HCAW 159 (END)

Chapter 159: Heaven’s Chosen Arrogant and Wild (The End)

One by one, stalks of red arrow flowers were placed into the grave pit, the vivid blooms crowding around the departed Emperor Bai.

The old man was dressed in a plain white satin robe adorned with dragon patterns, his eyes gently closed, a smile on his face as if he were caught in a pleasant dream. Those who had offered flowers now stood aside, bowing their heads in mourning, weeping in silence. When it was Chu Kuang’s turn, he looked sorrowful. In the end, he placed Fan Ruo into the grave, setting it beside Emperor Bai.

That bow was made from his master’s remains. Separated for nearly a century, Emperor Bai and Tianfu Guard could finally rest together, without regret.

Chu Kuang closed his eyes and whispered, “Farewell, Master. Farewell, Your Majesty. May your dreams be long and peaceful.”

A white cloth was laid over the face, the coffin sealed and buried. Beneath the morning light, the people, dressed in mourning whites, watched as Emperor Bai’s grave mound was covered with earth. He had been the most brilliant sovereign of Xian Mountain, yet in death there were no white carriages or horses—only the yellow earth to accompany him. At the end, the people began to sing an old song, passed down from a century before:

“Glorious and noble is Emperor Bai, his honor and majesty covering the realm. His virtue enriches the world, his radiance reaches the Heavenly Pass—« 

This had once been sung at Emperor Bai’s birthday celebrations. Now it had become his elegy. Tears welled in many eyes, yet the light in their gazes did not fade—for they knew, though the sun had set, it would rise again. What lay ahead for Penglai was no longer an endless night, but a new dawn.

After the funeral, Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang walked along the shore of the Ming Sea.

On the shore stood bamboo poles, each tied with hundreds of white banners fluttering like seabirds. Beneath a snow-blue sky, the ocean stretched boundless, waves crashing onto rocks, bursting into a thousand silver beads.

Facing the sea breeze, Fang Jingyu murmured, “Do you think… beyond this sea lies the Nine Provinces?”

“It does,” Chu Kuang replied. “As long as we raise our sails, one day, we’ll find that land.”

Their fingers tightly entwined, the two stood at the shore of the vast Ming Sea. Winter had passed; spring had arrived. To witness this view, they had risked their lives, walked through fire and blood, and trod over a mountain of bones.

Fang Jingyu said, “I want to pay tribute to all those who have passed.”

Chu Kuang nodded.

They stepped onto the soft sand and drew arrows from their quivers, using the arrowheads to carve names into the beach—names of the Langgan Guard’s fallen men, the Yingzhou soldiers, the ones who died defending them at Daiyu… Every name was a story, a legend burned into memory. At the end of the list, they etched the names of Emperor Bai and Tianfu Guard, side by side.

Chu Kuang lowered his eyes and stared at those two names pressed close together. “I can’t hear my master’s voice anymore.”

Fang Jingyu knew he meant the visions brought on by the Immortal Elixir. Seeing the mix of sorrow and peace in his expression, he said softly, “Your master’s spirit must already be resting here, alongside the Emperor and the others. From now on, they’ll never be apart.”

Black waves rolled in, yet did not wash away the carved names. These people had paved the way with their blood—no storm could erase them from history. Two days later, the people chose a flat rock cliff and carved every name into it, stroke by stroke. From then on, those names would be passed down in story and song.

Time flowed like clouds and morning dew—vanishing in a blink. Months passed since Emperor Bai’s burial.

The land of Penglai began to flourish. People carved stone from the mountains, built roofs from shells and moss. Small homes sprouted like stars across the hills. The markets brimmed with silk, fruit, and cloth. People worked, laughed, and bustled about. Children ran along the shore in bright robes, like fluttering butterflies.

On Emperor Bai’s birthday, the Xian Mountain Guards chose an auspicious day to throw a feast. That day, the streets were hung with brilliant lanterns: rainbow-glass lamps, bunny lanterns, Autumn-Grass lanterns—all glowing in vibrant hues under the moon. Pipes and drums played, people danced and sang. It was as joyous as Penglai of old. Street stalls sold dumplings, pickled beans, tangy powder sweets, and hangover ice drinks—everything just like it had been before.

Fang Jingyu, Chu Kuang, and Zheng Deli walked the streets, greeted by cheering crowds. Colored ribbons and incense flowers rained down on their heads and shoulders. Neighbors offered them drinks; each had been forced to down several large bowls of wine, their cheeks red with warmth.

As they walked, Zheng Deli looked around and sighed, “This scene… it’s just like the Lantern Festival in old Penglai!”

