HCAW 158

Chapter 158: Dawn Across Ten Thousand Miles

The northern wind howled, snowflakes fluttering like willow catkins, blanketing the glacier in white and painting heaven and earth in pure brilliance.

Amidst this vast whiteness, a pitch-black Taoyuan Stone Gate was being hauled by soldiers to the edge of the ice wall. Langgan Guard and Bai Huan Guard stood before it, brows tightly knit.

Langgan Guard’s fists were clenched, eyes locked on the gate. Chu Kuang had told him of his wild, bold idea: they would lure the ao turtle from Daiyu to Guixi, and the gate must be dismantled and rebuilt here before its arrival. If timed right, the ao turtle would slam straight into the ice wall upon entry.

Bai Huan Guard noticed his trembling fists and laughed, “What’s wrong, sir? Are you worried Young Master Chu’s plan won’t work?”

Langgan Guard sighed. “I trust my son, of course. It’s just that this… this is unprecedented. If it succeeds, it will go down in history.”

He turned to Bai Huan Guard and asked, “Tell me, Lady Bai Huan—does the Heavenly Book mention anything like this?”

The white-clad woman smiled sweetly. “Since the moment we entered Guixi, the Heavenly Book has said nothing at all. Everything we do now—no one has done before.”

The two stood silently at the gate for some time. Suddenly, Langgan Guard’s eyes sharpened and he whispered, “Lady Bai Huan—do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“There’s sound coming from inside the Taoyuan Stone Gate… the sound of waves!”

Suddenly, the ground trembled, mountains swayed, and waves surged like snow. A dreadful shockwave rose from beneath their feet. Soldiers cried out, tossed into the air. A low rumble echoed as cracks split the glacier—it was the ao’s roar, like an axe cleaving heaven and earth.

Langgan Guard thrust his sword into the ice to keep from falling. Looking up, he saw an enormous ao turtle head crash through the gate. Black waves surged behind it, rushing in like a sea unleashed. But upon meeting Guixi’s chill, they froze instantly—forming an icy ramp between gate and wall, arcing like a bridge. Several boats followed, sliding in on the frost.

From atop a boat, Chu Kuang shouted, “Out of the way! Move, move! Don’t get crushed!”

The ao turtle bellowed. Earth quaked. The behemoth’s massive body slid along the icy ramp and slammed into the wall! Soldiers scattered in panic. With the impact, cracks laced the already-thinned wall. White snow clouds surged forward—blinding, burying, deafening.

The world plunged into chaos—snow, mist, and blinding cold. It was like judgment day.

On deck, soldiers threw ropes to pull people up. Others ran for higher ground to avoid being swept away. Yuanqiao monks clung to the ao turtle’s tail, urging it forward. Again and again the ao turtle smashed into the wall, each strike like a temple bell. It was colossal—its bulk eclipsing the sky. Before it, humans were like dust motes.

With every blow, thunder cracked, fissures deepened, and behind them… faint golden sunlight shone through.

But the ice was sharp, slicing the ao’s head and drawing blood. The great beast let out a low whimper—it was faltering.

“We can’t let it stop!” Chu Kuang shouted. “Help it break through!”

Soldiers raised longbows and lit fire tubes, firing toward the wall. Chu Kuang leapt up and pulled out a large bow of purple yew, trimmed in silver and gold—the Daqu Bow gifted by Ruyi Guard.

He grabbed seven Jin Pugu arrows from his quiver, planted his feet at the prow, and gritted his teeth. His arms bulged with veins; black web-like lines of the Immortal Elixir surged under his skin.

The Daqu Bow was no ordinary bow—its pull was monstrous. Few could even string it, let alone shoot far. But Chu Kuang, reckless as ever, poured all his life into it. Even if his bones shattered—he’d fire.

Fang Jingyu stared, stunned, as Chu Kuang’s eyes flared red, his double pupil glowing with bloodlight. A shrill cry pierced the air. Seven Jin Pugu arrows, linked by flame tubes, shot out in a blazing arc. It was the Seven-Star In A Row technique—taught by the Tianfu Guard himself!

As the seventh arrow left the string, Chu Kuang crumpled like a felled tree. Fang Jingyu caught him in time—and gasped. Chu Kuang’s hands were split open to the bone—white fragments jutted from torn flesh.

“Brother Minsheng!” Fang Jingyu cried.

Firing even one arrow with that bow could break limbs—what more, seven in a blink?

Fang Jingyu’s heart ached. But Chu Kuang shook free of his hold, forced himself upright, pulled out a sachet from his chest, and ate a slice of meat. His wounds eased slightly. Sweating, he gripped the bow again.

“Not enough. Just those arrows won’t do—we need more!”

