HCAW 156

Chapter 156: Radiance of Sun and Moon

Emperor Bai turned and stepped back in a flash. At the same time, Chu Kuang swept in from the left. The Chengying Sword and Hanguang Sword stabbed forth together—one black, one white—like twin dragons soaring in the sky.

Emperor Bai shouted, “You think this is enough to defeat me? Far from it!”

With a burst of force, he threw the two aside. In that instant, the Vipashiyin Blade in Fang Jingyu’s hands was shattered to dust by the terrifying impact. Their gazes met in midair—Chu Kuang gave a slight nod, and Fang Jingyu immediately understood.

Suddenly, Fang Jingyu felt himself back in the Fang estate, when the crape myrtle bloomed for a hundred days. Spring blossoms filled the air. The two of them held swords in hand, as Fang Minsheng patiently guided his stances—stab, sweep, slice, block—his expression warm as sunlight. Looking at Chu Kuang now, Fang Jingyu’s heart ached. He almost wept. A decade had passed. Though the man before him wasn’t quite the same, here and now—in Guixi—they had truly reunited.

“Brother Minsheng!” he shouted. His sword swept out like scattered snow and blooming fireworks. Chu Kuang met his gaze and called, “Catch it, Jingyu!”

In that instant, the Chengying Sword flew from Chu Kuang’s hand. Fang Jingyu lunged and caught it midair. Now wielding two blades, he struck—like twin meteors blazing across the sky. At the same moment, Chu Kuang drew Fan Ruo, notched a stubby arrow, and fired!

Just then, sunlight broke through the rift in the clouds, pouring down in waves, flooding the snow-covered peaks with golden brilliance. The three were caught in its glow, their shadows flaring bright. The crowd squinted against the glare, hearts pounding like drums, craning their necks to see what would come next—then a gale swept through, blinding all eyes.

Suddenly, a crisp crack rang out from the wind and snow.

As the blizzard settled, all eyes opened wide—and saw Emperor Bai clutching his wrist, the Hanguang Sword dropped beside him. That arrow from Chu Kuang had struck his bracer just as Fang Jingyu’s twin blades arrived. Under their combined force, Emperor Bai had been disarmed.

Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang collapsed in a tangled heap on the ice, scrambling to their feet, gasping for breath.

Emperor Bai looked at them, then smiled faintly and said:

“You’ve won.”

The two stood shakily, chests heaving, still reeling from the fight. After a long pause, Fang Jingyu shook his head and said, “It took the two of us against one of you, and even then we didn’t fight with honor. We dare not claim victory.”

“No,” Emperor Bai replied with a sigh. “You did defeat me. Watching you both, I’ve realized that for nearly a hundred years, I’ve been like a frog in a well. A ruler must never rely solely on their own strength. True governance lies in unity with the people of Penglai.”

His gaze fell upon Chu Kuang and Fang Jingyu. “The same truth holds for this duel. I never said it had to be one-on-one. Fang Jingyu, if you wish to lead those gathered here, you must rally every strength you can. Only then can you break this ice wall.”

Just then, the crowd stepped forward, forming a silent wall behind them. Many eyes sparkled with tears. Emperor Bai smiled gently at Fang Jingyu:

“Now, I yield the name ‘Emperor Bai’ to you. In Guixi, you are the only son of Heaven.”

Half a day later, in the whirling snow and wind, the people flooded into the ceremonial plaza. At the center stood a stone seat and table. Soldiers stood in ranks by the ritual procession. Looking out, the entire field was packed with bowed heads.

Bai Huan Guard stood at the eastern steps and declared, “The sovereign ascends the heights of Xian Mountain. We ministers bow in loyal service.” The crowd erupted in cheers: “Long live the emperor!” The air surged with jubilation. Amid the storm of voices, Fang Jingyu was swept forward.

In the uproar, Emperor Bai held the Vipashiyin Blade in his hands and presented it to Fang Jingyu. As Fang Jingyu took it, he felt its immense weight.

For a moment, he felt as if trapped in a dream. Since childhood, he had heard the legends of Emperor Bai—but never imagined that one day, he would take up the mantle of Xian Mountain from the very hand of that storied sovereign.

Emperor Bai smiled. “From now on, Xian Mountain depends on you and Minsheng.”

Fang Jingyu asked, his heart heavy, “And what about Your Majesty?”

Emperor Bai only smiled, saying nothing. The sunlight shone down, and the mountains glinted. A gleam rose in his eyes too as he looked at Fang Jingyu—relieved, unburdened. “I am but dust in the history books. Whether I stay or go—what does it matter?”

Fang Jingyu bowed deeply. “I beg you to stay with us a while longer. Don’t abandon the younger generation.”

Emperor Bai only laughed and said nothing.

After the enthronement, all proceeded in order. Ships passed through the Taoyuan stone gate and arrived. The soldiers of Yingzhou brought the catapults and cannons they had once used against the Yu Ji Guard, loading them with boulders and flaming caltrops. Fiery projectiles howled through the air, crashing against the ice wall with thunderous might.

For days, the bombardment continued. Snow and dust soared in Guixi, but in time, the munitions dwindled. Emperor Bai saw this and grew anxious—afraid the people might repeat his own path of defeat. Yet the people of Yingzhou remained lighthearted, laughing and chatting each day.

Then, one day, he saw Si Chen commanding them to use birch resin as adhesive, piecing together boards, keels, hulls, and ribs. Bit by bit, they constructed a massive pointed warship.

Emperor Bai walked past the ice wall and saw the great ship being built—majestic and towering, capable of holding ten thousand stones in cargo. Looking up, the soldiers hammering nails and hauling timber atop it appeared as small as grains of rice. By day, the people of Yingzhou and Penglai labored on it; by night, strange monks from the ancient temple of Yuanqiao took over, working without rest. Emperor Bai was filled with awe. This vessel, built by the people’s combined strength, had already surpassed the Soaring Chi ship once used by the Son of Heaven in days past.

