HCAW 153

Chapter 153: Love Thread into the Bones

The night was cold and still, and the dying lamp flickered like a bean. Inside the felt tent stood a snow-carved table, with Langgan Guard, Fang Jingyu, and Chu Kuang seated on either side.

The three drank murky liquor from birch-bark cups, reminiscing over old tales. Chu Kuang sat in a corner, coughing lowly, his gaze evasive. Langgan Guard gently rubbed his back and asked:

“Minsheng, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, just the chill hasn’t quite passed yet.” Chu Kuang covered his mouth and coughed lightly. “Besides, the serious injuries from a while back still haven’t fully healed…”

Hearing this, Fang Jingyu recalled the wounds Chu Kuang suffered when he fell in Daiyu and couldn’t help but shiver. The Taoyuan Stone Chair could restore wounds as if they had never been, but with time, they would mostly return to their former state—riddled with scars. So, in these past days, he had carefully applied medicine and bandaged Chu Kuang’s wounds, treating him little by little. While lost in thought, Langgan Guard turned to Fang Jingyu and said, “Your Majesty… since you said no need for formalities, then I shall still take you as my son.”

Fang Jingyu nodded. “You’ve always been my father in truth. No need for ceremony.” Then he called out again, “Dad.”

Upon hearing that word—“Dad”—Langgan Guard’s expression softened greatly. Holding Chu Kuang close, he went on, “Jingyu, you’ve seen it yourself. Your brother has suffered much over the years. His health is poor. Do bear with him, don’t think him a burden.”

Fang Jingyu’s expression was calm and steady. “How could I resent my brother? I barely have time to thank him.”

Chu Kuang looked uncomfortable, as if unused to being shown concern. He broke free of Langgan Guard’s embrace and gloomily returned to the table, grabbing red shrimp with his hands to eat. Langgan Guard scolded, “Minsheng, you’re before the Emperor now. Mind your manners.” Chu Kuang shuddered, set down the shrimp, picked up his chopsticks—but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t hold them steadily. He ate with jerky, crooked movements. Seeing this, Langgan Guard gave his back a firm pat and said, “Sit up straight before eating!” Poor Chu Kuang moved stiffly, unable to regain the dignified, composed air he once had. Even with the will to imitate his former self, it was like an ugly mimicry, and his expression turned flustered.

Fang Jingyu couldn’t bear to watch. “Dad, don’t force Brother Minsheng. Let him do what’s comfortable. You want me to bear with him, but then you keep holding him to rules. How is that bearing with him?” Langgan Guard’s face flushed with embarrassment and he murmured assent repeatedly.

Chu Kuang’s eyes darted between the two of them, like a guilty mouse, and he quietly scooted closer to Fang Jingyu. Compared to his father, he found it far less nerve-racking to sit beside this younger brother. Fang Jingyu glanced at him and silently poured him a drink.

But deep down, Fang Jingyu felt uneasy. He thought of something he had once said to Chu Kuang. Whenever Chu Kuang spoke of the past, he often clutched his head in pain, face pale, clearly unwilling to remember. The past was like a branding iron, leaving a painful scar forever etched in his heart. Yet Fang Jingyu could tell—the plan for Fang Minsheng to take his place with fake identity had only succeeded because Emperor Changyi, having consumed too many Immortal Elixirs over the years, had failing eyesight and had never seen the Tianfu Guard’s face. But this plan relied on too many coincidences. It was hard to imagine how his father and the Tianfu Guard had the nerve to gamble so big.

Unless—it was all orchestrated by the Tianfu Guard. The humiliation and madness forced upon Fang Minsheng had all been within the Tianfu Guard’s grasp.

The moment this thought struck, Fang Jingyu felt a chill crawl through him. Could someone truly go so far as to sacrifice a version of themselves from another world just to protect Emperor Bai? But then he remembered that Chu Kuang had always been a madman unafraid of death. Perhaps this madness had always been buried in Fang Minsheng’s nature, and he couldn’t help but sigh with understanding.

