HCAW 127

Chapter 127: See you in the Next Life

A red sun was held up in the sky by the Ming Sea, on the verge of sinking into a dreamless, eternal night. The vast surroundings were dim, and thick fog clung to the distant ocean like walls. The pitch-black sea surface shimmered like burnished copper, but no ships, waterbirds, or reefs could be seen—it was as barren as a desolate wasteland.

Fang Jingyu waded through the knee-deep Ming Sea, struggling forward.

He cradled the bleeding Chu Kuang in his arms, the Vipashiyin Blade strapped to his back, trudging ahead like a weary traveler. Behind him, the Daiyu cavalry sank one by one into the sea’s depths, their armor turning into flashes of light beneath the waves. The black sludge from their mouths and noses spread into the water, and Gu Bi Guard’s spirit scattered like drifting sand. Daiyu had become a lifeless ruin.

“Tight-lipped gourd keep going. The gate lies just ahead. I sent my followers earlier to deliver the satchel of blood vials to the gate.”

This time, Xiao Jiao’s voice wasn’t in his ear—it echoed from beneath the sea, like the eternal murmur of tides, slowly resounding. Fang Jingyu nodded and said, “Thank you, Xiao Jiao. Thank you for walking with me this far.”

Xiao Jiao laughed wearily. “No need to thank me. But I’m afraid I… can’t walk with you any farther.” Fang Jingyu’s heart skipped a beat, but he only lowered his gaze and asked, “Why not?”

“Look behind you. This vast expanse of the Ming Sea—it took everything I had to set it in motion.”

“So… does that mean you’ll perish?”

Xiao Jiao said, “Just slumber. To recover my divine consciousness, I’ll need to sleep in the Ming Sea for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Maybe decades, or a hundred years, or a thousand. For me, it’ll pass in the blink of an eye, but for you… it’ll likely be an unbearably long time.”

Fang Jingyu chuckled softly. “By the time you wake, I’ll probably be long gone, and only a grave will remain.” Xiao Jiao smiled too. “Whether I’m here or not, it makes no difference. Your future path is bright!”

Then they fell silent for a long time, only the sea’s murmur whispering softly. Man and immortal are as distant as earth and sky. No matter how a mortal stretches out his arms, he can never touch the firmament. Fang Jingyu gazed at the Ming Sea and said gently, “No. While I still live, we will meet again.”

“Even immortals cannot guarantee such things. Why are you so certain?”

“Just consider me the new Emperor already. An emperor does not make idle promises. What’s said cannot be unsaid.”

Xiao Jiao laughed. A gentle wave rolled in. Fang Jingyu extended his hand, letting the wave strike his palm, as if sealing a promise. Then he turned and walked toward the gate. Xiao Jiao’s voice faded. In an instant, it felt like a bubble burst in his mind. His strength vanished—“Great Immortal Yonghe’s” divine power dissipated—and he returned to the weak and frail mortal he once was.

Fang Jingyu’s eyes suddenly grew hot. Memories flashed vividly through his mind. He remembered the snow-covered landscape, the girl with eyes bright like jujube seeds biting into a skewer of chili peppers, locking eyes with him; remembered how they’d clung to each other in a small courtyard—he cooked, washed dishes, fed the horse, while she chewed her brush and battled through writing practice; remembered how they’d left Penglai together, seen many dangerous and wondrous places. A thousand words weighed on his tongue, and finally, he said:

“Until we meet again, Xiao Jiao.”

The Ming Sea rippled gently. The waves murmured like a girl whispering through laughter, “Untill we meet again, Tight-lipped gourd. One day we’ll meet again. Until then, make sure I have plenty of big buns with fine stuffing.”

Fang Jingyu looked down and smiled. “Alright. As many as you want.”