He approached Si Chen and asked,

“You’re building a ship?”

Si Chen smiled. “Exactly! Since our ammunition’s almost spent, we’ll crash this big ship through the ice. Even if we have to ram it, we’ll break that wall!”

“And where did you get the materials?”

“Sir Langgan Guard gave us some,” she said with a cunning little grin, “but most of it we hauled here from Yingzhou. Yingzhou had thirty thousand boats—we broke down most of them to build this one!”

At her words, Emperor Bai trembled. He looked at the vessel for a long while, unable to speak.

Eventually, he sighed. “You’ve sacrificed the very foundation of your livelihood just to help us. Why?”

Sichen blinked, as if surprised. “Why think so deeply about it? Young Master Fang and Young Master Chu saved us when Yingzhou was at its worst. Now that they’re in danger, we’re just returning the favor.”

“I’ve heard of Yingzhou’s plight. Flooded lands, no place to stand. You chained your boats together and lived on them. If you’ve taken them all apart… doesn’t that mean you have no home to return to?”

Si Chen smiled, brilliant and clear as morning dew. “What does it matter? Yingzhou was a drowning Penglai. And isn’t Guixi also Penglai? Once the ice wall breaks, this will be our new home.”

Emperor Bai smiled back. The ship bustled with hammering, loud and ceaseless. In the flowing shadows, he turned and walked on. Guixi remained wrapped in heavy snow. Snowflakes like white feathers fell endlessly. In the past, such a scene would have made him stamp his feet in despair, but now his heart was calm.

Walking farther on, he saw the Taoyuan stone gate standing tall in the distance. Langgan Guard stood beside it, while soldiers shouted commands, hauling carts loaded with blocks of pitch-black Taoyuan stone. Emperor Bai approached and asked in surprise:

“What are you doing?”

Langgan Guard quickly bowed. “Your Majesty, we’re dismantling the old Taoyuan stone gate from Penglai and bringing it here.”

Emperor Bai helped him up, eyes wide. “You’re dismantling the gate? Why?”

“The current gate here isn’t large enough. We need more materials to expand it.”

“But if you tear down the one back in Penglai, you won’t be able to return…”

“What’s the harm?” Langgan Guard smiled and nodded. “Wherever Your Majesty is—that is our Penglai. This place is our present, and our future.”

Emperor Bai looked at Langgan Guard, and then at the soldiers hauling stone and timber. These men had willingly abandoned the world they once lived in, all to stand by his side. Suddenly, he felt a great burden lift from his shoulders. For decades, he had wandered here in resentment and sorrow. Only now did it feel like the nightmare was ending—Guixi’s tomorrow had finally come.

He followed the crowd toward the great hall. On the moon platform, two figures stood side by side, leaning close to speak with soldiers. Everyone’s eyes shone with vitality; there was no sign of weariness. The two figures—Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang—moved with heroic energy. Though surrounded by a sea of people, the sunlight seemed to shine only on them, making them radiant.

Langgan Guard followed behind and heard Emperor Bai suddenly laugh.

“As expected—saving Xian Mountain rests entirely on them.”

“Your Majesty flatters them!” Langgan Guard replied. “Jingyu may be Your Majesty’s reflection, but he’s still young. Minsheng, though raised by me, was hardly well-mannered. How could they compare to your divine wisdom and might?”

But Emperor Bai looked at them, his eyes full of hope.

“No. Only those born of Penglai’s soil, who’ve journeyed through Yingzhou, Yuanqiao, and Daiyu—who’ve shared hardship with the people—only they can bear this burden. Their strength cuts through iron.”

A faint sigh escaped his lips.

“Now I understand why the Tianfu Guard placed such high hopes on them, and led them to my side.”

A breeze rose, brushing Emperor Bai’s cheek—not cold, but soft like spring wind. Though surrounded by people, he suddenly felt distanced from them all. His vision blurred, as if shrouded in snowy mist.

Then, he seemed to hear a faint laugh—light, distant, like a breeze.

“Yes, that was exactly why I brought them here. In this moment, under the sun and moon, all light belongs to them.”

The voice was strangely familiar—like an old friend unseen for decades. Emperor Bai whipped around. He thought he glimpsed a dark figure—draped in black like a crow, with a silver mask. Behind them flickered a brilliant red pupil.

Emperor Bai’s heart lurched. He rushed forward, pushing through the crowd—but the figure was gone. Only the lonely wind remained, sweeping across the snow. Heaven and earth vast and silent. That figure—like a swan—had vanished.

He stood frozen for a long time, then smiled gently. Langgan Guard came running and, seeing the smile, asked in confusion,

“Your Majesty, why do you smile?”

Emperor Bai shook his head and looked down, fiddling with a jade ring—one Chu Kuang had given him not long ago. Though aged, it was clear it had been treasured for years—smooth and unscathed.

The ring was carved with a flying goose, surrounded by ancient script. Few now could read those old characters, nor guess the name once engraved there. That person had walked through storms with him and eventually left—yet had left a mark deep in his bones.

But in that fleeting moment, Emperor Bai suddenly understood: that person had never left. They had passed through the Taoyuan stone gate and countless worlds, watching over him through nearly a hundred years atop Xian Mountain.

He smiled softly, clutching the ring tightly, as if holding hands with that distant shadow. Though divided by life and death, their hearts remained joined. From the day they first met in Penglai’s Immortal Palace, they had been bound by fate.

He closed his eyes and murmured:

“It’s nothing. I merely… saw an old friend.”

“A friend I thought… I would never meet again in this life.”