After several rounds of drinks, all of them were flushed with wine without realizing it. Chu Kuang grew more uninhibited, talking nonsense and even pointed at Langgan Guard, cursing, “You sky-gazing turtle! You didn’t come save me back then and let me be tormented by others!” Langgan Guard knew these were the true thoughts in his heart and kept apologizing, gently rubbing his back to comfort him. After cursing, Chu Kuang took a big bite out of Fang Jingyu’s cheek, slurring, “You little lewd turtle! You eat my mouth, poke my butt…”

Fang Jingyu’s whole body jolted, quickly looking toward Langgan Guard, who burst out laughing and said, “This kid’s learned all sorts of nonsense now!”

Though it was mostly taken as drunken nonsense, Fang Jingyu still felt uneasy. And with Chu Kuang biting away without restraint, he dodged his head and patted his cheek. “Brother, sober up. You’re just making a fool of yourself.”

Langgan Guard could hold his liquor better and still kept chatting cheerfully. Pointing at Chu Kuang, he laughed, “What’s the harm? Let him be! Jingyu, you probably don’t know—Minsheng now looks exactly like his mother!”

Fang Jingyu was shocked. Neither he nor his brother had any memory of her, for she had died giving birth to Fang Minsheng. At that moment, Chu Kuang pounced on Langgan Guard like a cat. Langgan Guard spread his arms and caught him in a firm hug. Chu Kuang struggled, scratching and clawing at his chest like a kitten, making Langgan Guard laugh. Looking at Chu Kuang, his gaze grew nostalgic:

“His mother… she was from a martial family too, with a wild, reckless streak, never one to sit still. After I became a widower, I was strict with Minsheng, but his nature was stubborn—just like hers. Sometimes even I couldn’t sway him.”

“What kind of person was Mother?” Fang Jingyu was curious and couldn’t help but ask.

“Her surname was Chu,” Langgan Guard said wistfully, “She was skilled with the bow and once served in the Xian Mountain Guard. Her title was—‘Caisang Guard.’” (Mulberry-Picking Guard)

The gourd-shaped candle flickered, its smoke curling into the air and slowly dispersing. The tent fell silent. Chu Kuang mumbled and wriggled out of Langgan Guard’s arms, crawling over to Fang Jingyu and resting his head on his lap. Fang Jingyu was startled and looked down, only to see that Chu Kuang had already fallen asleep on his own, smacking his lips gently. His sleeping face was calm, and in the silvery glow of the snow, looked like a painting gilded in silver. Fang Jingyu stroked his hair—soft and smooth, like silk flowing through his fingers. In a daze, he tried to see traces of that never-seen woman in Chu Kuang’s face. In the blink of an eye, he saw Langgan Guard’s expression had turned somber, and he had fallen silent.

At that moment, a gust of cold wind swept in, causing the lamp shadows to flicker. Fang Jingyu’s heart suddenly tightened. He had originally planned to confess to Langgan Guard tonight about the shameful entanglement between him and Chu Kuang, but upon seeing Langgan Guard’s expression, the words caught in his throat.

“Dad…” he finally resolved himself, bit his lip, and spoke.

Just then, a hand suddenly slithered into his pants like a venomous snake, probing with no care for gentleness or force. Fang Jingyu almost jumped up in shock, but when he looked down, he saw Chu Kuang gazing at him drunkenly, his movements languid and unrestrained, completely contrary to his usual rejecting demeanour.

“What’s wrong?” Langgan Guard’s sharp gaze swept over like a blade. Fang Jingyu stiffened and quickly swallowed his words. “Nothing,” he said.

His face remained calm, but inwardly he was burning with both shame and fear. He lowered his head and whispered, “Brother! What are you doing?”

Chu Kuang muttered, “Playing with the little turtle’s shell.”

Fang Jingyu was helpless. Normally so shy and withdrawn, but once drunk, Chu Kuang would lose all sense of restraint. Langgan Guard, having drunk his fill, was nodding off at the table with drowsy eyes. Fang Jingyu quickly said, “Dad, we’ve nearly finished the wine jug tonight. Let’s rest early so we don’t miss tomorrow’s matters.”

Langgan Guard nodded with a hiccup. “Go ahead and settle Minsheng down. I’ve pitched a tent nearby, no need to worry.”

