HCAW 150

Chapter 150: From This Moment On

The next day, Emperor Bai climbed the tamped earth platform to gaze into the distance. The sky was a deep blue like the sea, and the icy flats shimmered in the sunlight. Amid the snowdrifts, two blurry figures gradually came into view.

Fang Jingyu was carrying Chu Kuang on his back, dragging a heavy satchel with one hand. The bag bulged with sea beast hides and cloth for tents. Chu Kuang slumped on his back, looking utterly drained.

As the two entered the palace, Emperor Bai also came down from the platform, and they crossed paths in the hall. Chu Kuang seemed to stir awake at that moment but shrank back like a timid quail, burying his face in the crook of Fang Jingyu’s neck, his expression full of mortified shame.

Seeing this, Emperor Bai had already guessed eight or nine tenths of what had happened the previous night. Two people heading off into the wilderness together—if they didn’t go to sleep, then they went and did something else. He let out a cold laugh and said to Chu Kuang, “Minsheng, if you feel you’ve been wronged, you may present your grievance to me. I can order this scoundrel executed.”

Fang Jingyu snorted, “An old fossil like you—what right do you have to meddle in the affairs of us young people?”

Emperor Bai sneered sideways at him. “I am you. Your affairs are mine.”

“Then let’s say I am you. I’ve done nothing against heaven or reason. Why must you be so cruel as to kill another version of yourself?”

“You shameless little cur—you think I don’t know what filth you’re capable of? You’re a lewd, brazen rogue who even lays hands on your own elder brother!” Emperor Bai shot back.

The two were at each other’s throats when Chu Kuang, flustered, climbed down from Fang Jingyu’s back and snapped, “Enough! The two of you are driving me crazy. Leave me alone!” He limped off toward the tent, but before ducking inside, he spun around and shot Fang Jingyu a glare. “And you—don’t you dare follow me, you damn pest!”

Emperor Bai burst into laughter, looking all too pleased with himself. Fang Jingyu glared at him, then quickly chased after Chu Kuang into the tent.

Over the next few days, Chu Kuang spent most of his time outside the tent playing with the terns. Though he acted aloof and ignored Fang Jingyu, his heart was a sea of stormy waves.

He couldn’t stop thinking about that night beside the ice wall—the most humiliating night of his life. He remembered how, as Fang Jingyu pressed inside him, he had traced his fingers gently along his brows and eyes, drinking in every nuance of his expression. Like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web, Chu Kuang had nowhere to escape. In his ear, Fang Jingyu whispered, “Brother.”

He couldn’t stand it. Of all times, why call him that while doing such things? It was an utter breach of propriety. Grinding his teeth, he had barked, “Don’t call me brother!”

Fang Jingyu bit the tip of his ear—now blushing like a peach bud—and murmured, “Brother Minsheng.”

He shook his head furiously. Then the young man lowered his voice again: “Fang Minsheng.”

Those three words (in Chinese) coursed through Chu Kuang like a bolt of lightning, shattering his defenses. He buried his face in the furs, delirious and lost, weeping and calling out again and again. He’d been manhandled by many in his life, but none like Fang Jingyu—forceful yet tender. He finally blacked out from exhaustion, and when he woke the next day, he gritted his teeth, thinking: this little brother of mine is truly something. Even at this, he’s made real progress!

The terns chirped and fluttered around, landing on his arm. As he played with them, they suddenly burst into flight. Chu Kuang turned and saw Fang Jingyu had somehow come up behind him.

“Feeling better, Brother Minsheng?” Fang Jingyu asked casually.

Chu Kuang snapped, “After getting wrecked all night by you—how could I possibly feel better?”

“Shall I brew more medicine? Internal or external use?” Fang Jingyu asked.

“No! Don’t think you can use that as an excuse to steal more kisses!”

“I’ve watched you dote on these terns for days and pay me no mind. My heart feels like it’s frozen.” Fang Jingyu stayed unbothered. “I wonder what my brother has been thinking about. Perhaps I can help ease your burdens?”

Chu Kuang replied, “I was wondering if I taught you too badly. If you ever become emperor and take charge of Xian Mountain, you’ll probably turn into a lecherous tyrant.”