Fang Jingyu grabbed the bow. Chu Kuang thought he was stopping him and glared, but Fang Jingyu met his eyes—bright and resolute.

“We promised, didn’t we? Through storm and pain, we go together. Now’s the time. Let’s break through this wall—together—to reach the Nine Provinces!”

Chu Kuang blinked—then smiled in understanding. He planted his feet and drew more arrows. Fang Jingyu held the bow with one hand, pulled the string with the other, hand over hand with Chu Kuang.

Side by side, they looked ahead. Beyond the cracked ice wall, golden sunlight spilled in—that was the Nine Provinces they longed for, their future, their dream.

Chu Kuang nodded, smiling.

“Alright. Let’s draw together!”

In that instant, streaks of golden fire shot forth, cutting through the northern wind! Their piercing shrieks echoed through Guixi. All eyes turned toward the sound. The Jin Pugu arrows burst into the cracks, each impact deepening the fractures.

Xian Mountain Guards joined in—Ruyi Guard fired her bow, Bai Huan Guard wove threads to guide the ice fragments, Langgan Guard used his sword to slice flying shards to keep others safe. At a whistle from Bi Bao Guard, mud-dark monks dove beneath the ao turtle to help it slide forward. Arrows poured like meteors.

Just then, a figure swept over the boats—clad in silver dragon-etched white armor, snowy cloak trailing—it was Emperor Bai.

He landed on their boat, startling both Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang.

“Lend me the Vipashiyin Blade,” he said—and without waiting, drew it from Fang Jingyu’s belt.

With a leap, Emperor Bai soared from the boat, stepping lightly along the ice ramp like a blackbird in flight.

Gasps rang out. Langgan Guard shouted, “Your Majesty! Where are you going?”

“To break the wall for you,” Emperor Bai said, never turning back.

He raced forward—three steps becoming two—reaching the wall in seconds. Cracks veined the ice, and jagged shards piled high like coiled dragons. The wall groaned like a dying beast, its centuries of strength collapsing.

Emperor Bai drew the Vipashiyin Blade. His hands trembled.

This was a sight he and Tianfu Guard had longed for all their lives, yet never witnessed. As he raised his gaze, he saw countless blazing arrows from the people of Penglai and Yingzhou piercing the ice wall—like a thousand fire-tipped stars streaking across the heavens, dazzling and brilliant.

He had once thought he would grow old and die here, never again seeing dawn break over Guixi. But ever since Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang arrived, everything had changed—turned upside down. As the one who came before them, he too had a duty to act.

Emperor Bai took a deep breath, and as he opened his eyes again, he seemed once more that youthful sovereign of years past—bold, upright, and full of high resolve. Stepping forward, he gripped the Vipashiyin Blade tight and swung it forward!

It was a blow to shake the heavens and earth, as if ten thousand thunders had crashed down at once. The ice wall and the ground beneath his feet split open with jagged cracks, the entire sheet trembling, as if shattered into a million shimmering shards.

He stepped back, then cleaved with a second strike! By now, black veins of Immortal Elixir erosion had crawled up his neck and face. Having lived in the bitter cold of Guixi for many years, he had taken Immortal Elixir more than once. With these consecutive blows, his bones cried out from the force. Blood seeped through his torn skin, soaking his silver armor crimson.

The crowd cried out in alarm:

“Your Majesty!”

But he did not retreat. His eyes bulged with rage, his teeth nearly ground to pieces—then came a third, desperate slash! Snow burst into a storm, and his figure vanished into the howling flurry.

In the instant the blade fell, time seemed to freeze. Emperor Bai could hear his own ragged breathing, his chest rising like a broken bellows. Pain seared every limb. His movements slowed—snowflakes hovered still in the air. And in the corner of his vision, he glimpsed a shadow.

A quiet voice spoke:

“Your Majesty.”

He recognized that familiar voice, turned—and there was a silver-masked figure in a black cloak. It was the likeness of Tianfu Guard. They had long been parted by death, yet here, through the illusion brought on by Immortal Elixir, they could meet again.

Tianfu Guard looked at him, with eyes full of joy and sorrow. Emperor Bai smiled faintly and said,

“Minsheng… this time, I’m no longer a coward.”

“You were never a coward, Your Majesty,” the figure replied. “You gave everything for Xian Mountain. All under heaven know this.”

It was a strange thing—clearly just a phantom—but Emperor Bai couldn’t help but wish it were real. He wanted to believe Tianfu Guard hadn’t died, but had remained in Guixi in spirit, watching over him always.

Emperor Bai tightened his grip on the blade and growled,

“Once this wall is broken, I’ll come to your side. You’re ruler of the underworld now—please, treat me kindly when I arrive. For now… lend me your strength!”

Suddenly, warmth spread through his limbs. The piercing pain began to ease. His eyes widened—he felt a phantom hand gripping the blade with him.