The waves calmed. The Ming Sea fell into silence, its shimmering light spreading across the world. But Fang Jingyu knew no one would ever reply to him again. Who knew when, but the red sun was already sinking westward. This bitter battle had spanned many hours—from dawn to night. One prosperous world had come to an end, and a fleeting dynasty was now over.

Fang Jingyu walked toward the gate. He thought of Deli, Mule, and the Yingzhou’s soldiers. Their faces surfaced in his mind. Each had risked their life for him, only to fall away one by one, leaving him alone to walk on. He stepped on the dark tide as though walking across scattered white bones.

He looked down at the person in his arms. The Ming Sea had washed away the blood on Chu Kuang’s face, revealing a pale stillness that sent chills through him. Fang Jingyu’s heart trembled and he called out, “Chu Kuang?”

He had previously asked Grear Immortal Yonghe’s followers to tend to Chu Kuang for the moment. Perhaps due to divine influence, his injuries had slightly healed after soaking in the Ming Sea. But it was far from enough—just a drop in the bucket. Fang Jingyu now noticed Chu Kuang’s body was still bleeding, like a waterskin riddled with holes.

“Wake up, Chu Kuang!” Fang Jingyu shook him gently, his voice urgent. But Chu Kuang’s head drooped weakly to one side, blood soaking his sleeves like fine ruby shavings. His body was cold as frost—seemingly devoid of life.

Amid the earlier chaos, he hadn’t noticed. Now that he could look closer, Fang Jingyu’s heart pounded in terror. The wounds on Chu Kuang’s body were ghastly, revealing a litany of torment and devastation. Along this journey, Chu Kuang had become an inseparable companion. And yet the Daiyu Xian Mountain officiers had treated someone he treasured so dearly like this.

In that instant, rage flared within him. Gritting his teeth, he hoisted Chu Kuang onto his back once more.

There was no more time to delay. Fang Jingyu carried Chu Kuang and rushed toward the gate. The path to the gate was a long stone walkway, carved with motifs of dragons and swan geese—now weathered smooth with age. Two massive stone statues, each ten zhang high, loomed coldly above him. Beneath their towering shadows, he was as small as dust. He heard the wind from Guixu howl past, sweeping across the sea like blades.

At last, he arrived before the taoyuan stone gate. The two black and heavy doors stood locked—once the end of Emperor Bai’s path. Several bone locks hung from the stone beam above, two of which had already been removed and now drifted on the sea. As he hesitated, an aged voice called from behind:

“Your Highness, you’ve come.”

Fang Jingyu turned and saw a dark shadow swaying on the sea—a frail and hazy form. It was Bi Bao Guard. In this world of deathly silence, seeing Bi Bao Guard again stirred a trace of joy from reunion. “Lady Bi Bao Guard, why are you here? Where is Ah Que?”

Bi Bao Guard said nothing. A sinking feeling grew in Fang Jingyu’s heart. Bi Bao Guard finally said, “He’ll be here soon. Your Highness, you should unlock the blood bait locks first.” With that, she extended a pitch-black tentacle and pointed to the top of the stone path—there, a satchel half-soaked in seawater rested. Fang Jingyu dashed forward, seized the satchel, and opened it. Several blood vials lay within.

He hurriedly took out the vials and counted them against the blood bait locks:

The second of the Xian Mountain Guards—Yu Ji Guard—whose blood they had taken during the battle at Yingzhou.

The third and fourth—Gu Bi Guard and Bi Bao Guard—their locks had already opened, apparently unlocked by someone earlier.

The fifth—Bai Huan Guard—Zheng Deli had obtained the vial and passed it to him.

The sixth, Ruyi Guard; the eighth, Mohe Guard; the ninth, Yu Jue Guard; and the tenth, Yu Yin Guard—their vials had all been handed to him personally by Ruyi Guard back then.

Without realizing it, they had already witnessed the scenes of the various Xian Mountains and either clashed or crossed paths with their guards. And now, the journey was coming to its end.

