HCAW 121
by LiliumChapter 121: A Century of Lingering Grief
Verdant green stretched endlessly, mist drifted through the quiet forest. Outside the ancient temple of Yuanqiao, a young man sat atop a boulder, gazing into the vast sea with a sorrowful expression.
He wore a plain black robe, full of gashes from blades and swords. One of his arms had already been severed, the bandage soaked with blood. The light of dusk etched out his handsome features; grief filled his eyes. Fang Jingyu closed his eyes, listening to the endless sound of the tide, feeling only coldness and emptiness in his heart.
While he was steeped in misery, he heard rustling from the underbrush. A little nine-tentacled octopus emerged, timidly looking at him and called out, “Tight-lipped gourd.”
Fang Jingyu turned and gazed calmly at it. “What is it?”
“You’re not mad at me anymore, right?”
“Of course not. In truth, I never should have taken my anger out on you. Now that we’ve all fallen to this state, the fault lies entirely with me. You merely told me the truth.”
Upon hearing this, Xiao Jiao’s eyes lit up with familiar sparkle. She said hastily, “In that case, let me help you cleanse the poison from your body! I spent half the day crawling through the temple just now and couldn’t find you—I was so worried! You’re really someone who doesn’t take care of himself, don’t you know you’re still wounded…”
The little nine-tentacled octopus chattered away as it climbed onto his shoulder and crawled into his ear canal. Before long, a strange tingling sensation suddenly rose in his mind. Fang Jingyu closed his eyes, and suddenly recalled that night he confronted Gu Bi Guard—when Xiao Jiao had entered his ear and shared divine power with him. Though it lasted only a moment, it had felt as if he possessed ten thousand eyes and could see all of heaven and earth, past and present.
The sensation now was much the same. All at once, it felt as if a hole had opened in his head, and his soul flowed out through the crack, spilling into the heavens and earth. He felt like a cloud, suspended above Xian Mountain, watching all that occurred within Daiyu. When Xiao Jiao purged the fire-poison, their senses merged again, just as before. In an instant, countless bizarre and fantastical scenes flooded his mind like spinning lanterns. He saw everything.
‘Great Immortal Yonghe’ could see thousands of miles away through the eyes and ears of its believers. Most in Daiyu had eaten “Immortal Elixir” and had, in a way, become Xiao Jiao’s followers. Xiao Jiao could thus borrow their vision. Fang Jingyu glimpsed her memories and saw, just a few days earlier, a vast cavalry force like a moving black cloud. Spears and halberds rang out. Two fast horses broke through the siege—one rider wielding Fan Ruo like a fierce star descending to earth, arrows flying like lightning: it was Chu Kuang. The other wore the peach-patterned cloak Fang Jingyu once wore, carried the Hanguang Sword, and held a fire lance in hand.
Fang Jingyu’s heart instantly jumped to his throat—it was Zheng Deli. He and Chu Kuang had taken such a daring action while Fang Jingyu lay unconscious from his wounds! The sound of war drums thundered, cold steel gleamed like snow. He saw Chu Kuang, bloodied and broken, still charging forward with the Chengying Sword, until Gu Bi Guard drove a sword straight through his chest; saw Zheng Deli, surrounded, raise his fire lance and aim it at his own face.
“Chu Kuang—Deli!”
A piercing sorrow overwhelmed him, and Fang Jingyu couldn’t help but cry out. But his shout couldn’t penetrate memory nor bring back the dead. He watched helplessly as the firelance flashed and Zheng Deli fell from his horse, blood blooming like a flower on blue bricks—his life gone in silence.
He suddenly opened his eyes. The scenes in his mind had vanished. Before him now was only the rippling sea, faint and misty. Fang Jingyu, still shaken, gasped for breath.
“What’s wrong?” The little octopus crawled out of his ear, gazing at him in concern.
Fang Jingyu’s eyes were unfocused. “Just now, I… saw Chu Kuang and Deli. What was that?” Xiao Jiao tensed up and stammered, “Th-that was just a d-dream.”
