HCAW 125

Chapter 125: A Lonely Guest, Alone in Sorrow

Along the peach path through the plum orchard, fallen blossoms scattered in profusion. In a daze, Fang Jingyu found himself standing before the gate of the Fang residence.

The Fang residence’s white walls and gray tiles were spotless, free from dust. Fragrant breezes wafted through the air. In the courtyard, crape myrtle blossoms glistened with dew, blooming in their prime, just as they had ten years ago. His head throbbed as if it would split; all things before his eyes seemed twisted and distorted, like rivers overturning seas. Layered whispers echoed at his ear—some from Gu Bi Guard, some from the Great Immortal Yonghe—so he understood that he had fallen into an illusion conjured by Gu Bi Guard’s gaze.

“This is an illusion—I must escape as soon as possible…”

Fang Jingyu murmured, pounding his head with his fist, intent on turning away. Yet, from behind the shadow wall, a figure darted out—dressed in a snow-white, arrow-sleeved robe embroidered with ink-bamboo patterns, a gold-inlaid cloud-and-dragon belt at his waist, and a silk eye patch over his face. It was a young man with elegant brows and clear eyes, as ethereal as a painting.

Upon seeing Fang Jingyu, the youth gasped softly, “Jingyu, why are you here?”

Fang Jingyu’s heart seemed to skip a beat. He turned slowly, as if peering through a thousand years. Then, he saw a face all too familiar—the elder brother who had died years ago, standing before him.

His lips trembled and his teeth chattered with cold. After a moment, he stammered in a quavering voice:

“…Brother?”

In that instant, all thought of illusion, struggle, or death seemed to fly to the nine heavens above. He was simply standing, as he had ten years ago, within the Fang residence, facing Fang Minsheng. His heart trembled, and for a long time, he was speechless. Fang Minsheng ran to him, seized his hand, and laughed, “Why are you wandering around again! If Father finds out, I’ll get another beating. You haven’t even finished this morning’s lessons—come, let’s go to the study together.”

All of a sudden, Fang Jingyu felt as though he had returned to age twelve or thirteen, his body frail and thin, once again a child. Fang Minsheng led him by the hand, guiding him around the shadow wall toward the inner courtyard. In a daze, Fang Jingyu let himself be led, casting aside all worries for the moment. In the courtyard, evergreen shoots and deep crimson blooms flourished. He remembered being carried on his brother’s back, running wild amid the flowers. They had practiced swordsmanship, played in the water, read together, climbed walls to watch the street performers. In his childish heart, his brother had been the whole world.

But he knew this had to be a dream—Gu Bi Guard’s trickery.

Fang Minsheng, sensing his lagging steps, turned back and asked, “What’s wrong, Jingyu?”

Fang Jingyu said nothing, but tears fell, soaking his face. Fang Minsheng was momentarily surprised, then walked over and wiped his tears away with his sleeve. “Why are you suddenly crying? Does something hurt?”

Fang Jingyu pointed to his chest. “My heart hurts.”

“Why does your heart hurt?”

“When I see you, Brother Minsheng, my heart feels sad.”

Fang Minsheng laughed, “What nonsense! What’s there to be sad about? We’re both here, safe and whole, nothing is missing. The days ahead are long.” Fang Jingyu could not help sobbing, the icy shell he always wore melted away—at this moment, he no longer needed to disguise himself in cold indifference. He rubbed his face clumsily, while his brother watched him patiently.

After a long time, Fang Jingyu stammered, “I…seem to have had a nightmare… In that dream, you were taken away by the Xian Mountain Guards, and later you died… Many people wanted me to go beyond the pass, but they too died, and finally I was left alone in Guixu, all alone…”

A surge of grief broke through his heart like a collapsed dam. The corpse of his brother, turned into a lump of foul, walking meat; “Mule” and the old woman’s corpse, hanging in a dark chamber; Zheng Deli, half his skull blown away by a fire lance; Chu Kuang, bleeding—these tragic sights haunted him relentlessly. At that moment, he suddenly felt himself enfolded in an embrace as soft as silk, as if the earth itself were gently cradling a fallen leaf.

It was Fang Minsheng holding him, the scent of incense clinging to his brother’s sleeve, sunlight pouring down, even the wind tinged with gold. Fang Minsheng rested his head on Fang Jingyu’s shoulder, softly murmuring:

“It’s nothing—that was just a dream. I am right here in front of you, am I not?”

