HCAW 129

Chapter 129: Disaster Descends Unbidden

Fang Jingyu had a dream.

In that dream, the holly changed leaves, and the garden was full of crimson blooms. His brother wore a bamboo-patterned embroidered robe and white silk shoes—just like in the past, brimming with heroic spirit. They practiced swordplay together in the courtyard, blades flashing, moving in sync, training joyfully. In their leisure, they played games with grass, chased butterflies, tossed arrows, and kicked shuttlecocks—free and unburdened.

Suddenly, a bolt of thunder exploded over the front gate. Someone pounded violently on the door, shouting:

“Is the remnant of the tyrant, the son of Emperor Bai—Fang Minsheng—here?”

In an instant, the peaceful scene shattered before his eyes. Terrified, Fang Jingyu’s legs trembled, and all strength left his body. Officiers from Xian Mountain in black uniforms surged in like boiling soup, surrounding Fang Minsheng, grabbing his arms and shouting for him to leave. His brother remained calm and unafraid. He bent low and embraced him, warm as sunlight, and softly said:

“Don’t be afraid.”

Tears gushed from Fang Jingyu’s eyes, but he couldn’t move. Then he heard Fang Minsheng smile and say, his eyes filled with endless sorrow, “See you in the next life, Jingyu.”

Suddenly, his brother’s figure shattered into fragments, and within each shard flashed scenes of terrible suffering. He saw his brother, bloodied and broken, abused like a rag doll by countless scions of noble families, night after night marked by unending pain; he saw him in a nameless military tent, surrounded by scornful eyes, frail as he picked up an arrow and stabbed it through his own skull without hesitation; he saw a child in brocade curled in a corner, his clothes revealing terrifying scars. That child looked up—it was clearly Fang Minsheng’s face, full of despair and resentment, asking him:

“Why was it me who suffered all this in your place?”

Fang Jingyu was horrified, his heart trembling as though coughing up blood. The boy, so like his brother, asked again, “We share no blood. I was only born a few hours before you. Why must I be the one defiled and trampled?”

“We should never have known each other. I am not your brother. You are not my blood. So why should I pay for you with my entire life?”

He shook like a leaf in the wind, his brother’s words like blades, each syllable cutting into his heart. Fang Minsheng stepped forward and placed both hands on his neck, slowly tightening them, his eyes filled with hatred carved deep into his bones.

“And you—your intentions were vile. You took advantage of the moment and violated all norms.” Fang Minsheng’s voice was soft, but the words slithered like venomous snakes into his ears:

“How did it feel, sharing a bed with your elder brother, Jingyu?”

Fang Jingyu jolted awake.

As soon as he awoke, he found himself drenched in sweat, trembling uncontrollably. Outside, the night was bright, and the snow bathed the world in silver under the moonlight. He turned his head in panic—the phantoms had vanished, and the world was silent.

Chu Kuang was still curled in his arms, unconscious, his weak fingers held tightly in Fang Jingyu’s palm.

So it had all been a dream. Fang Jingyu stared at Chu Kuang for a long time. The cold of Guixi was bitter, and the two of them were squeezed onto a single bed, pressed close to share warmth. His brother would never speak to him with such cruelty—but that didn’t mean he had never thought it. Fang Jingyu sighed, gently embraced Chu Kuang, and whispered, “I’m sorry… Brother Minsheng.”

Chu Kuang did not respond. His heartbeat was faint, like a puppet in Fang Jingyu’s arms—unmoving, making his heart all the more uneasy.

At dawn the next day, Fang Jingyu packed his gear, melted ice for water, and ate some venison. In the tent, many embroidered cages hung from above, filled with white-feathered terns chirping softly. Before long, Bai Huan Guard also entered, still calm and serene, and asked, “Is Your Highness’s companion feeling any better?”

“He doesn’t seem well at all. Is there any physician here?”

“The living can be counted on one hand—much less a physician.” Bai Huan Guard’s words hit Fang Jingyu like falling into an ice pit.