“I don’t want three thousand concubines. I only want one person—my brother. I don’t care for gold or jade; a humble hut and plain rice are enough. How could that make me a despot? If anything, Brother Minsheng, I must ask for your indulgence—when I see you, I’m like salt dropped on a hot pan, oil added to a fire, neither ghost nor god nor man anymore.”

Chu Kuang glared at him, his eyes nearly spitting fire. This scoundrel had grown far too glib of tongue lately. He paced the ice, anxious and irritable, as if walking on blades. After a while, he said:

“No more jokes, Jingyu. Have you thought about what we’re going to do next?”

As soon as Chu Kuang called him “Jingyu,” Fang Jingyu stiffened and sobered up. He couldn’t help but remember all the times his brother had scolded him with that exact tone. Straightening his back, he asked seriously, “What does Brother Minsheng mean?”

Suddenly, the terns around them all took flight. In a flurry of wings, white feathers fell like snow. Chu Kuang stopped and turned to face him, his expression grave.

“Guixi isn’t somewhere we can linger. We don’t have enough food, water, or medicine. The cold is bitter, and there are no other living people. Back then, Emperor Bai led over five thousand men to dig through the ice wall, and he swore even if all of Penglai were summoned, they still couldn’t break through. Now, there are only four of us. What can we possibly do?”

As soon as the topic was brought up, Fang Jingyu’s heart sank heavily, and he no longer had the mood to think about his romantic affairs with Chu Kuang. He nodded and said,

“Let the four of us gather first and discuss what we can do.”

_____

In the warm chamber of Emperor Bai’s City, four gilt-edged chairs were set out. The four of them each took a seat, facing one another in silence.

In the brazier, date branches crackled as they burned. Across the flickering firelight, Emperor Bai gazed at Bai Huan Guard, seated opposite him, and let out a long sigh.

“You’ve come. You and I… perhaps we haven’t met in many years.”

Bai Huan Guard was ethereal in appearance, her expression serene. Emperor Bai knew this girl, who had grown up in Guixi, was like a stubborn new shoot—now transformed, with no trace of her former weakness. The previous Bai Huan Guard had died to save her, and she inherited the title. After leaving for Fanghu, she had worked tirelessly alongside the scholars to write the history of Xian Mountain, ensuring its past would not be forgotten.

A ripple surfaced on her lake-still face. She bowed her head and said, “Leaving Your Majesty to suffer here alone was my fault.”

“It matters not. In the end, the decline of Xian Mountain’s fortunes was due to my failure.” Emperor Bai sighed in defeat. His face seemed to grow older by the moment. “New Bai Huan Guard, do you have any insight to offer me?”

The woman in white lowered her head, a hint of remorse flashing through her expression. “Your Majesty flatters me too much. I wandered in both Guixi and Fanghu for years, yet never found a way to break through the ice wall. I saw many old friends pass away, and gradually lost faith in people. I came to prefer the company of birds.”

As she spoke, she cradled a tern in her arms, gently stroking its feathers.

“Back then, I calculated that although the ice wall thinned over time, men could not endure the cold. People died faster than the wall was worn down. Xian Mountain is still sinking—we may never be able to break through this ice!” Emperor Bai’s brows slowly relaxed. He let out a sudden laugh, yet it carried the bitterness of years of suffering. He turned toward Chu Kuang, who was propping his chin up as if deep in thought, and asked, “Well, Minsheng, do you have any ideas?”

There was hope in the old man’s gaze. In recent days, Chu Kuang had told him about the many memories left by the Tianfu Guard within his mind, and so Emperor Bai now knew—Chu Kuang was the one the Tianfu Guard had placed their hope in.

Chu Kuang looked up but turned his gaze toward the palace gates. The sky was high and far, a flock of birds wheeling through it.

Then, without context, he asked, “How far can these terns fly?”

Bai Huan Guard was startled. “They can cross ten thousand li. You likely saw them in Daiyu as well—many raise them as ‘sky messengers’ to deliver letters.”