Fang Jingyu’s tears flowed all the more. Choking, he shook his head. “No, you are…a dream. You are a shadow conjured by Gu Bi Guard…a phantom meant to deceive me.” Each word cut him to the core. He longed to remain here, to be lost in this place forever. Fang Minsheng smiled, “Nonsense again—are you running a fever today?”

He pressed his forehead to Fang Jingyu’s, gazing into his eyes. “Gu Bi Guard? That’s a name from long ago. I remember he was a Xian Mountain Guard at the late emperor’s side. Someday, I’ll also become a Xian Mountain Guard. If I get the chance, I’ll sneak you out of the Heavenly Pass, and we’ll see the world outside together—how about it?” Fang Jingyu wanted to break from his brother’s embrace, but was held by that gentle warmth; in the end, he nodded silently, unable to speak for tears.

His brother gently took his hand. “Forget the nightmare—let’s go back to the courtyard. No need for copybooks today. Let’s play pitch-pot, battle with grasses, shoot arrows—whatever games you like, let’s play to our hearts’ content.” Fang Jingyu sniffled, nodding unconsciously. His brother bent down and lifted his slender body onto his back. Lying there, Fang Jingyu’s tears flowed without end. Suddenly, he wanted to give up everything, to remain here in this dream, never to awaken.

Fang Minsheng said again, “Why are you sniffling now? Don’t be afraid, I’m here. I won’t go anywhere.” Fang Jingyu choked out, “Then I won’t leave either—I’ll stay here with you, Brother Minsheng.”

Fang Minsheng smiled, “Little sticky candy.” Fang Jingyu replied, “As long as I can be with you, Brother, I’ll be whatever candy, vinegar, anything.”

A cool breeze suddenly rose, showering them with fragrant petals. Fang Jingyu closed his eyes, feeling only warmth and the perfect light of spring. His eyelids grew heavy—he was drifting to sleep on his brother’s back. Just then, a faint sound of weeping reached his ears.

He opened his eyes and turned his head—at some point, the gate had opened a crack, letting in a slant of white light. Through that gap, he could just make out the ruined dirt road outside, where the air was thick with dust. Beyond, corpses lay everywhere, a world apart from the sunlit Fang residence.

“Brother,” he called uneasily, “what’s going on outside the gate?”

His brother did not turn, but said, “Don’t look, Jingyu.”

Yet the mournful cries would not cease—they were the pleas of commoners on the verge of freezing or starving to death. Beggars knelt, walking meat crawled along the ground, flags of flesh hung high overhead; it was like a scene from hell. Fang Jingyu said anxiously, “The situation outside is dire, Brother. Shouldn’t we go and see?”

But Fang Minsheng replied, “Don’t go—that’s someone else’s affair.” Fang Jingyu’s heart quivered. “Brother Minsheng would never say that.” Fang Minsheng retorted, “Why wouldn’t I? I’m only afraid the crazed, starving dead will hurt you.”

Fang Jingyu hesitated, but Fang Minsheng went on, “Forget it, let’s go back to the courtyard. This is your dream, your paradise. I’ll stay with you, you’ll stay with me, and we’ll never part for all eternity.”

These words seemed almost magical, instantly smoothing away all the burdens in Fang Jingyu’s heart. Yes—what could be better than spending a lifetime here in comfort with Brother Minsheng? Fang Jingyu turned his head away, but now he heard, once again, that faint weeping, clawing at his heart.

Fang Jingyu looked back again.

He saw, outside the gate, a beggar child curled up beside the road—his clothes ragged, bloodstained, as if freshly beaten. The child raised his head; beneath his tangled hair, his eye glowed red as blood, with a double pupil.

Fang Jingyu froze—not just at the face so like his brother’s, but at the sorrow and desolation in those eyes, as calm as a windless sea, beneath which were buried countless bones. The child gazed at Fang Jingyu and wept in silence, just as Fang Jingyu had wept to his brother. Those tears were like mercury, like iron, like blood—so heavy they seemed to tear Fang Jingyu’s heart apart.

As if compelled, Fang Jingyu broke from his brother’s arms and slid to the ground. “What’s wrong, Jingyu? Where are you going?” Fang Minsheng asked in surprise.