Fang Jingyu poured the blood from each vial onto the blood bait locks. A series of soft clicking sounds followed—the blood bait locks, dormant for decades, slowly activated their mechanisms. Frost and dust fell away as the locks came loose. The doors stirred slightly, and more blade-like cold wind blew in through the widening crack.

After pouring out the last of the blood, he paused.

—Three blood bait locks still hung from the beam.

Fang Jingyu looked up. One of the bone locks in the center bore ancient script. He asked Bi Bao Guard, “What does this say?”

Bi Bao Guard replied, “‘Emperor Bai, Ji Zhi’—this is the blood bait lock left behind by the late Emperor.”

Fang Jingyu paused for a moment, then wiped a stroke across the blade of the Vipashiyin Blade. A line of blood immediately welled up on his fingertip. He pressed his bleeding finger to the blood bait lock. With a crisp snap, the bone lock loosened and dropped into the sea. Fang Jingyu let out a breath. “So I really do have a seventy-six-year-old father.”

Now only two locks remained on the stone beam. Bi Bao Guard pointed to one of them with a tentacle. “This one belongs to Tianfu Guard.”

Tianfu Guard? Fang Jingyu was immediately troubled. As a descendant of the Bai Emperor, he could undo the bone lock—but Tianfu Guard was as elusive as a figure from legend, his whereabouts unknown. It was unclear whether he had any descendants at all. And even if he did—at this critical moment, where could they possibly be found?

Suddenly, he remembered that Chu Kuang had once claimed to know how to unlock Tianfu Guard’s blood bait lock. Hastily, he laid Chu Kuang down from his shoulder and whispered, “Chu Kuang, wake up—please, wake up!”

Chu Kuang’s eyes were tightly shut, his breath faint, like a sheet of fragile ice that might shatter at the slightest touch. Fang Jingyu turned pleading eyes toward Bi Bao Guard. “My Lady, is there any way to wake him? He said he knows how to unlock Tianfu Guard’s bone lock.” Bi Bao Guard stepped forward and gently placed a tentacle on Chu Kuang’s chest. After a long silence, he sighed, “There is a way—but it’s too harmful. I fear this young man won’t survive it…”

Fang Jingyu asked anxiously, “What’s his condition now?”

“This young man has consumed quite a bit of Immortal Elixir—or perhaps some of our blood and flesh. His foundation has been thoroughly ruined. His viscera are all shattered. After the abuse he suffered earlier, even if he’s still breathing…”

Bi Bao Guard paused, then said quietly, “It wouldn’t be surprising if he dies at any moment.”

Fang Jingyu felt as if a blade had pierced his heart. He remembered the first time he met Chu Kuang—though injured, he had still brimmed with spirit and pride, like he held an endless reserve of fierce energy. But now he lay pale and motionless, clinging faintly to life. Fang Jingyu shook his head. “His life is too important. If that’s the case, then I won’t try it.” Bi Bao Guard said, “Your Highness has nowhere else to go now. Whether you advance or retreat, you won’t find anywhere that can save Young Master Chu. And searching far and wide for Tianfu Guard’s descendant—you have no lead at all. Who knows if it would take years, even decades. You might as well take a gamble now.”

Fang Jingyu fell silent for a long moment, lips pale and trembling. He watched as Bi Bao Guard pried open Chu Kuang’s clenched jaw with a tentacle and reached inside. He knew what this method entailed: it meant ‘fusion’ between Bi Bao Guard and Chu Kuang. But in Chu Kuang’s current state, how could he endure the torment Fang Jingyu himself had once experienced?

Not long after the tentacle entered, Chu Kuang gave shuddered and let out a pained gasp. Fang Jingyu rushed to his side, seeing his eyes slowly open into a slit. In a faint voice, Chu Kuang said, “Your… Highness…”

“Chu Kuang, how are you feeling? Are you alright?” Fang Jingyu asked hurriedly. Chu Kuang’s gaze moved slightly. He glimpsed the taoyuan stone gate and whispered, “Carry me… over there. I’ll unlock… the blood bait lock.”