The three of them staggered off to their respective tents. Once inside, Chu Kuang clung to Fang Jingyu like a vine, exhaling warmth, his lips brushing Fang Jingyu’s ear with teasing affection. Fang Jingyu tried to pull him away, but Chu Kuang only stuck closer, sweet and sticky as melted candy. They both collapsed onto the bedding.

Fang Jingyu asked, “Brother, what’s gotten into you tonight?”

Chu Kuang mumbled vaguely, his words slurred, suggesting this wasn’t the first time such boundaries had been crossed. His drunkenness loosened his tongue, making Fang Jingyu flush with embarrassment.

When Fang Jingyu began helping him undress to settle in, Chu Kuang let out soft, murmuring sounds, delicate as silk threads that brushed against Fang Jingyu’s heart. He covered Chu Kuang’s mouth, whispering, “Keep your voice down. Dad’s in the tent right next to us.”

Through a haze, Chu Kuang retorted noisily, “Let him listen!”

Fang Jingyu was so startled by this shout that his heart nearly stopped. He listened carefully but heard no sound from the neighboring tent, and his nerves settled slightly. Then he noticed his fingers were damp—Chu Kuang was licking his knuckles, and his red tongue like a carp playing in water, slipped between the gaps of his fingers.

“……Brother!” Fang Jingyu calledout softly. Chu Kuang raised his eyes to look at him, his pupilsglistening like stars in the sky,stirring one’s heartstrings. This was his elder brother whom he had always respected, but theyhad already crossed the line and committed a grave mistake.

“Don’t worry about Dad,” Chu Kuang said, holding Fang Jingyu’s hand tightly, his expression dazed but earnest. “I want you.”

For a moment, it seemed like a torrent had burst through his heart, and only then did he realize he had collapsed onto the bed with him. All thoughts of ice wall, Guixu, and moral principles were forgotten, and from then on, it was a world ofdarkness.

Outside, night deepened. Snow tapped against the tent roof, crackling like beans roasting over a fire. Langgan Guard, now sobered by the cold wind, sat in his own tent.

Suddenly, he heard faint, pleading sounds carried through the snow. Stepping out, he traced the noise to Fang Jingyu’s tent—it sounded like someone crying softly, in pain or discomfort.

Langgan Guard’s heart clenched. Was Minsheng having a relapse from his old wounds?

“Jingyu,” he hesitated, then finally parted the curtain and asked, “Is Minsheng’s condition any better?”

There was a sudden rustling from inside. As Langgan Guard stepped in, he saw disarrayed furs on the snow bed, Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang lying close together. Chu Kuang’s face was flushed as if with fever, brows knitted in a frown.

Fang Jingyu peeked out from behind Chu Kuang. “What is it, Dad?”

“Nothing,” Langgan Guard replied. “I heard a sound and was worried Minsheng was unwell.”

“He’s fine now. I gave him some medicine earlier.”

Langgan Guard nodded, but his gaze lingered on a mark on Chu Kuang’s neck—snow-white skin with a faint red blemish, like a plum blossom, and what looked like the trace of a bite.

Though Chu Kuang’s eyes were shut, his body trembled faintly, as if suppressing something.

In that instant, a realization struck Langgan Guard like a bolt from the blue. He remembered the shadows he’d glimpsed through the tent earlier—two figures entwined.

The wind seemed to stop. The man stood in silence for a long moment before finally saying:

“Jingyu… Minsheng is still your elder brother. Treat him well. Don’t hurt him.”

“I will,” Fang Jingyu answered simply.

The curtain fell. Langgan Guard walked into the snow and wind. Behind him, he heard Chu Kuang’s irritated voice: “You said you wouldn’t bully me! Stupid turtle, get off!”

Fang Jingyu’s voice followed: “Dad’s not even gone yet, why should I leave?” Then came a cry from Chu Kuang, abruptly stifled—as if someone had muffled him mid-sentence.

Behind the curtain, shadows mingled once more. pleadings and cries for mercy, though suppressed to a whisper, continued endlessly. The Langgan Guard sighed deeply, forcing down the tumult of thoughts in his mind, closed his eyes, and walked away quickly.