HCAW 146

Chapter 146: Sword Roars at the Western Wind

The phantoms of the past faded away. For a moment, Chu Kuang woke as if from a dream and found himself seated on a pitch-black stone chair. Outside Emperor Bai’s City, snow fell thickly, like jade blossoms and pearly butterflies fluttering through the sky.

It was as if he had just dreamt a long, long dream—in which Emperor Bai and the Tianfu Guard first met, departed the city in search of a way to halt the snow and wind; where Bai, despairing at the sight of the ice wall, faltered and fell, and the two eventually parted ways. The Tianfu Guard wandered through the Taoyuan stone gate in pursuit of a solution, for years on end, until he finally saved him—only to die right before his eyes.

The silhouette of the silver-masked man remained before him, like smoke, like fog. Chu Kuang asked softly:

“Master… everything you just said—is it all true?”

It seemed the silver-masked man was not entirely a figment of his imagination, for everything he had recounted was news to Chu Kuang. Suddenly, Chu Kuang understood—was this the effect of the meat slice he had eaten earlier? The silver-masked man had spoken before of how the “Great Immortal Yonghe” could see all under heaven. The meat slices Chu Kuang had long consumed had effects akin to the Immortal Elixir—perhaps what he had just seen were truly the experiences of the silver-masked man.

The silver-masked man nodded with a smile. Chu Kuang looked at him, astonished. His master had always seemed like a gentle moon behind drifting clouds—warm, clear, flawless. To think this perfect man was… himself, from another world.

“Master wandered through the Taoyuan stone gates for years, unable to find a way to break the ice wall—so you entrusted it all to me, is that right?”

“Yes,” the silver-masked man sighed. “But I did worry… that this burden would be too heavy for you.”

Chu Kuang gave a bitter smile. He choked, blood trickling from his chin, and said with difficulty, “Though my will is firm, I’m already beyond saving. I’m covered in wounds—soon to be nothing more than a corpse. I fear I won’t be able to aid His Highness any longer, let alone break this ice wall.”

The silver-masked man shook his head. His voice was gentle, like water dripping from an eave:

“No, Chu Kuang. I will give everything to you—my life, my soul, my memories. After this, there will be no more me. There will only be you.”

It sounded like something out of myth—but Chu Kuang did not doubt him. From Penglai to Guixu, he had seen countless spirits and evils. Even after death, his master’s soul had lingered on in Xian Mountain. Amid the falling snowflakes, that silhouette looked more and more ephemeral. Chu Kuang’s heart suddenly ached, and he asked softly:

“Master… are you leaving me again?”

“I am not leaving you.”

The silver-masked figure crouched in front of him and took his hand. Chu Kuang felt a chill on the back of his hand, like a frost flower gently settling there. Through the silver mask, he met the gaze of another version of himself—that red, double-pupiled eye blazing like a spark, radiating fierce light.

The silver-masked man smiled.

“You will become me. A version of me with a long road ahead, and boundless future.”

In that instant, Chu Kuang felt light, as if countless butterflies had burst from within him, flying off with all his pain. Memories flowed into his mind like a warm stream. The silver-masked figure gradually faded—but he knew it had never truly left. His master would always watch over him, just as before.

Then he saw, seated across from him, the elderly Emperor Bai once more. The moments during which his master had told him the past now felt like but an instant, time held still.

Seeing him dazed, Emperor Bai asked softly:

“What’s wrong?”

Chu Kuang smiled faintly, his body frail. “It’s nothing. Just… lost in thought for a moment.”

Emperor Bai exhaled lightly. His gaze softened, as if looking at a youth—or perhaps an old friend. He said, “You’ve likely just heard my long ramblings and now understand the past of this Guixu. That being the case, you must also know the current situation. Xian Mountain continues to sink—it’s even harder to escape now than in my time. You are doomed to fail.”

Chu Kuang was silent. Bai continued, “That boy who came with you—he must be the Emperor Bai of your time? When he first entered this city, I already cut him once. He had no power to resist. Someone that feeble, as small as dust, must be terrified by now. He wouldn’t dare return here, let alone come to save you.”

“No,” Chu Kuang said, listening closely as the cold wind brushed past his ear. He heard faint footsteps and smiled.

“Your Majesty, listen. He’s already at the threshold.”

Snow and dust swirled like a shifting mirage. Beyond the gates, a figure emerged from the white mist.

A white-haired youth stood tall, clad in plain yet tidy black robes. The northern wind whipped his cloak, making it snap and crack like thunder. Fang Jingyu gripped the Hanguang Sword. His eyes blazed with fire. His clenched teeth ground with fury, as he stepped through wind and snow.

When he discovered Chu Kuang missing in the night, he searched everywhere in panic. Desperate, he rushed to Bai Huan Guard and relayed everything in agitation.