“No, it wasn’t a dream. I’ve had this sensation before. It was your memory, wasn’t it?” Fang Jingyu’s voice turned cold. Suddenly, he understood why, when he first woke, Xiao Jiao had looked at him with such grief—why it had sobbed uncontrollably. “Chu Kuang and Deli—they stayed behind in Daiyu to hold off Gu Bi Guard, giving us a chance to escape. But they paid for it with their lives!”
“Tight-lipped gourd, w-what nonsense are you saying?” The little octopus stammered. “They’re both still alive and well…”
“Really?”
Fang Jingyu’s gaze turned cold as autumn frost. Under his interrogator’s stare, the little octopus tensed like a drawn bowstring. Fang Jingyu said, “You still don’t know how to lie, Xiao Jiao.”
Xiao Jiao stared as his back slowly hunched, as if he suddenly bore a crushing weight. Fang Jingyu silently faced the vast sea, gazing out at the molten-gold surface leaping with light.
The little nine-tentacled octopus shrank away and scuttled off. As it left, it said, “Tight-lipped gourd, don’t be reckless. If you go to Daiyu now, it’s nothing but a death mission.” Fang Jingyu didn’t respond. He was thinking—Zheng Deli and Chu Kuang had gone seeking death. When they faced doom, what had they felt?
Zheng Deli was already dead. Chu Kuang was gravely wounded. In Xiao Jiao’s memories, both had been captured by Daiyu cavalry and taken to Gu Bi Guard’s camp. A chill washed over Fang Jingyu. Now he was truly fighting alone, caught between advance and retreat. He buried his face in his hands—and before long, his palms were wet. Tears rolled down unchecked. His face was calm, but his heart felt as if it were being sawed apart. The cool sea breeze ruffled his sleeves like fluttering wings, but they could not lift him. He was like a dying bird in its final struggle. Fang Jingyu thought: he was alone again.
As he looked out toward the vast sea, he suddenly remembered the once-popular “Emperor Bai Gazing at the Sea” painting that had circulated in Daiyu’s streets. Emperor Bai had once passed through here on an expedition, and his soldiers and loyal Tianfu Guard had all perished beneath the Ming sea—great losses suffered. Now, Fang Jingyu finally understood the profound grief in the eyes of the late emperor in that portrait. Time had passed, and yet he and Emperor Bai were both mired deep.
Fang Jingyu slowly stood up. The light of dusk carved the outline of his figure, carrying with it the chill and solitude of night. After a long moment, he turned and walked back to the ancient temple. Every step was heavy as if weighed by a thousand jin.
______
In the lotus pond, dark sludge rippled. The waters of the Ming sea were thick as honey. Immersed in it, the splashing sound echoed like a lullaby sung by a mother beside her swaddled child.
Fang Jingyu lay in the lotus pond, eyes closed in meditation, waiting for his wounds to heal. Beside him, the old nun who called herself Bi Bao Guard—muddy in appearance—spoke softly, “Your Highness, would you like to hear another story of the Nine Provinces?”
Fang Jingyu nodded. These days, the old nun had told him many stories of the Nine Provinces—each strange and wondrous. Bi Bao Guard continued, “When Your Highness first arrived at Yuanqiao, there was still a young man beside you, wasn’t there? The one with the double pupil.” At the mention of Chu Kuang, Fang Jingyu’s heart jolted. Bi Bao Guard smiled. “Seeing him reminded me of a legend from the Nine Provinces. They say there was once a Wrathful King, whose fury shook mountains and whose command was thunder. He too had double pupils. That young man—not only in looks, but in temperament—bears a striking resemblance to him.”
“What became of this Wrathful King in the end?”
“He was trapped at Gaixia, yet still fought fiercely to the death. He broke through the siege, slew generals, and took flags in three victories, sending the enemy fleeing for miles. But in the end, covered in wounds, he committed suicide.”
Fang Jingyu felt another sharp pang in his heart. Was Chu Kuang not just like the Wrathful King, marching toward death? The same tragic heroism, playing out in a different time and place. Bi Bao Guard saw his unrest and added, “Your Highness misses Young Lord Chu, do you not? In my view, you need not blame yourself. Returning to Daiyu may have seemed reckless at the time, but had you not done it, the warriors of Yingzhou would never have sacrificed themselves so willingly for you. Young Lord Chu, too, was moved by your sincerity, which is why he was willing to die for righteousness. A sage from the Nine Provinces once said: ‘If I examine myself and am right, even if ten million stand in my way, I shall go forward.’ You and Young Lord Chu are merely living out that truth.”