“Then how am I supposed to save him? His body is so weak now, a gust of wind could send him straight to the underworld!” Fang Jingyu couldn’t help raising his voice.

“Your companion consumed some ‘Immortal Elixir’, didn’t he? I had been trailing you both from afar and saw the moment Bi Bao Guard aided him. He likely won’t die immediately. Just nurse him slowly.”

Fang Jingyu buried his face deep in his hands. Bai Huan Guard continued, “If you need to go out, it’s fine. I’ll take care of him for you.”

“Seems I was too naïve before. I thought once I reached Guixi everything would be fine. But if I’m going to find a way to stop the wind and snow, I still need to go to Emperor Bai’s City. I’ll have to trouble you, my lady, to watch over him for me while I’m away.”

Bai Huan Guard looked at Chu Kuang, her gaze calm and still. Then she asked, “If I may ask, Your Highness—who is this person to you?”

Fang Jingyu suddenly felt heat flare in his chest, his tongue twisted and tangled, and after a long struggle, he stammered, “He… he’s my brother.”

“In my view, he doesn’t look much like Your Highness.”

“Not looking alike doesn’t mean he’s not my brother,” Fang Jingyu replied, picking up the Vipashiyin Blade and the Hanguang Sword, stuffing the dried venison into his satchel. “Right, my lady, I have something to ask—our current goal is to break through the ice wall surrounding Guixi, correct?”

“Yes. Because that wall is the source of the intense wind and snow over Xian Mountain. So long as the ice wall stands, we are trapped here to grow old and die, suffering ever-deepening cold. The ‘Heavenly Book’ once recorded this…” As she spoke, Bai Huan Guard suddenly hesitated. “But even now, we can’t fully trust what the ‘Heavenly Book’ says. After all, it once claimed that everyone would perish in Daiyu, and only Zheng Deli would make it to Guixi. But now, not only you, even I have reached this place.”

At the mention of Zheng Deli, Fang Jingyu’s heart sank. He sighed softly, closed his eyes, and said, “So what we’re trying to do isn’t to reach the Nine Provinces—but to dispel the wind and snow in this land. Back in Yingzhou, I heard Ruyi Guard mention that the Nine Provinces were illusory, unreachable. Though many registers claim to originate from the Nine Provinces, no one has truly seen it with their own eyes—is that right?”

“Yes. Even Emperor Bai once sent ships to explore overseas, but most never returned. Those who did said the Ming Sea was vast and empty, with no sign of the Nine Provinces.”

“Then allow me to ask—do the Nine Provinces really exist in this world?”

“There’s no proof, but the legends persist.”

Fang Jingyu nodded. “Real or not, that’s something to ponder later. For now, I’ll set out to pay respects to the city guardian of Emperor Bai’s City.” He stepped out of the tent, but soon turned back.

Bai Huan Guard asked, “Did you forget something?”

Fang Jingyu shook his head. “I just remembered—I haven’t prepared breakfast for my brother yet.” Bai Huan Guard said, “In his condition, I doubt he’ll be waking anytime soon.” But Fang Jingyu insisted, “But what if he does?” As he spoke, he sliced some pickled tern meat, cooked a steaming bowl of wheat porridge, set it on the table, gave Bai Huan Guard a few instructions, and ducked out of the tent.

Yet before long, Fang Jingyu returned again, face slightly flushed, and said to Bai Huan Guard, “I remembered I haven’t changed my brother’s wound medicine and dressing this morning.” So he busied himself once more, removing Chu Kuang’s clothes, applying fresh powder to the wounds, binding them one by one, only then feeling at ease to leave.

He hadn’t gone far when he turned back again and explained, “I was worried his blanket wasn’t tucked in properly.” He carefully tucked the covers snug around Chu Kuang, layered soft animal pelts on top. When everything was done, he bent down, pressing his forehead gently against Chu Kuang’s. Chu Kuang was deeply unconscious, his brow cold as stone, unaware of anything being done.

Bai Huan Guard watched the two of them, her expression indifferent. “Is he really your brother? The way you dote on him, you seem more like lovers.”