“I’m going to save him,” Fang Jingyu murmured, lost and wretched, taking a step toward the beggar. His brother caught his wrist, the smile gone from his face as he sternly said, “Enough foolishness! Go, Father’s coming. If he sees you acting up, he’ll give you a beating for sure.”

“Then let him beat me. I have to save him—I must go.”

“What’s gotten into you? You shouldn’t know that child outside at all, should you?” Fang Minsheng asked, bewildered, then pleaded, “Come on, Jingyu, let’s go back to the courtyard. If you stand here any longer, you’ll catch a chill.”

Fang Jingyu looked at him, his voice rising with urgency. “Brother Minsheng would never say such things—are you really my brother? He taught me to help those in need, to rescue the suffering, not to stand by and watch.” Fang Minsheng gazed at him sadly. “There is a time for everything. The world is bleak now—I just don’t want you to see the horrors outside, people devouring one another. For you, I would rather not care about others.”

But Fang Jingyu turned and walked toward the gate. In that instant, he realized—this truly was a dream, a prison forged by Gu Bi Guard. Yet every step forward felt like a knife to his heart. The crape myrtle behind him bloomed like splashed ink, like brocade, like morning clouds. The sunlight was golden, warming his back. All that he left behind was as poetic and picturesque as ever; just one backward glance, and he could return to the dream, the paradise.

His brother’s voice came from behind, heavy with sorrow: “Where are you going? The world outside is wretched. If you leave these gates, you will see your kin have long since perished, your comrades have shed their blood for you, and you are powerless to help them. Those you wish to save have suffered every humiliation and have longed only for the underworld. Jingyu, stay here.”

Fang Jingyu did not look back but walked toward the beggar child outside the gate. The moment he crossed the threshold, a chilly wind brushed across his face. He smelled blood and felt a sharp, splitting pain in his arm; his head throbbed so fiercely it seemed about to burst, and a chorus of chanting rose in his ears. At last he looked back—Fang Minsheng stood before the shadow wall, the dappled sunlight spilling down, dancing across his white robes like a thousand fragments of daylight, dazzling and radiant. It was a scene he could only long for, one forever out of reach, visible only in dreams.

The beggar outside the gate was no longer weeping, only gazing up at him with pitiful eyes, like an abandoned dog with no home to return to. Fang Jingyu walked over and took the child’s hand. Warmth flowed between their palms. Fang Jingyu looked at him, a thousand words surging in his chest, but in the end, they condensed into only two words:

“Chu Kuang.”

Chu Kuang looked up at him—not crying, not smiling—gazing at him in silence, as if awaiting the return of a traveler long gone. If his brother had once been his entire past, then Chu Kuang was now his present, his future, and the life yet to come. Penglai, Yingzhou, Daiyu—they had weathered a thousand perils together; only life and death could truly part them.

“Your Highness does not wish to remain here, yet you would walk with me?” After a long while, the beggar child spoke softly, timidly, as if afraid to offend.

Fang Jingyu nodded. “Yes. I gave my word to walk with you through seas of blood and mountains of blades—I will never go back on it.”

Chu Kuang broke into a smile through his tears. He held Fang Jingyu’s hand tightly, their fingers interlaced, refusing to let go, like two pieces of melting candy stuck together. At last, with hope in his eyes, he said:

“I’ll wait for you.”

Fang Jingyu thought that this was a promise Chu Kuang had long yearned to make, waiting quietly in the shadows for countless days—like a cicada buried underground, waiting three thousand six hundred fifty days to see the light again. In the instant he clasped Chu Kuang’s wrist, searing pain shot through his whole body, and the world began to dissolve and shatter, the edges sharp and fresh, the splendid hues of the dream stripped away.

Fang Jingyu fell into darkness, but he clung tightly to Chu Kuang’s filthy hand, refusing to let go. Amid the breaking dream, Fang Minsheng’s sorrowful voice called from behind: “Jingyu, stay—this is the paradise you yearn for.”

In the final moment, Fang Jingyu whispered softly to his brother behind him:

“No, Brother Minsheng. Only what awaits after waking is my true paradise.”

______

The gloomy winter over Daiyu blotted out the sky and black waves swept the earth. A vast, monstrous ball of mud writhed, its tentacles lashing as it sprawled between heaven and earth.