Chu Kuang turned to Fang Jingyu and asked, “Jingyu, do you remember? Back in Daiyu, ‘Mule’ gave us a sky messenger.”

Fang Jingyu’s eyes lit up—he remembered. But what had become of that sky messenger later? Chu Kuang continued, “When we were badly wounded, it went missing. I believe Young Master Zheng set it free.”

“Deli?” Fang Jingyu frowned, puzzled. “Why would he do that?”

“My guess is, Young Master Zheng must have deciphered the script on the bone pieces and learned what was to come.” Chu Kuang turned to Bai Huan Guard. “May I ask, Lady Bai Huan Guard—where did these bone pieces come from?”

He spoke methodically and clearly, and Fang Jingyu was caught off guard. Having grown used to Chu Kuang’s madness, he now found this composed Fang Minsheng hard to get used to.

Bai Huan Guard replied, “The bone pieces I have were gathered from various parts of Xian Mountain. I don’t know who created them. But after years of study, I’ve come to see they contain a mystery. The pieces record future events—and those events have indeed come to pass, one by one.”

“These bones must have been left behind…” Chu Kuang looked down. “By the Tianfu Guard.”

Emperor Bai trembled all over. Bai Huan Guard took a silk-wrapped bundle from her bosom, slowly unfolded it, and revealed several bone pieces, which she passed to the emperor. He examined them and sighed deeply. “This handwriting is unmistakably the Tianfu Guard’s.”

“But not just his. Some of it is mine as well—only, left by a version of me in another world.” Emperor Bai caressed the bone piece gently, eyes soft, as if seeing an old friend. “These must be records left by the Tianfu Guard and versions of me in other worlds. What they described matches what we are experiencing now.”

Bai Huan Guard let out a long sigh. “Then this isn’t a ‘Heavenly Book’ at all…”

“It’s history—history that can be broken.” Fang Jingyu finished, eyes dark and bright. “Deli already proved it for us.”

A heavy silence fell over the hall. Only the date branches crackled in the brazier. Suddenly, Fang Jingyu thought of Zheng Deli’s face—that gentle, scholarly visage with eyes full of determination. He often spoke of his father, who once served as a supervisor in the Astronomy Bureau of Penglai. His father had once said: “The past is the future; the future is the past.”

The Tianfu Guard had passed through Taoyuan stone gate countless times, witnessing innumerable worlds and recording them—bringing these records back to Penglai’s past. The birth of Fang Jingyu and Fang Minsheng had already been the hard-earned result of these trials. Though they were born in the past, they were in truth the product of the future.

Suddenly, Chu Kuang stood up. “Since Young Master Zheng understood the script on the bone pieces, then releasing the sky messenger was no meaningless act. ‘Mule’ also said these birds can cross ten thousand li. I believe he meant… to call for aid.”

“Aid?” the others exclaimed.

Chu Kuang nodded, then gave a mischievous grin. “That said, let me state up front—I’m a fool with a hole in his head, so if what I say next sounds mad, I beg your indulgence.”

The three nodded. Emperor Bai laughed. “I’ve been waiting for your madness!”

Relieved, Chu Kuang planted his hands on his hips. “Your Majesty, Tianfu Guard, Lady Bai Huan Guard—you’ve all toiled for years to break through the ice wall, yet failed due to being too few in number. But I’ve been thinking—back when Your Majesty had five thousand followers and that wasn’t enough, why not call six thousand, ten thousand, fifty thousand to break the wall? Wouldn’t that work better?”

Emperor Bai shook his head. “I thought you’d offer some earth-shattering idea, but you’re still stuck in the same rut! I already calculated—never mind fifty thousand people—even if every last person on Xian Mountain came, we couldn’t break this wall.”

But Chu Kuang said, “One mountain’s worth of people isn’t enough. What about two? Three? Gather people from all the different Xian Mountains—would that be enough?”

The others stared in stunned silence, speechless. Chu Kuang spread his arms wide, the firelight casting a towering shadow on the wall behind him. He gave a sharp laugh.

“Gather all the people of Xian Mountain—across all eras and all worlds—bring them here! Let us stand united, and break this wall together!”