Fang Jingyu mulled over these words, a bitter taste in his mouth. After a long silence, he suddenly changed the subject and asked, “Master once said the waters of this lotus pond have the power to heal wounds. By reason, seawater should aggravate injuries—yet mine seem to be healing instead. Why is that?”
Bi Bao Guard smiled faintly. “Because the power of the ‘Great Immortal Yonghe’ originates from the mud of the Ming sea. We, Emperor Bai’s retainers, were able to rise from death only because we were buried beneath the seabed and covered in sea mud. In ancient times, Penglai was a celestial island. There were those from beyond the island who crossed the sea seeking the an elixir that could grant immortality, but they could not return due to storms. Thus, Penglai became isolated from the world.”
“Immortality?”
“Penglai did indeed possess such an elixir—that was the ‘Great Immortal Yonghe’ born of the vast sea, and us, the retainers born of mud. Your Highness must have sensed it: after eating slices of flesh cut from our bodies or partaking of ‘Immortal Elixir’ made from our flesh, even grave wounds can heal, and withered trees bloom anew.”
“Who were those people?”
“They were seafarers from Langya in Qi territory of the Nine Provinces. Their leader was named Xu Fu, sent northward by the First Emperor of Qin. They settled here, farming and fishing, passing down generations. These were the first Penglai people.”
Fang Jingyu was astonished. “Then you mean, the earliest Penglai people all came from the Nine Provinces?”
“Exactly. At that time, only the followers of the Great Immortal wandered Penglai. Those seafarers called us ‘Immortals.’ We built cities following the forms of the Nine Provinces. The Great Immortal, who could observe the entire universe, brought in much history and knowledge from the Nine Provinces, which was passed down through generations. The people of the Nine Provinces once wished to return to their homeland, but the seas outside were ever stormy. Later, Penglai suffered snow calamities, growing colder each year. So this place became a prison that encaged the people of the Nine Provinces.”
Fang Jingyu recalled how the old nun had once shown them a map of the Nine Provinces and said that Langya of Qi territory later became part of Jiangnan. He thought, “So we are people of Jiangnan.” Then he added, “So after centuries have passed, there are no more Nine Provinces people—only Penglai people.”
Bi Bao Guard smiled. “Your Highness truly is wise—grasping it all at once.”
“Then… how did the Penglai people treat you? Why is it that by my time, few have heard of the ‘Immortals,’ only that the imperial house bestows ‘Immortal Elixir’ upon meritorious officials?”
“At first, things were peaceful and harmonious. But at some point, the Penglai people came to understand that the ‘Immortals’ were in fact the very ‘Immortal Elixir’ they sought. So they began hunting us down. Most ‘Immortals’ were born of the Ming sea, without hearts for conflict or desires for gain. We could not resist them. One by one, we were wiped out, until only a handful remained here in Yuanqiao.”
Fang Jingyu listened, his heart heavy. The old nun said, “Do not burden yourself, Your Highness. This is a shared sin of all the Nine Provinces people, not yours alone. When I was first human, I too unknowingly consumed much ‘Immortal Elixir.’ If we speak of guilt, mine is deeper than yours! What’s more, once Emperor Bai learned the truth, he restored worship to the ‘Great Immortal Yonghe’ and no longer used killing to obtain ‘Immortal Elixir.’ He was a wise ruler.”
Fang Jingyu asked, “Did we harm you… disturb the peace of the ‘Immortals’? Were they merely seeking to live out their days peacefully on the celestial island?”
Bi Bao Guard sighed. “The water’s already spilled. All we can hope now is that Penglai people and ‘Immortals’ may live in harmony, heart to heart, united under heaven. That is the ‘Fusion’ the Great Immortal seeks.”
She continued, “But now it’s all too late. Daiyu has long since been corroded by Gu Bi Guard. After Emperor Bai left, the people of Xian Mountain have withered from ice and snow. Gu Bi Guard has learned of the history of ‘Immortal Elixir’ and monopolized it. He uses its power to resurrect his dead subordinates. All the corpses in Daiyu are controlled in the palm of his hand.”