The tentacles, fine as roots, twined around a black-clad youth, whose eyes were shut, as if in deep sleep. The mud ball was covered in tightly packed, wide-open eyes, all shining with a soul-seizing light, fixed upon the youth.

Gu Bi Guard was elated. Normally, anyone who met his gaze would be trapped in the illusions he wove, never able to escape—Fang Jingyu was no exception. The tentacles coiled tighter and tighter around the youth, slowly dragging him down toward the black waters below. Fang Jingyu would drown in the false paradise Gu Bi Guard created, never to wake again.

But just at that moment, the black-clad youth’s eyes snapped open.

Inch by inch, the arms bound by tentacles slowly lifted. Gu Bi Guard was shocked—he saw the youth, eyes bloodshot, gritting his teeth as he drew forth the Vipashiyin Blade from the black waters. In that instant, there was a sound like a dragon’s cry as the blade flashed through the air, severing a swath of tentacles at once. Gu Bi Guard let out a shrill, incredulous scream:

“How… How did you break free of this immortal’s dream?”

Fang Jingyu roared, “What do you call a dream like that? Amusement at the expense of others! I will save the living—I will not wallow in the past!”

The Vipashiyin Blade swept out like a silver ribbon, cutting thousands of tentacles to pieces in a heartbeat. The youth leaped upward, countless tentacles falling away from his body like withered vines. As Gu Bi Guard howled and shrieked, he also burst out in crazed laughter: “It’s useless! No matter how you hack me to bits, you’ll never find a single drop of my blood—”

Fang Jingyu cared nothing for his words, only slashing furiously; in an instant, the rain of blade light crashed down on Gu Bi Guard’s form, and with an explosive roar, black sludge splattered everywhere as the great mud ball was hacked to pieces.

With a final, wretched scream, Gu Bi Guard’s body faded and vanished. At last, that towering sphere of mud was gone without a trace. Only a tattered, long-haired figure stood there, handsome features twisted with hatred as he glared at Fang Jingyu.

Gu Bi Guard had finally revealed his human form—but in a moment, his skin cracked, scales flaking away like a snake shedding its skin, exposing what lay beneath: a white-haired, withered old man, eye sockets hollow as pits, mouth and nose streaming black sludge.

“Fang… Jingyu. Son of Emperor Bai…” he roared with hatred, “No—Emperor Bai! My entire life was destroyed by your hand! You left me to die in the wilds, letting a thousand of my men freeze to death—and now you have destroyed my paradise, too!”

Suddenly, he gave a chilling laugh, unfastened the Panguan Brush from his belt, and gripped it in his hand. “But today, I will drag you down to hell with me.”

In an instant, all the riders and commoners who had not yet been swallowed by the black waves suddenly went limp, collapsing like marionettes with cut strings. Black sludge oozed from their mouths and noses, flowing together toward Gu Bi Guard as if drawn by some force.

These had been Gu Bi Guard’s many avatars; now they returned to their source. The black sludge covered his body, as if arming him for battle. In the blink of an eye, Gu Bi Guard’s form swelled monstrously. By now, the black waves had reached the shore, swallowing the lower houses and rising past Fang Jingyu’s knees.

Gu Bi Guard’s figure suddenly shot forth like an arrow. The Panguan Brush shot for Fang Jingyu’s throat, its cold gleam swift as ink. He unleashed every technique he possessed as a mortal—masterful, intricate, and inhumanly fierce. Fang Jingyu parried, suddenly recalling that, for all his monstrous forms, this man had once ranked third among the Xian Mountain Guards. In terms of fists and blades, he was an opponent few could match.

“Why won’t you admit defeat, Your Majesty?” Gu Bi Guard’s eyes bulged with red veins. He laughed hoarsely, the Panguan Brush whistling through the air and drawing bloody lines across Fang Jingyu’s body. Fang Jingyu did not reply. Instead, he launched into the sword techniques taught by the Langgan Guard—“An Inch of Gold,” swift and forceful, “Frost Over the Courtyard,” sweeping and grand. Gu Bi Guard parried as he howled, “No, no, Your Majesty—why are you using Langgan Guard’s swordplay and not your own blade techniques?”