He was like a candle in the wind, about to be extinguished. Fang Jingyu dared not delay. He hoisted him onto his back again. Chu Kuang’s face was pressed into the crook of his neck, breathing like gossamer. Fang Jingyu could feel warm blood soaking his shoulder.

At the stone gate, Chu Kuang trembled for a long time, finally managing to lift a hand to touch the Tianfu Guard’s blood bait lock. Fang Jingyu clearly saw the blood on his hand melt into the bone lock the instant it touched—and then the lock fell into the sea. Stunned, Fang Jingyu said after a long pause, “So you had such a connection with Tianfu Guard…”

But Chu Kuang’s arm immediately fell like a severed kite. Fang Jingyu felt the wetness on his back grow heavier, the iron tang of blood thick in the air. His heart pounded like thunder as he lunged toward the final lock.

This was the last blood bait lock. The most difficult ones had already been solved—this one should be easy. It belonged to Langgan Guard.

Fang Jingyu pressed his bleeding finger to it—but the lock didn’t budge.

Then realization struck him like a lightning bolt—he was Emperor Bai’s son, not Langgan Guard’s!

Earlier, he had focused so intently on solving Tianfu Guard’s lock, he’d overlooked this one—seemingly simplest, but now suddenly impossible.

Bi Bao Guard noticed the change in his expression and asked, “What is it, Your Highness?”

Fang Jingyu turned around, sweat beading on his brow. “Father… he’s not my real father. He’s still in Penglai—his fate unknown. Even if he’s alive, he must be a thousand li away! To open his lock, I’d have to return to Penglai… or he’d have to come here. How could we wait for that!”

“You don’t carry any of Langgan Guard’s blood?”

“Back in Penglai, I had no idea about the blood bait locks—of course I didn’t prepare for it. And from Daiyu to Penglai… The Ming Sea is already surging. We have no ships. How could we cross it? There’s also the unpredictable maelstrom of Yingzhou in between…” The more Fang Jingyu spoke, the more anxious he became. He couldn’t stop blaming himself. Why hadn’t he thought this far ahead? After surviving countless hardships, to reach Guixu and be stopped by a single lock—

“Your Highness, stay calm. Heaven never seals all paths. There may yet be a way—”

“There’s no time! If we don’t enter Guixu now, the Ming Sea will flood this place. Xiao Jiao can’t hear me anymore. This place will become a vast ocean. Even turning back would take months—Chu Kuang won’t last that long—”

Fang Jingyu’s face turned ashen, like an ant on a hot pan, burning with desperation—when a faint voice reached his ear:

“Your Highness… take me… to the gate.”

It was Chu Kuang, his voice broken by pain and coughing. Fang Jingyu turned in shock and saw his dazed eyes. Chu Kuang’s lips moved faintly. “Hurry… I can’t… hold on.”

As if possessed, Fang Jingyu took a few steps forward, returning to the blood bait lock. Chu Kuang raised his hand once more—slowly, as if using the last of his strength—and touched the lock of Langgan Guard.

A crisp click sounded—like a heartstring snapping.

Fang Jingyu felt his soul quake. The world around him seemed to freeze. The wind stopped. The tides silenced. The stone statues of the Bai Emperor and Tianfu Guard gazed down with cold indifference. Fang Jingyu’s gaze moved slowly—he saw the final bone lock drifting silently on the black sea.

Chu Kuang’s blood had opened the final lock. The one that belonged to Langgan Guard.

He heard a rattling—his own teeth chattering. His heart beat like a crazed warhorse, charging wildly through his chest. Blood surged to his head. But he stood frozen, as if struck by lightning.

A blood bait lock can only be opened by the person it belongs to—or their descendant.