He turned. Their gazes met. Tianfu Guard’s red double pupil shone, his face unchanged from the night they first met—still young.

“I’ll pave the path for you,” Tianfu Guard smiled, “in life or death, I will never falter.”

On the boats and hillsides, people all gasped in awe. A deafening crack shook the sky—the ao turtle surged forward once more, bringing a storm of arrows. The ice wall collapsed with a mighty roar, torrents of snow pouring down, mist rising like a tide to block out the sun.

Snowflakes slashed down from above like blades. When the dust cleared, a single ray of sunlight broke through—then a second, a third. The sky lit up like golden lanterns.

Someone shouted,

“The wall is broken!”

But before the cheer could rise, a warm wind surged in—and with it came a flood. Towering waves like endless snowdrifts crashed down upon them. The deluge swallowed Guixi in an instant.

Boats capsized, soldiers fell screaming into the sea. Chu Kuang looked up and went cold with dread. He had forgotten: Xian Mountain was sinking, and beyond the ice wall lay the open sea. Breaking it had let the ocean in—inviting destruction.

“The boats! Get to the boats!” someone cried.

“We’re too late—we’re going to drown!” another wailed. Then a wave surged forward, dragging all into its depths.

A terrifying thought struck Chu Kuang: Would this place become another Yingzhou—no land to stand on, only drifting over open water?

But there was no time left to think. The sea crashed down in roaring sheets. Chu Kuang clung to the boat, clutching Fang Jingyu tight.

Just then, Fang Jingyu cried out:

“Xiao Jiao!”

Chu Kuang’s eyes widened. That name didn’t belong here.

Yet Fang Jingyu rose and shouted to the sea,

“We made a promise! In my lifetime—not ten thousand years from now—we’ll meet again!”

“Please, help us! Give us a way out! Whatever you want—my flesh, my life, I’ll offer it! But I bet you only want stuffed buns! From now on, we’ll tribute them every year!”

The storm howled, rain pouring like a broken sky. Chu Kuang turned. “What nonsense are you—?”

“It’s not nonsense,” Fang Jingyu said. “I’m begging Great Immortal Yonghe to ward off this disaster.”

Then something strange happened.

Everyone felt the sea stirring—slowly, rhythmically, like a beating heart. The surface rose… until it matched the flood coming through the broken wall.

The waves stopped.

Instead of crashing down, the black crests cupped gently upward—lifting the scattered people from the water like kind hands. They floated like water lilies, staring at one another in awe.

Soon, they realized: the land beneath them was rising—emerging from the sea. The ao turtle had gone beneath and lifted Guixi on its back.

And then, they saw it.

Beyond the ice wall lay an endless sea, vast and sapphire blue—like flowing jade, glimmering in the sunlight. The breeze was warm and soft. It was spring.

This… was the world beyond Guixi.

For a long time, no one spoke. All were lost in the beauty of a dawn no one had ever seen. Here, tears would not freeze. Tears that hadn’t fallen in Guixi now streamed freely.

Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang guided their small boat to shore. Their bodies were soaked, but their fingers—tightly interlaced—never let go. At the end, it was Lord Yonghe who had helped them survive.

“From now on,” Chu Kuang said, eyes reflecting the morning light,

“This place will no longer be called Guixi.”

“Its name is—Penglai. A new Penglai, wholly unlike the one before.”

People from Penglai and Yingzhou crawled ashore, erupting in cheers. They embraced through tears, flinging down their ice picks. The frost-covered earth began to thaw, revealing dark, fertile soil beneath.

Someone found the ruins of Emperor Bai’s city. Near the camp where Chu Kuang had once buried a handful of sprouting beans, a green shoot had emerged, its tender leaves glistening in the dawn.

And there, near the shattered wall, they found Emperor Bai.

He had passed away.

Returned to his elder form—snowy hair, aged face—still standing with the Vipashiyin Blade, his cloak blood-soaked and fluttering like a banner. He had poured his final breath, his final strength, into breaking the ice wall. A legend known across the land had come to its end. The white sun in the sky had finally set.

But the old man’s face was peaceful. A faint smile lingered on his lips. Morning light fell through the broken wall, softening the lines of time.

He had ascended the throne young, unified three mountains, founded Penglai, and brought peace and prosperity. He led expeditions into the Ming Sea, endured endless turmoil, and spent decades in Guixi. In the end, he wielded the Vipashiyin Blade and broke the wall—fulfilling the vow of his youth and reuniting with his beloved.

From this day forth, Emperor Bai and Tianfu Guard lived only in history. In the records, they were remembered thus:

Born as thunderous dragons—bold enough to shake rivers and mountains;

Departed when peace had been restored, and the land lay tranquil once more.