Bai Huan Guard didn’t know where Chu Kuang had gone either, but she had a hunch. She said, “Don’t panic, Your Highness. Master Chu is gravely ill—he likely didn’t walk off on his own. In this Guixu, aside from us, only the Guardian remains. If Master Chu isn’t here, then he must be with him.”

Fang Jingyu had lost his usual composure. “Why would he take my brother?!”

Bai Huan Guard thought for a moment, then fetched a bone tablet and a book from a cedar shelf in the tent. “Be at ease. If I’m right, he won’t harm your brother. This bone tablet records what happened here long ago. Though written in ancient script, the book contains translated explanations. Read it first—then go confront the Guardian.”

Fang Jingyu scowled. “It’s not the time for study—I’m not here to take the imperial exams!”

Bai Huan Guard replied, “The tablet records everything—how Emperor Bai and the Tianfu Guard once fought a desperate battle here. Know thy enemy, and you’ll never lose a fight.”

She smiled faintly and looked at the speechless Fang Jingyu:

“Because the one you’re about to face… is none other than Emperor Bai himself, who came to this place nearly a century ago.”

Fang Jingyu returned to the tent and burned through the tablet in one sitting, his heart ablaze.

The more he read, the calmer he became. The tablet’s strange and vivid tales seized his eyes—he could not stop. He learned of the events decades ago: how Emperor Bai and the Tianfu Guard faced the frost, launched a great campaign, and ultimately fell into despair in this place. When he finished, he sat still, dazed.

He recalled the elder dwelling in Emperor Bai’s city—white-haired, weathered by years—now entirely unlike the figure described in the legends. The Emperor Bai of legend, noble and fierce as a rainbow, was the final formidable opponent they now faced.

He picked up the Hanguang Sword. Though his fingers trembled, he stepped from the tent with resolve, heading toward the long-frozen gates of that ancient city.

At the city gates, Fang Jingyu stood in the swirling snow, glaring at the palace with fury as he shouted:

“Ji Zhi, Emperor Bai—come out!”

He didn’t need to shout a second time. A violent wind swept the gloom away. A figure appeared atop the phoenix steps. It was the old man he had seen upon entering the city—tall, lean, eyes sharp as a hawk. Fang Jingyu now understood: this was Emperor Bai.

Emperor Bai looked down at him with something like pity in his eyes. Holding a blade of ice, he asked, “Boy, you’ve already lost to me once, and yet you still come courting death? Such courage, so lacking in wisdom.”

Fang Jingyu met his gaze, defiant. “Why did you cut me in the first place? My brother and I have no quarrel with you. Yet you seized him without cause. I may be a fool, but you are the one without manners.”

Emperor Bai sneered. “So in this world, the two of you are as close as twins. What’s your name? And how did you know I was Emperor Bai?”

“Commoner Fang Jingyu. I’m a traveler from across the sea. I read the ‘Heavenly Book’ given by Bai Huan Guard and learned the past of Penglai.” Fang Jingyu glanced around—solid ice paving the ground, the snowy light sharp and bright. “This must be Penglai, after the snow disaster.”

The bone tablet had briefly mentioned the Taoyuan stone gate. He now understood: passing through it meant entering other eras. It was absurd—but after seeing “Great Immortal Yonghe” with his own eyes, few things still surprised him.

“That’s right. I am Emperor Bai, and this is Penglai after the great freeze. Emperor Bai’s city is what remains of the Penglai Immortal Palace.” Emperor Bai’s voice turned cold, his eyes like arrows fixed on Fang Jingyu.

“And you… are me.”

Fang Jingyu froze. It was the first time he had heard such words. The shock was like thunder splitting the sky—his mind went blank.

After a moment, he murmured, “I only ever heard… that I was the son of Emperor Bai…”

Before him, the elder burst into a wild, bitter laugh:

“Fang Jingyu, you are me! You are not Emperor Bai’s son—you are Emperor Bai Ji Zhi himself! A younger me, still in your prime, untouched by the torments of Guixu!”

He flung out his arms as if to embrace heaven and earth. “Look up at that ice wall! Soaring beyond sight, deep beyond reach—I once summoned all the power of Xian Mountain, and still could not break it. And you two? Powerless, alone—how do you expect to scale it?”

Seeing Fang Jingyu pale, Emperor Bai sneered. “Now that you know your weakness, go home. Your brother is still safe in the palace, healing with the aid of the Taoyuan Stone. Today, I block your path only as a warning. Better to return now and live out your life in peace—than to end in despair.”

Fang Jingyu bit his lip, shaking his head stubbornly.

Emperor Bai sighed. “It seems you won’t turn back without another hard lesson.”

He drew his ice blade—clear as crystal, gleaming like bronze. In a blink, wind howled. Emperor Bai flashed down from the steps, appearing before Fang Jingyu in a blur of motion!

He struck with overwhelming force. Fang Jingyu barely managed to raise the Hanguang Sword in time, and felt his whole body rattle like brittle glass, nearly shattered from head to toe. Emperor Bai’s bladework was exquisite, each move steeped in imperial authority. Compared to him, Fang Jingyu was no more than a village brute.

