HCAW 151

Chapter 151: A Gathering of the Worthy

A few days after the discussion in the warm chamber, the group gathered again outside the city walls. At that time, the sky was dyed in evening light, layers of peaks shimmering like carnelian. The Taoyuan stone gate stood tall in the distance, dark as storm clouds. A small boat was moored to a stone pillar by the gate, swaying in the wind.

Everyone loaded dried meat and water buckets onto the boat. Once everything was prepared, Bai Huan Guard bowed to the others and said:

“Many thanks for your assistance. I shall now set out for Daiyu as Young Master Chu instructed.”

Earlier, Bai Huan Guard and Chu Kuang had held a private discussion—what they spoke of, Fang Jingyu had yet to learn. He tugged Chu Kuang’s sleeve and whispered, “Why is Bai Huan Guard going to Daiyu?”

Chu Kuang gave him a sideways glance. “Did you forget the world-shaking idea your master came up with? We’re going to pass through the stone gate and bring people from other eras of Xian Mountain to Guixi!”

“And what does that have to do with Bai Huan Guard?”

“Young Master Zheng read the inscriptions on the bone pieces back then—his thinking likely aligns with ours. He released the sky messenger in Daiyu to seek aid,” Chu Kuang said, before changing the subject. “To call upon those from the times we passed through.”

Fang Jingyu felt as though thunder had cracked through a clear sky—his heart trembled. “You mean… seek help from the people of Penglai and the Yingzhou? But can the terns really fly that far? And would those people truly come?”

“I learned from the memories of the Tianfu Guard that the messenger birds of Guixi feed on the flesh and blood of Great Immortal Yonghe. The Taoyuan Stone is his bone. Even if they must pass through the stone gate, they can return from ten thousand miles away. But since Zheng released the tern in Daiyu, the reinforcements—if they come—can only go as far as Daiyu. That’s why Bai Huan Guard must be there to receive them.” Chu Kuang chuckled, tapping Fang Jingyu’s chest. “How about we make a bet, Your Highness? Let’s see whether the people of Penglai and Yingzhou will come.”

Though Fang Jingyu found it hard to believe, he wanted to. At that moment, Chu Kuang patted his chest, as if speaking to someone inside him.

“Lady Bi Bao Guard, thank you for watching over me these days. I’m mostly recovered now—please, come out.”

Just as Fang Jingyu was frozen in place, Chu Kuang pressed a palm to his ear. Soon, black ichor trickled from his ear to the ground and slowly formed into a figure made of sludge.

The figure smiled in a voice unmistakably Bi Bao Guard’s: “Now that Young Master Chu is well, there is no need for this old one to linger in your body.”

Chu Kuang bowed several times in thanks, then looked at Fang Jingyu with mischief in his eyes. Fang Jingyu immediately understood and his face stiffened—inside, he was burning with embarrassment. He had forgotten that when they first arrived in Guixi, in order to save Chu Kuang’s life, Bi Bao Guard had entered Chu Kuang’s body to stir his heart back to motion.

Which meant… every loving word, every kiss, every act they shared in the night—Bi Bao Guard had seen it all!

Even the iron-willed Fang Jingyu faltered at the thought. Chu Kuang elbowed him with a wicked grin. “What is it, little brother? Got something on your mind?”

“Nothing worth thinking,” Fang Jingyu said stiffly.

“You’re thinking about how all the shameful things we did were witnessed by Bi Bao Guard, right?” Chu Kuang leaned close with a click of his tongue. “You weren’t shy when you entered me—why are you embarrassed now?”

He circled Fang Jingyu, taunting him until Fang Jingyu’s ears rang with frustration. He clenched his fists tight, but couldn’t lay a hand on Chu Kuang—after all, he was his elder brother.

Chu Kuang leaned in, whispering slyly in his ear, “It’s fine. I was conscious. When my life was on the brink, Bi Bao Guard did stir my heart. But after I sat on the stone chair and my wounds began to heal, Bi Bao Guard ran out of strength and fell into sleep. Most of our filthy deeds probably escaped her notice.”

Fang Jingyu glared at him. “You’re doing this on purpose, trying to embarrass me. You really weren’t afraid someone might see us doing… that?”

Chu Kuang clapped him on the shoulder, grinning smugly. “I’m still your big brother—old ginger is hotter than fresh.”

Bi Bao Guard slowly slid across the ice and climbed aboard the small boat. Bai Huan Guard seemed not at all alarmed. She gently held one of the sludge-like tentacles and smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Lady Bi Bao Guard.”

“It has been quite some time,” Bi Bao Guard sighed. “You’ve grown into such a fine young lady, while this old one is no longer even human. But let me go with you. Bringing so many people to Guixi is no small task. I’ve been dead for years, done nothing for Xian Mountain—now is the time to repay His Majesty’s kindness.”