Thick grass, crashing waves, a cool breeze brushed past with a chill. Bi Bao Guard raised her head and looked into the distance, letting out a weary sigh:
“The people of Daiyu have long been dead—merely living now in the illusionary paradise crafted by Gu Bi Guard. It is both hateful and sorrowful.”
Fang Jingyu fell silent. After a moment, he asked, “To preserve Daiyu’s splendor, Gu Bi Guard slaughters you endlessly, doesn’t he?”
“Your Highness is not wrong. But sooner or later, all the ‘Immortals’ will be wiped out. Your Highness must have seen the surrounding Ming sea—clear and calm. Yet the Ming sea should be black and turbid. Clear water means the power of the Great Immortal Yonghe has been nearly depleted. It is now not even a thousandth of what it once was.”
“Is there a way to restore it?”
“There is—by letting the Great Immortal return to the sea and sleep for a thousand or ten thousand years.”
Fang Jingyu’s brow relaxed slightly. He chuckled bitterly, “By then, there might be no one left on Xian Mountain. No one to offer her dumplings.” Bi Bao Guard also laughed, “There might be another way. That is to gather the divine senses and strength of us followers, merge them into one, and return everything to the Great Immortal.”
“But wouldn’t that require sacrificing all of you?”
“Sacrifice is everywhere. Since Emperor Bai left, Xian Mountain and Daiyu have decayed like the realm of the dead. All of us have long awaited a true hero who would come and end this era of absurdity. Your Highness, we’ve all been waiting for you.”
Fang Jingyu said nothing. He reached into his robes and touched something hard. Taking it out, he saw it was the bili his elder brother had left him. When he departed Penglai, he hadn’t brought it from the courtyard—likely Xiao Jiao or Chu Kuang had packed it into his bag.
Strangely, it was the object that had been with him the longest. The last time he had truly looked at it was nearly ten years ago, when he saw his brother’s corpse and felt all hope extinguished. Now, seeing it again in this desperate moment, he was overwhelmed by a feeling too deep for words.
He suddenly discovered something stuffed in the bili’s bore—soaked and wrinkled from water. He pulled it out and saw a piece of straw paper.
Drawn in crude, childish lines was a small fish and a little dog, huddled close together. The ink had already blurred.
Fang Jingyu held the paper, and his fingers suddenly trembled violently. The world blurred and tilted, and then he realized his eyes were full of tears. As Emperor Bai’ son, he bore the burden of reviving Xian Mountain. As Fang Jingyu, he owed Chu Kuang his life. Even if it meant plunging into fire or enduring eons of torment, he would stay true to himself.
He was going to save Chu Kuang.
Bi Bao Guard noticed the change in his expression. “Your Highness, have you made up your mind?”
Fang Jingyu nodded, murmuring, “I’m going to save him.”
“Your Highness, I’ve said it before—act with strategy.”
Fang Jingyu lowered his gaze. “This is my strategy. Emperor Bai’s unfinished work—perhaps I can carry it through. I am not Emperor Bai. I will not bring ruin to all. Until now, I’ve hesitated to stain my hands with blood. But from this moment forward, things are different.”
He rose from the lotus pond, stepped onto the stone steps, and walked toward the main hall. The old nun and monks swam quietly after him. Before the steps lay his bag. Fang Jingyu opened it and took out a crossbow. It was a rare item he and Chu Kuang had found in a shop during their stroll through Daiyu—powerful enough to take down a charging horse instantly. The blueprint was incomplete, and the weapon required the user to have an incomplete arm. Now, because of the poison, his wound could not heal, so it suited him well.
The Vipashiyin Blade was also laid before the hall—sheathed in gold and enamel, heavy and radiant like a coiled ancient dragon.
Fang Jingyu fitted the crossbow to his arm. Sweat soaked him, and his face turned pale. But when he bent down and grabbed the blade’s hilt, the Vipashiyin Blade did not budge. It was heavy as a mountain, and without his iron bones, he could not lift it.
Still, his expression showed no frustration—only calm.
“Xiao Jiao, are you there?”
Hearing him call, the little nine-tentacled octopus shyly emerged from the crowd. “I’m here.”
