burst into wailing sobs, throwing Fang Jingyu into helpless dismay. Finally, it tearfully said, “Stupid Gourd—when I said don’t go, I meant don’t go! Think carefully before you act again—do you really want to get more people killed?”

Those words were like a dagger stabbing Fang Jingyu right in the heart. He opened his mouth but was speechless, his face turning pale. Xiao Jiao also realized she had gone too far—but once spoken, words were like spilled water, impossible to take back. Embarrassed, the little octopus lifted her tentacles and slowly crawled away, leaving Fang Jingyu alone.

He sank back into the lotus pond, pain tightening in his chest. Xiao Jiao had been right—he had already brought great loss to others. Now he couldn’t afford to act rashly. Mule was dead. Most of the Yingzhou soldiers had perished. Chu Kuang and Zheng Deli were missing. The situation before him felt like a death trap. He was the last remaining piece on the chessboard—a lone general fighting with no reinforcements.

He suddenly longed to see Chu Kuang. Chu Kuang’s every glance and smile, that sharp, blood-red eye, his sorrowful, resolute words at parting—they rose vividly in his mind the moment he closed his eyes. Chu Kuang had once held his hand and said that even if only one remained, he would still be Fang Jingyu’s army of thousands.

The more he thought of Chu Kuang, the harder it was to control his emotions. Over the days they had traveled together, facing countless dangers, he had come to regard Chu Kuang as kin—deeply bonded and inseparable. As his heart ached like it was being carved open, he suddenly heard a faint rustling and a strange voice calling out, “Your Highness.”

Fang Jingyu slowly sat up and turned to see the old nun with the porcelain bowl on her face. Xiao Jiao had left, but she had remained. Strangely, perhaps because Xiao Jiao had once crawled into his ear and purged the poison from his body, he was now gradually able to understand what she said. The nun spoke: “Your Highness need not fret. Act only after careful thought—that is the wise course.”

Fang Jingyu said flatly, “I’m a cripple. I have no soldiers at my command. What kind of strategy could I possibly devise?”

“Then take it one step at a time. For now, the most urgent task is to heal your body. This lotus pond is full of ancient Ming Sea water—it’s of great help to your injuries. While you rest, may I tell Your Highness a bit of old history?”

Fang Jingyu glanced at the iron chain on his wrist. At this point, there was no escape. And he was indeed curious about the origins of this old nun, so he nodded.

“Actually, Your Highness is far from powerless. If you’re willing, we can lend you our aid.”

“Tell me then… who exactly are you?”

“I once explained this to that young Chu fellow—he probably didn’t get the chance to tell you. We were once human, people who died long ago in Xian Mountain. Our corpses sank into the Ming Sea, broken and scattered, until we became silt at the bottom. Later, thanks to the power of the ‘Great Immortal Yonghe,’ we were reborn from the sea and returned to land.”

“Then you’re the so-called ‘immortals from the sea’ in the old legends?”

A smile colored the old nun’s voice. “We wouldn’t dare call ourselves immortals. Emperor Bai once passed through this place and left us here to stand guard. But calamity later struck, and we perished. Our bodies decayed and became this black-mud form. Most of us lost our minds and could no longer speak like ordinary people—those are the monks you saw in the ancient temple.”

Fang Jingyu’s eyes widened. “Emperor Bai? You served under Emperor Bai?”

“Yes. Long, long ago, we were once subordinates of Emperor Bai, and followed him into war,” the old nun said. “I had an old name—perhaps one you would recognize better.” As she spoke, she removed the porcelain bowl covering her face, and Fang Jingyu was stunned to see the blurry features beneath—vague, but vaguely familiar. He must have seen her somewhere before—perhaps in a mural, where Emperor Bai, scepter in hand, was depicted in grandeur, the Xian Mountain Guards behind him, dignified and formidable. Her face looked just like one of them.

“Bi Bao Guard,”

the old nun said slowly.

“That was the name I held, when I was still alive.”

______

The sound of dripping water tapped painfully in Chu Kuang’s ears. His eyelids were heavy as lead, his limbs stiff and weighted. All around him was darkness and cold, as if he were lying inside a coffin.

The thick scent of blood clung to his nose. Later, Chu Kuang realized the metallic taste and the water-like dripping came from his own blood. Agony rippled through his entire body, like countless wild beasts tearing at his flesh. A chain suspended him by the wrists, just letting his toes graze the ground. He couldn’t tell where he was—probably some dungeon meant for prisoners. Likely because of the large quantity of meat slices he had consumed, even though his body was battered beyond recognition and his chest had been pierced by the Gu Bi Guard, he still clung to life.

In the days that followed, his mind drifted between consciousness and delirium. The jailers brought him water each day, but more often than not, they tortured him with unspeakable cruelty. Until now, he had never realized how tenacious his own life was—riddled with arrows, slashed by blades, pierced through by the Gu Bi Guard’s tentacles, his body had become little more than torn rags—and yet he still lived. Most of the time, he lingered in a half-conscious haze, his body a prison of constant pain.