Emperor Bai nodded, seemingly giving permission. So Bai Huan Guard and Bi Bao Guard boarded the boat together. The sails filled with wind, and the boat set off. Bai Huan Guard held a cage of sky messengers in her arms and waved to the remaining three. The boat gradually passed through the Taoyuan stone gate and vanished into the horizon, swallowed by the gate’s shadow.

After the boat left, the old man slowly returned to Emperor Bai’s City’s grand hall, leaving Chu Kuang and Fang Jingyu seated on the palace steps.

They sat side by side, gazing at the Taoyuan stone gate. Snow blanketed the mountains like rivers of flowing silver. A strange, unspeakable feeling stirred in both their hearts. Fang Jingyu turned to Chu Kuang and said:

“Brother, I want to hug you.”

“What now?” Chu Kuang glanced sideways, as if accusing him of play-acting.

“I just want to hug you.”

Fang Jingyu spread his arms and pulled Chu Kuang into a tight embrace. Their hearts beat against each other through their thin chests like matched drumbeats. Holding him close, Fang Jingyu realized just how thin and frail his brother was—his sharp bones jutted like thorns into his palm. Only now did his long-held worry subside. Chu Kuang wasn’t somewhere far away—he was right here. Not blood-soaked, but alive and smiling.

Chu Kuang, sensing the weight in his arms, squirmed uneasily. Fang Jingyu whispered:

“Brother Minsheng, I want to ask about something from back then… but I’m afraid it’ll reopen old wounds and make you sad.”

“It’s fine. Those things are already in the past.” Chu Kuang paused for a moment, though Fang Jingyu could feel him trembling in his arms. “Go ahead and ask.”

Over the past few days, Chu Kuang had shared many memories from the Tianfu Guard that remained in his mind—some of which had left Fang Jingyu stunned. Yet among them, there were still parts he couldn’t make sense of.

“You once said that Emperor Changyi in our world was actually a version of Emperor Bai from another world who crossed through the gate. If that’s true, then why—when he took you ten years ago—didn’t he realize you weren’t the one he was looking for?”

Chu Kuang was silent for a long time, as if waves of turmoil churned in his heart. Fang Jingyu knew he was treading on old pain with a needle’s point, and he was anxious. At last, Chu Kuang replied, voice faint:

“After I was captured by the Yu Ji Guard, they brought me to the Immortal Palace. In the grand hall… I did see Emperor Changyi…”

His voice was like mist, thin and wavering, as if a single gust would scatter it.

“But the Emperor Changyi didn’t seem the least bit concerned whether I lived or died,” Chu Kuang said. “I saw that… there were black tentacles on his body, and his eyes were clouded with black mist. He couldn’t see clearly, and looked as though he was suffering. He only glanced at me once before ordering the Yu Ji Guard to take me away… to be tortured.”

Fang Jingyu held him tighter, sensing his tremble. His heart ached as though stabbed, and he tightened his arms. “Didn’t the Yu Ji Guard report your eye to him? Wasn’t he suspicious?”

“When the Tianfu Guard took you from the Immortal Palace, Emperor Changyi was already deeply corrupted by the ‘Immortal Elixir’—half his body was no longer human. He pierced into your body with his tentacles, which is why your bones were later destroyed. Even though you ate many meat slices afterward, your bones never recovered because of that damage,” Chu Kuang said, forcing back a headache. “He knew I had a double pupil but assumed it was a symptom of the Immortal Elixir’s corruption, and so didn’t suspect I was Emperor Bai.”

Fang Jingyu suddenly understood. He figured that Emperor Changyi, blinded by the effects of the Elixir at the time, later regained some clarity by the time of the execution ground—but by then it had been enough for his brother to pass unnoticed. The thought made his heart ache even more. He whispered, “It’s all my fault that Brother Minsheng had to endure such torment.”

Chu Kuang exhaled, his pale face recovering a hint of color. “There’s no point arguing over blame now. But you little devil—why do you always look for chances to do me in? Was I born just to be hounded by you?”

Fang Jingyu suddenly pressed his palm to the back of Chu Kuang’s head and kissed him deeply. The kiss was gentle, catching Chu Kuang off guard. When he finally let go, he said softly, “If you’re not satisfied, you can take me instead.”

Chu Kuang’s skin broke out in goosebumps. He yelled, “No way! I have no interest in your stinking little butt!”

The two lingered in Guixi for several months, walking along the ice wall and studying every part of it. The section Emperor Bai had carved decades ago lay to the southeast, the thinnest part due to frequent sunlight.

After inspecting it, Chu Kuang was delighted. “Once we break through this ice wall, we can set sail straight for the Nine Provinces!”

He even dug out a handful of dirt beans from his pack, enthusiastically burying them in the thawed earth. “Just wait. Once the wall is broken, the Guixi will no longer be cold. Flowers will bloom here.”

Though he acted cheerfully, uncertainty still filled his heart. Bai Huan Guard and Bi Bao Guard had yet to return. Emperor Bai remained shrouded in worry. The world suddenly felt vast and empty—as if they had been abandoned in the endless void of Guixi.