Langgan Guard had no child after his fall from grace. If he had one, it must have been before that. This was the answer Fang Jingyu had always sought, now cast brutally before him.

His lips trembled. A chill crept up his spine. He muttered:

“Brother…?”

Suddenly, everything snapped into place—Chu Kuang’s blood-red pupils; Fang Minsheng’s ever-present silken eyepatch; the identical, flawless Fang-style swordplay; the embroidered flowers Chu Kuang sewed on his robe; his natural mastery of the bili; his fierce determination to take him out of Penglai; their near-identical handwriting.

It had all been foreshadowed—he just hadn’t dared face it. Chu Kuang was Fang Minsheng—his elder brother, his loyal Tianfu Guard, the one his heart yearned for, the one destined to him. Only in his final moments had he shed the mask.

All at once, Fang Jingyu turned and gently laid Chu Kuang down, hands trembling. The glowing sunset scorched the Ming Sea as if it had caught fire. Chu Kuang’s face had turned pale as ash. Fang Jingyu held him and cried out, a scream torn from his soul:

“…Brother Minsheng!”

Chu Kuang only looked at him, a faint smile on his lips—too tired to deny, and with no need to.

“You’re… Brother Minsheng… aren’t you?” Fang Jingyu trembled all over, as if his blood ran in reverse. His vision blurred with tears. On that bloodless face, he saw memories of the past—the boy who practiced sword in the courtyard, the elder brother who shielded him with his life. The once-proud son of heaven was now broken and bruised beyond recognition.

“Jingyu…” Chu Kuang finally spoke—no more teasing, no more disguise. He tried to raise his hand, but couldn’t. His voice was as fragile as a thread, his gaze dimming, like the sun sinking into the west. “I’ve… walked with you this far.”

He drew a shaky breath. More blood frothed from his mouth. “The rest… you must walk… alone.”

Fang Jingyu sobbed uncontrollably, shaking his head, gripping his hand like a drowning man. Chu Kuang’s pulse weakened, his eyes drooping, warmth fading from his body as he slipped toward death. Fang Jingyu lost control, clinging to him. “You’re not allowed to die! Brother……Brother Minsheng, please….I only just recognized you, and now you’re leaving? Hold on a little longer—we’re almost at Guixu!”

But Chu Kuang said nothing. As if the Ox-Head and Horse-Face (figures from the underworld) had already taken his tongue. The wind wailed across the sea like a lament. Crimson light lit the waves as if the sea were ablaze. In a shimmer of blue and red, day gave way to night. Fang Jingyu watched in horror as Chu Kuang’s hand slid from his grasp—like the sun falling from the sky.

Beneath the vast shadow of the taoyuan stone gate, the last of the living held hands with the dead—just as, a hundred years ago, Tianfu Guard fell into the Ming Sea and Emperor Bai lost his lzst soldier at this very place. History was repeating itself—the chronicles had long foretold the answer.

A voice whispered in his ear, light as smoke—just like ten years ago. It was his brother’s final words. Another repetition, another loss. The morning star faded. He would once again lose his guiding light.

In the final glow of dusk, Fang Jingyu saw Chu Kuang’s faint smile. His lips moved silently, eyes dimming. The fire of life went out.

He said, at last:

“See you in the next life… goodbye, Jingyu.”

——【Volume III: The Peach Source Dream】End——

AN: Volume III ends here. Thank you all for your support!

This was the hardest volume I’ve written. I was suffering in hellish day job conditions at the time, with only a sliver of time late at night to write. Updates were irregular, sob…

But with everyone’s support, I made it through!

From the start, Volume III was meant to end in near-total tragedy. It’s the most somber volume of the four—so I tried to add as much sweetness as I could, like little whales and pups clinging to each other, to offset the sadness. I really liked writing those moments—hehe.

Next volume is the final one! It’ll have a happy ending. I hope you’ll continue supporting me to the end. Mwah! (˙˙)

#Volume IV: Guixu Snow