He was half-mad, half-delirious, yet his attacks were savage; his wounds healed rapidly, as if he were an endless plague of locusts, impossible to exterminate. As he charged toward Fang Jingyu in a frenzy, Fang Jingyu suddenly snapped his fingers.

At once, countless shadowy figures surged from the black tide below—Yuanqiao’s monks rose from the water, mouths agape, roaring like dragons and lions: “Retreat!”

Gu Bi Guard was caught off guard, seized by their hands and dragged into the depths. This black tide belonged to Minghai, and sapped his strength. Fang Jingyu looked at him coldly and said, “I am not Emperor Bai. I have no grudge with you. You are a monster that cannot be killed, and if you are so fond of dreaming in this place, then I will leave you to dream forever at the bottom of the Ming Sea.”

Gu Bi Guard began to sink, at last feeling true fear. He screamed, “No, no—I don’t want to dream! Let me go, Your Majesty!” He struggled desperately, but the black cords wrapped around his limbs like a net. Great Immortal Yonghe was devouring him, draining his strength—soon he would be sealed beneath the sea.

“If you do this, you’ll never get my blood. Your Majesty, you’ll never leave Guixu, you’ll be trapped here just like me…”

“Then I’ll give you a chance. Tell me, where is your blood?”

Gu Bi Guard suddenly sneered. “Hmph, Your Majesty had better keep me well-fed and comfortable—perhaps in a few days I’ll consider telling you…”

Fang Jingyu stared coldly at him, then raised his hand and snapped his fingers again.

In an instant, shadows swept down like greedy vultures—the monks of Yuanqiao tore his body apart and dragged him beneath the waters. By now, the black waves had swallowed most of Daiyu. From above, the Xian Mountain looked as if it were drenched in a sea of ink. Streets, pavilions, markets, temples—all that splendid prosperity had sunk to the bottom of Ming Sea.

The seawater had already risen to Fang Jingyu’s waist. After Gu Bi Guard was pulled beneath the black waves, the water surface rippled for a moment before returning to calm. Fang Jingyu stared at the sea, suddenly seized by a profound loneliness. Looking around, all he could see was the vast, black Ming Sea—nothing else. This was the realm of the dead, and he was the only living soul.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he laughed bitterly, muttering to himself. Without Gu Bi Guard’s blood, he could not open the way to Guixu.

Just then, Xiao Jiao’s voice sounded in his ear, heavy with exhaustion: “Gu Bi Guard is lying—he must have a heart.” Fang Jingyu’s heart jumped. “How can you be sure?”

“He’s alive, unlike us immortals. If he had no human heart, he wouldn’t have a human form. When I kept Xiao Jiao’s heart, I could take on human shape. Look at Bi Bao Guard—after decades underwater, her body long since rotted, she could only form a vague outline. If there’s a human heart, there’s human blood. Just get that heart and you’ll have what you need.”

“So, Gu Bi Guard must have a heart, and he must have hidden it somewhere precious?” Fang Jingyu pondered, then said in alarm, “But to suppress Gu Bi Guard and all his minions, we’ve used the Ming Sea and flooded most of Daiyu. Even if he had a secret chamber for his heart, it must be underwater by now—what should we do?”

But Xiao Jiao only laughed smugly: “Silly gourd—think, what does that old tortoise treasure most?” Fang Jingyu said, “He never took anything seriously, never seemed to care for much.”

“If that’s so, why bother propping up a puppet as emperor of the Three Xian Mountains? Why not sit on the dragon throne himself?”

Xiao Jiao said,

“The one he values most—there’s only one, and he’s here on Xian Mountain. His surname is Ji, a fat old tortoise.”

______

Fatty Ji ran for his life, panting like thunder, sweating like rain.

He had no idea what had happened in Daiyu. All he knew was that on the day of the enthronement, a black-clad youth stormed the hall. That youth was clad in chilling black, like the silent night, flame-like patterns crawling up his skin, the Vipashiyin Blade in hand. His face closely resembled Emperor Bai, yet there was a murderous coldness unlike the emperor.

After that, the Ming Sea boiled. From the sea crawled a horde of monstrous monks, heads as big as buckets, bodies as soft as mud, seven eyes and nine tentacles—ghastly and ominous. The black-robed youth commanded them as if they were extensions of himself. Some mud monks followed at his side, others pursued Fatty Ji relentlessly.