He thought back to long ago—back when he had still been Fang Minsheng, and his hands were often torn open during sword practice. Every time that happened, the Langgan Guard would say:

“Get up. Don’t frown, Minsheng. It’s just a little wound. Barely worth mentioning. If a Fang still draws breath, then we crawl through arrows and boiling oil without complaint.”

And he had always gritted his teeth and stood up. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t suffered worse—he’d been punched through the chest by the Yu Ji Guard, torn in half, had every bone in his body shattered. He had survived all that. But this time, he was losing strength.

Chu Kuang’s lips barely moved. In a whisper so low no one could hear, he rasped, as if speaking to the shadow of the Langgan Guard:

“I can’t go on anymore… Ten years… isn’t that enough?”

“It hurts. I’m cold. I’m so tired… Let me die, Father.”

Death was a peaceful sleep. Life was agony. In his blurred vision, he saw the silhouettes of the jailers sneering as they approached. The Gu Bi Guard had ordered them to torture him—he had eaten too many meat slices. His wounds wouldn’t heal, but neither would they let him die easily.

Each day they doused him in cold water to wash away the dried blood, only to beat him bloody again. Ever since he parted from Fang Jingyu, all hope had died. Fang Jingyu was likely headed for Yuanqiao or Yingzhou under Ah Que’s escort, while he, the pawn, would perish here. No one was coming to save him.

In the midst of his stupor, a shadow suddenly appeared in his blurred vision. A voice, with a smile, spoke before him:

“Still breathing, Tianfu Guard?”

The Gu Bi Guard stood before him, clad in a robe embroidered with gold, a lapis-lazuli dragon-head belt around his waist, tall and elegant, radiating power. In contrast, Chu Kuang was strung up by chains, hair in disarray, face as pale as a ghost, his body covered in savage wounds, a pool of blood forming beneath his feet. He looked pitiful. Yet Chu Kuang forced out a snort with what little strength he had, and croaked in a voice like drifting wind:

“Out of breath already… Why haven’t you… set up my shrine yet? I’ll be watching you… every day… from the heavens, you bald-headed bastard…”

The Gu Bi Guard laughed. “Still got a sharp tongue, huh? Must be all that ‘Immortal Elixir’—you still have some strength.” He turned to the jailers. “Where are your little blades? Draw them—each of you stab him once. Let’s see if he can still talk.”

The jailers, seeing Chu Kuang on the verge of death, hesitated. They were terrified of killing him too early. But since the order came from the Gu Bi Guard, they dared not disobey. One by one, they drew their short swords. Chu Kuang was a monster—they had come to understand this clearly in recent days. Despite suffering injuries that would kill any other man, he refused to die. His wounds didn’t rot but were slowly healing.

They stepped forward. A muffled sound of flesh tearing filled the air. In an instant, Chu Kuang’s body was covered with fresh gashes, blood gushing down in streams. But he no longer had the strength to scream. His limbs twitched slightly, he sucked in a short breath, then went limp, head drooping as if unconscious again.

The Gu Bi Guard approached and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Chu Kuang’s eyes were shut, face bloodless, like a shattered porcelain doll. The Gu Bi Guard’s fingers turned into black, muddy tentacles and pierced into his wounds. He leaned in and whispered into his ear:

“Your precious ‘Highness’ is dead.”

In that moment, Chu Kuang’s body jolted violently. This young man, who had endured blades and fire without a sound, suddenly opened his eyes and glared at him with feral fury. The Gu Bi Guard was satisfied.

“It’s true. My subordinates spotted him near the courtyard road. Despite his severed arm, he tried to shoot at my cavalry with a fire lance. But alas—he was unlucky. The lance exploded. Blew off half his head. Dead on the spot.”

Suddenly, Chu Kuang began to thrash wildly, as if molten lava were erupting from his chest. In a voice far too powerful for someone on the verge of death, he screamed:

“Lies… all lies!”

“How is that nonsense? I saw it with my own eyes, clear as day. The corpse was laid out in the mortuary—during the days you were unconscious, it had already begun to rot, the stench unbearable. If you don’t believe me, I can take you to see it,” said the Gu Bi Guard, smiling as he lightly brushed the hilt of the sword at his waist. Chu Kuang caught sight of the familiar tassel and guard—there was no doubt, it was the Hanguang Sword.

“I’ll kill you!”

Suddenly, Chu Kuang roared like a beast. The chains rattled violently. With every word, blood spattered from his mouth. His eyes were blood-red, veins bulging from his forehead, and he bellowed with all his might:

“Gu Bi Guard, you mangy bald dog! Come here, and I’ll bite through your damn throat in one go! I’ll tear your cursed, worthless carcass to pieces and feed it to the horses!”

He was trembling with fury. The movement likely tore through some internal organ—he abruptly cut off, gasping, coughing up blood.

The Gu Bi Guard stepped back, his smile turning cold. “Seeing you so agitated… truly puts me at ease. That confirms it was indeed your Highness who died. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have risked your life to protect him back then.”

Before leaving, he turned to the jailers. “If this prisoner still has the strength to bark, then clearly you’ve failed in your duties. Prepare to be punished. Don’t worry—he won’t die anytime soon. Each of you, stab him again. Keep stabbing until he can’t speak.”