Fang Jingyu replied, “Please don’t joke, my lady. I am upright and self-respecting—I would never do something as shameless as seeking a bed partner.”

Bai Huan Guard nodded. “Indeed. I was just thinking, if Your Highness really took your own brother as a lover—that would be utterly shameless.”

Fang Jingyu suddenly fell silent. After a long pause, he lifted the tent flap and left.

Outside, the world was bitterly cold, heavy snow roiling through darkened skies. Fang Jingyu unfastened the grappling hook from his waist, latched it to the opposite side of the broken causeway, and swung across. He suddenly remembered that the first time they met, Chu Kuang had escaped from his grasp using this very hook. Years had passed, and his brother had become so cunning. Chu Kuang would bite him without warning, sometimes ferocious, sometimes like a timid puppy. Recalling those moments, Fang Jingyu couldn’t help but smile.

He walked through the front courtyard and gate passage, past the western bell tower and eastern drum tower, all stretching toward the sky. The flying corridors leaned into the clouds, the towers lofty and majestic. Though most had crumbled into overgrown ruins, he could still glimpse their former brilliance. Looking up, Fang Jingyu suddenly had a thought: “This place looks so much like the Immortal Palace of Penglai.”

It must have been crafted by the same artisans who once served under Emperor Bai. Every structure in this city felt intimately familiar. As he stepped onto the faded vermilion steps and approached the desolate great hall, a memory stirred within him—as if his arrival at Guixi and these palace steps had long been fated in a past life.

The grand hall had nine bays across its front. The beams and rafters were painted with crimson and jade phoenix-and-dragon motifs. The floor was paved with gold bricks, but the space was dark and bitterly cold, as if some frost dragon was exhaling from within, and the chill wind cut like a blade. Fang Jingyu advanced slowly and saw that standing before the throne were not statues of auspicious beasts—but ten figures of guards.

Fang Jingyu approached and realized they were not living people, but ice sculptures. They wore brocade armor, held weapons of various kinds, and had jade ornaments at their waists. Each bore different features, yet all radiated powerful presence, crafted with exquisite detail—these were the Xian Mountains Guard.

Were these sculptures—or living beings? As Fang Jingyu pondered, a sharp sound of cracking ice reached his ears.

Suddenly, the sculpture at the end of the row took a step forward. Fang Jingyu had no time to react. The ice statue was of an elder with frosted brows and a snowy beard. His skin was sheathed in thin ice, his deep eyes sharp as blades. Within the jet-black pupils surged the tides of a vast sea. The elder wore a pale cloak, its hem torn like bat wings. As the wind swept past, it rustled with a fierce roar.

Fang Jingyu locked eyes with him and shivered. He had never seen such an imposing old man—not even Yu Ji Guard could match him. His figure was cold and unyielding, as if fused with the cliffs of Emperor Bai’s City itself, vast enough to swallow all things, his presence shaking cloud and thunder.

The elder placed a hand on the hilt at his waist. Time seemed to freeze.

“I am Fang Jingyu, from far-off Penglai. Are you… the guardian of this city?” Fang Jingyu raised his hands in cautious greeting. But before he could finish speaking, a blinding white light erupted across the sky.

It was the glint of a blade. The elder wielded a long saber, entirely translucent—crafted from solid ice, its edge gleaming like the moon. Yet the blade’s force was anything but gentle. It descended like a crashing waterfall, breathing sea and cloud, endless in its momentum. Fang Jingyu moved quickly, drawing the Vipashiyin Blade to parry.

But the saber’s force struck with the power of shifting mountains. Pain shot through his arms as though they’d been crushed.

He had no chance to explain.

Suddenly, a crisp crack rang out—the heavy Vipashiyin Blade, symbol of the Son of Heaven, was split in two by that overwhelming force, crashing to the floor. Blood gushed from his arms as he fell to his knees, staring in disbelief at the shattered royal blade in his hands.

The elder stood before him, eyes blazing, like a wrathful ancient buddha. His voice was as cold and deep as the abyss:

“Those who trespass in Emperor Bai’s City—are to be killed without mercy.”