Gu Bi Guard went to fight, while Fatty Ji was surrounded by the Daiyu of Xian Mountain officers. Fatty Ji saw, to his horror, the cavalrymen’s eyes suddenly lose their spirit, turning corpse-like and cold. He shuddered with terror, suddenly aware that he alone remained living among all these walking dead.

He stared at the monstrous monks, shouting, “Retreat!” but his limbs turned to water. Tentacles shot out like arrows, plunging straight into the cavalrymen’s mouths. In an instant, the cavalrymen were hollowed out, becoming more of the monks’ own. The retainers around Fatty Ji dwindled, until only he remained.

Panic-stricken, Fatty Ji screamed, “Gu Bi Guard!” But Gu Bi Guard was locked in battle with Fang Jingyu, unable to help him, his senses overtaken by the monks, unaware of Fatty Ji’s peril. Fatty Ji shouted in terror, “Protect the emperor!”

But there was no one left to save him—only the monks gave chase, close behind. Fatty Ji fled through the great hall, gasping for breath. The pillars flew by; in the latticed window, he glimpsed the shadows of “meat banners” fluttering. Suddenly, his head split with pain, memories flashing through his mind.

He saw his childhood self, ragged and half-starved, bawling beneath a tree. Several arrogant young nobles stood around him, laughing as they kicked his head. His parents dangled from the branches, their necks stretched long, swarmed by flies, toes swinging like banners.

Then he saw another self—lean and sharp, like a monkey—carrying a handsome young man on his back, trudging through the snow. “Lord Gu Bi Guard, my only wish is to find a place free from cold and hunger, to reach the ‘paradise’ of legend…”

The youth on his back gave a quiet laugh, silent for a moment before saying, “If we can’t find it, we’ll make one ourselves.”

In that moment, he understood—this had been his past life. He was born to hardship, saw his parents hanged from a tree like banners, then became a soldier, only to die in the desolate wilds of Daiyu. His only dream had been to find a paradise, safe from wind and hunger.

But somewhere along the way, the “Immortal Elixirs” corroded Gu Bi Guard and his mind. He became the monster who hung people as meat banners, as cruel as those he once hated most.

Fatty Ji staggered into the rear hall, searching the walls for a hidden niche, and slipped into a tunnel beneath the palace. It was dark there, leading to the royal underground. Shadows pressed in, threatening him like a beast.

“Don’t come any closer, don’t come any closer!” he shouted, heart pounding so hard it ached. He pressed his hand to his chest—and was shocked to find two heartbeats within.

Suddenly, he wondered if it was because Fang Jingyu had stabbed him in the back that his heart had split in two. No wonder it thumped so madly.

He remembered now that he had already died once. Gu Bi Guard had revived him, letting him dream of being emperor in Daiyu, all unknowing.

So, it was all play-acting from beginning to end—all that talk of riches and splendor was nothing but lies and illusion!

Soaked in sweat, Fatty Ji fell, scrambled up, and kept running. He had no idea how far he went in the tunnels before crawling into a cellar marked with strange sigils—he recognized it as the dungeon where Xiao Jiao had once been kept.

Strangely, as soon as he stepped into the formation, the shadows would not come any closer. It must have once suppressed Great Immortal Yonghe and now had the same effect on these muddy monsters.

The monks blinked, glaring at him. One, stepping too close, had its tentacle struck by lightning and blackened at once. The monks howled in pain, sucking at their tentacles, glaring hungrily at Fatty Ji within the array.

Fatty Ji finally relaxed, cackling, “Serves you right! You monsters can’t harm me now, can you?”

Hands on hips, he crowed, “This formation will keep you out for ten years if it has to—wait all you want!”

But just as he was gloating, a sharp pain stabbed his chest.

Suddenly, he saw the tip of a blade burst from his chest—a shadowy figure leaped from the dark, stabbing him cleanly through the heart, just as Fang Jingyu had once done. Trembling, Fatty Ji turned—behind him stood a dark-skinned youth with unremarkable features, whom he recognized as Ah Que, the soldier from Yingzhou whom Fang Jingyu had once saved.

Ah Que drew out his sword. Fatty Ji collapsed weakly to the ground. Ah Que wiped away the blood and smiled:

“What a pity, Your Majesty. But here’s a man with two eyes and two hands—the array can’t stop him, so he dared to come and assassinate you!”