“I’ve thought it through. I’m not returning to Yingzhou. Going back would take too long. I have to save Chu Kuang. He can’t wait.”
The little octopus stammered, “But if you do that… their sacrifice will have been in vain…” Fang Jingyu’s gaze was bleak. “It won’t be in vain. Every action has meaning. If I don’t go save him, I can’t save Ah Que. If Chu Kuang and Deli hadn’t saved me, I’d never have learned the value of sacrificing one’s life for righteousness. I wouldn’t have met all of you in Yuanqiao. Perhaps everything so far was fate—but everything to come is mine to choose.”
He stood on the palace steps, gazing around at the assembly of monks. One after another, heads like clumps of filth were lifted high. These people, who had long since died in the Nether Sea and lost their human forms, surrounded him, awaiting his words as if awaiting Medicine King Avalokitesvara to sprinkle holy water from a willow branch and deliver all beings from suffering.1A fusion of two figures: Medicine King Bodhisattva (藥王菩薩, Yaowang Pusa) – A bodhisattva in the Lotus Sutra, associated with healing and the self-sacrificial offering of his body as a supreme form of devotion. Avalokitesvara (觀音菩薩, Guanyin Pusa) – The Bodhisattva of Compassion, often depicted holding a willow branch and vase of pure water, using them to cleanse and heal the suffering of sentient beings.
Fang Jingyu stood above them like the moon among stars. His obsidian-black eyes glimmered, and something soul-stirring gathered in their depths. He said, “I’m going to save someone. But this time, I won’t go alone. I ask for your help. Nearly a century ago, you died to protect Emperor Bai—loyal and righteous—but never passed through the gate of Guixu. So now, I ask you to journey with me to Guixu. Let us complete what Emperor Bai could not and do what none before us dared.”
The monks were silent, glancing at each other, countless tiny eyes blinking. Yet when they looked again at Fang Jingyu, their gaze was full of hope—as if seeing an old friend from a century past, as if seeing the banner of a long-fallen army finally rise again. Fang Jingyu continued, “I am foolish and unworthy. I’ve only survived this far because of the care of others. This life of mine isn’t worth much. But now that I’ve lost my iron bones, I cannot last on my own.”
He looked to Xiao Jiao and said solemnly, “Great Immortal, I ask you for your aid.”
Xiao Jiao stammered for a long while, then said, “I—I’m willing… but what should I do?”
“You can control a person’s body, can’t you?”
“Yes, but I rarely do it. Because immortals and humans are different. Even without malice, it causes great damage. Unless absolutely necessary, I don’t do it.”
Fang Jingyu spoke with firm resolve:
“Great Immortal, I ask you to ‘fuse’ with me—be the bone within my body.”
Xiao Jiao was stunned. She looked up at him. For centuries, she had stood on altars and been worshipped. But now, she felt admiration for this mortal who would wager his life. She said, “But if we do this… your mind will grow clouded. You won’t lose yourself as quickly as Laborer Chu did—but you’ll stop being you…”
Fang Jingyu smiled faintly. It was like the thaw of spring ice:
“Great Immortal, I am not Emperor Bai. He shone like radiant jade and will be remembered forever. But I am just a nameless soldier—willing to plunge into the depths of hell and walk beside King Yama.”
Xiao Jiao was speechless. Then Fang Jingyu bowed deeply once more. “I ask all the masters here—rise up and set forth.”
He stood tall, like a war drum sounding for battle. Light poured down from the sky. Clouds churned. The mountain cleaved the heavens—on one side, cold darkness like an unknown sea; on the other, crimson light like molten iron, birthing ten thousand suns.
They would throw themselves into fire and death.
The youth gripped the Vipashiyin Blade in one arm, the other outstretched as if to embrace the world. At once both plea and command, righteous and resounding:
“Come with me. Let us go to Guixu together—and fulfill Emperor Bai’s century-old wish!”
AN:
Yes, the people of Penglai are all evolved Jiangsu people.
As for where Penglai actually is, I figure… since there’s a sea between us, and it’s getting colder and colder…
Maybe… this place is the Arctic!
So the background of this story is… Jiangsu people went to the Arctic and became Inuit! (Sudden realization) (゜゜三゜゜)
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