They exchanged blows, sword and blade clashing. Then suddenly, Emperor Bai kicked Fang Jingyu hard in the chest and sent him flying.

“Soft limbs! Weak bones! Reckless and crude!” Emperor Bai shouted. “Fang Jingyu—is that all you’ve got? With skills like that, how will you protect your people? How will you fulfill my legacy?”

His blade roared like a raging storm. Fang Jingyu’s hands split open, blood pouring down his arms. Emperor Bai’s techniques had been forged through decades of seclusion in Guixu—he might now be unmatched beneath the heavens. It was as if he could read Fang Jingyu’s every move.

Fang Jingyu scrambled upright, wiped the blood from his lips. He thought bitterly: I can’t beat another version of myself.

Suddenly, inspiration struck—he recalled his duel with Si Chen on Yingzhou. They had fought on the ship in Lei Ze, riding the waves. He shut his eyes and felt for the wind’s direction.

It was near dawn. Emperor Bai’s City sat on higher ground—so the wind flowed uphill. Fang Jingyu feinted. As expected, Emperor Bai pursued relentlessly. But Fang Jingyu moved with the wind, while Emperor Bai faced it—snow stung his eyes. In that moment, Fang Jingyu stepped forward and unleashed a sweeping strike: Golden Thread.

Emperor Bai scoffed. “A mere parlor trick!” With lightning speed, he dodged the blow.

But Fang Jingyu’s slash was only the beginning. In an instant, dozens—hundreds—of sword strikes followed, layered one atop another. The ice cracked like a spiderweb. Snow flew in thick clouds. From the white haze, a flurry of arrows shot forth—aimed straight at Emperor Bai’s heart!

Startled, Emperor Bai tried to dispel the smoke with a blade sweep—but the ground gave beneath him. Fang Jingyu had split the ice to unbalance him! As Emperor Bai stepped into nothingness, Fang Jingyu leapt from the haze with a killing thrust.

“You fight like gutter trash!” Emperor Bai roared.

Fang Jingyu snapped back, “You’ve never fought my brother, have you? The two of us—come from the same lowborn gutter!”

He swept his leg toward Emperor Bai’s knee. Emperor Bai braced with one hand on the ice and sprang up like a spinning top, slashing at Fang Jingyu’s arm. The ice blade flashed—cutting deep into his chest.

They were one and the same. Every move mirrored the other. Pain lanced through Fang Jingyu’s chest—but he had planned for this. He stuffed a piece of meat into his mouth.

It melted down his throat—and his severed arm began to heal. But the dark lines on his neck deepened, creeping up his face. The Immortal Elixir was once again invading him. His vision warped. His mind split. He howled like a beast and lunged at Emperor Bai.

Emperor Bai tore off his cloak and lashed him in the face. Blinded, Fang Jingyu froze. Behind the cloak came a grim voice:

“Fang Jingyu, still struggling? Don’t you see? In this Guixu, there is no hope. You will freeze here—just like I did, just like the countless Emperor Bais who failed before you!”

A flash of cold light pierced the cloak—aimed straight at Fang Jingyu’s heart. He widened his eyes. This blade meant to kill.

But just then—a silver streak flew through the air like a shooting star.

It shattered Emperor Bai’s blade. A broken half clattered to the ice. Fang Jingyu recognized the sight immediately. He turned—and there, atop a pedestal of white jade, stood a man with a drawn bow.

He had freed himself from the Taoyuan Stone Chair, though his wounds reopened—blood flowed down his body. But he was awake—he was stronger. It was Chu Kuang.

He had taken a bow from the temple rack and dragged himself outside. Fang Jingyu stared in disbelief—like seeing a ghost.

Chu Kuang had spent all his strength in that one shot. He was pale as paper, but smiled faintly.

“Your Majesty,” he called, “you lost because you’re weak. That’s your fault. What’s it got to do with us?”

Then his body tilted and fell from the platform like a sheet of paper.

“Your Highness!” he cried.

Fang Jingyu lunged forward just in time, catching him. They tumbled to the ground in a heap—but were unhurt. The moment he held Chu Kuang in his arms, Fang Jingyu felt his heart finally settle—as if his feet had touched solid ground.

Emperor Bai stood frozen, stunned by Chu Kuang’s sudden reappearance. Chu Kuang clutched Fang Jingyu’s shoulder and smiled. That smile reminded Emperor Bai of the Tianfu Guard who once stood beside him nearly a hundred years ago—yet it was uniquely Chu Kuang’s.

“We won’t repeat your mistakes. We’ll achieve what no one before us could—”

Chu Kuang waved his hand with a wide, toothy grin.

Though they were bruised and battered, they clung to each other beneath the dawn light, their forms radiant as if cast in gemstone and morning clouds.

“Because we’re not Emperor Bai and the Tianfu Guard—

We’re Chu Kuang and Fang Jingyu!”