As they walked past wall after wall of ice, they saw countless bones heaped at the base, and countless soldiers frozen to death mid-effort, now preserved like sculptures. Chu Kuang’s face darkened. He had seen their figures in the Tianfu Guard’s memories—no longer mere legend, they were real, once-living people.

The two of them pressed their palms together in reverence, bowing before the fallen soldiers in solemn silence. After a long while, Fang Jingyu looked down and asked:

“Brother Minsheng, are you thinking we’ll end up like them—never finding a way out, forever sealed within Guixi?”

Chu Kuang’s expression was grave. “Talk is cheap. In the end, this task is like sailing against the current. Emperor Bai and the Tianfu Guard spent lifetimes without success. We’re just their successors—can we really accomplish what they could not?”

Fang Jingyu said, “What’s gotten into you? You were full of confidence before, and now you’re throwing cold water on us?”

Chu Kuang hung his head. He had spoken boldly before, but the longer they waited, the more uneasy he became. It felt as though they were trapped in a frozen prison, endlessly awaiting Bai Huan Guard’s return, with no answer.

Just then, he felt a warmth on the back of his hand—Fang Jingyu had placed his palm over it.

“They’ll come,” Fang Jingyu said, looking into his eyes, gaze unwavering. “Trust me.”

Chu Kuang looked at him, the glow of red twilight like molten iron casting a faint light across the dark sky. Fang Jingyu’s silhouette seemed carved into that light—steadfast, resolute, unmoving.

He chuckled lightly and extended his other hand to clasp Fang Jingyu’s. “If my little brother says it, then as the elder brother, I’ll believe it.”

At that moment in Emperor Bai’s City, the aging emperor sat slumped on his throne, deep in thought.

He remembered nearly a century ago, when he had been a spirited young sovereign, issuing commands to the guards of Xian Mountain. Now, he sat alone—solitary.

Emperor Bai let out a long sigh, the sound quickly swallowed by the whistling wind. Penglai had become the flood-stricken Yingzhou, then the war-torn Daiyu, and now the lifeless Guixi. Bai Huan Guard and Bi Bao Guard had been gone for ages, no word returned. He would meet the same fate again—no one left to help him.

Just as he was sinking into despair, a glimmer of light caught his eye.

The old man slowly stood up, his withered eyes widening in disbelief. What he saw were ten thousand points of light.

The firelight flowed like a river, steadily surging from beyond the Taoyuan stone gate. Countless figures approached, holding burning bamboo slivers and lanterns. Their appearances varied—some were soldiers, others dressed like farmers or traveling merchants. Among them were black, formless silhouettes like sludge—those were the monstrous monks from Yuanqiao Temple, once Emperor Bai’s troops drowned in the Ming Sea, now summoned back to the world.

The north wind carried distant voices, and Emperor Bai heard the crowd calling toward the two standing on the altar steps—their voices boiling like cicadas in summer:

“Captain Fang!” “Your Highness—!” “Ah Chu!”

There were the common folk of Penglai once helped by Fang Jingyu, the armored and valiant Langgan Guard, and many other former subordinates; there were also the rebel army of Yingzhou from the Lei Ze camp, Si Chen, and the thousand refugy who had lived aboard with them. Their faces were alight with joy, smiling like the spring breeze, surging up the stairs like a tide. The once-dead Guixi welcomed spring again.

Bai Huan Guard and Bi Bao Guard stood among them. Though visibly weary, they smiled brightly. Bai Huan Guard stepped forward to the palace gate, raising her hand in salute.

“Your Highness, Young Master Chu—we’ve returned with our report. It took great effort to bring so many across the sea. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Si Chen had fully recovered, dressed in flowing garments, a white jade earring shaped like a chicken bone on her ear, standing hands on hips with a grin. “Well, you two lords—long time no see. Last time you helped us through our calamity, now it’s this lady’s turn to handle yours!”

The people behind her shouted in unison, “To get here, we tore apart every ship in Yingzhou—it was truly do or die! Your Highness, Ah Chu, we’ve nowhere else to go. You better make room for us!”

The Penglai folk chattered away: “Our homeland’s a mess now! Better to follow you two than serve that muddle-headed Emperor Changyi. Wherever Captain Fang and the Langgan Guard are, that’s where we want to be!” The Langgan Guard stood quietly amid the crowd but broke into a rare smile.

On the palace steps, Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang stood side by side in the wind, surrounded by people like stars encircling the moon. Fang Jingyu turned to look at Chu Kuang and smiled.

“Well, Brother Minsheng? Now you know—every step we’ve taken was not in vain.”

Chu Kuang looked out over the sea of lanterns, each one shining brilliantly as if they were stars strewn across the heavens. They had endured countless hardships for this moment—for these smiling faces. These were the sparks they once scattered, now gathered again to blaze into a roaring fire.

“Yes. Everything we’ve done… was for this moment.”

So he tightened his grasp on Fang Jingyu’s hand, his eyes shimmering with tears, and said:

“For today’s Guixi—and tomorrow’s Penglai.”