“This is Penglai,” Fang Jingyu replied. “It may be simple, but from now on, there will be no more snow disasters, no more ‘walking meat’ enslaved or oppressed.”

“Yes, yes,” Zheng Deli beamed. “If you ask me, this place is even better than the old Penglai—so lively, so full of people!” He then eyed the mother-of-pearl inlaid food boxes the other two carried and asked curiously, “Where are you headed? What’s in those?”

“Just some food,” Chu Kuang said. “We’re going to the Ming Sea to offer a tribute.”

“I’ve got some fine yuchang wine—how about I go fetch it for the ritual?” Zheng Deli offered. He was puzzled. Since it was Emperor Bai’s birthday, all rites should have been arranged by the Bai Huan Guard at the altar in the city. Why were these two heading to the sea instead?

“No need. Keep it,” Fang Jingyu said with a faint smile, waving his hand. “The Great Immortal doesn’t drink.”

Zheng Deli widened his eyes—only then did he realize they were going to seek out Xiao Jiao. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a gentle voice called from behind:

“Young Master Zheng.”

He turned his head—and amid a sea of flickering shadows, pearls and jade ornaments glimmering everywhere, a girl in a pale yellow robe stood quietly among the crowd. Her eyes were dark and luminous, like morning dew. In an instant, all the brilliant liuli lanterns along the street seemed to pale; she alone shone dazzling bright.

Seeing this girl, Zheng Deli suddenly felt as if struck hard on the head—his mind went blank.

He forgot how to speak, how to walk, standing like a wooden doll. Since leaving Penglai, not a day or night passed without him thinking of this face. In moments of peril, he had feared he would never see her again in this life.

The maid Xiao Feng clutched her sleeve tightly. Though she did not step forward, her eyes quickly welled with tears. She stammered, “Young Master… Young Master!” The next moment, tears streamed down her cheeks, her lips opening and closing, repeating those two words over and over, as if she could say nothing else.

Fang Jingyu patted Zheng Deli’s shoulder and smiled calmly. “Go on, Deli. When we went back to Penglai recently to fetch your father, we brought her along as well. She came all this way, over mountains and rivers, just to see you. We’ve been so busy lately, breaking the ice wall, preparing the birthday celebrations—we didn’t get the chance to bring you two together until now.”

“But…”

“What are you standing there like a block for?” Chu Kuang crossed his arms and gestured with his chin. “It’s enough for just us to go honor the Great Immortal. We’re right by the Ming Sea anyway—if you feel bad, go tomorrow!”

Zheng Deli hesitated, but the two gave him a shove. In a flash, he was pushed into the swirl of light and color, nearly bumping straight into Xiao Feng.

He stumbled to a stop, his face flushing bright red. When he turned his head again, Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang had already vanished like smoke. Feeling even more flustered, he turned back around. His lips fumbled for a while before he finally said, “X-Xiao Feng, I thought… I thought I’d never see you again in this life.”

Xiao Feng nodded, looking up at him. Lantern light shimmered on her face, and her bright eyes seemed to hold a pair of crescent moons.

Zheng Deli stammered again, “After I left the pass… I saw so many strange things. I’d like to tell you about them—would you be willing to listen?”

“Of course I’d like to hear everything you have to say, Young Master.” Xiao Feng smiled, and as their sleeves brushed, Zheng Deli suddenly felt her fingers wrap gently around his. They were soft as silk, warm as spring sunlight. “Every detail—I’d love to hear them all.”

Suddenly, music began to play, and the glow of amber and crystal lanterns bathed them in shimmering light. That night, starlight shone down from the heavens, and the shadows on the ground moved in pairs.

The azure sea stretched boundless, the night wind whispering. Along the shore of the Ming Sea, there were no lights—above and below, all was a pure, quiet violet. Walking on the sand, with the warm breeze at their backs, one could feel like drifting through a dream.

Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang sat cross-legged on the beach with their food boxes.

When they opened the lids, steam poured out—inside were over a dozen piping hot meat buns. Fang Jingyu picked one up and tossed it into the sea. A wave immediately surged up and splashed them both. In the blink of an eye, the bun had vanished without a trace. The two exchanged glances in silence.

After a while, Fang Jingyu said, “That girl Xiaojiao—her brain really does live in her stomach!”

Chu Kuang opened the bottom layer of the box, which held a pair of bamboo-patterned chopsticks and a stalk of green bitterleaf. He picked up the bitterleaf and tossed it into the sea.

Fang Jingyu gave him a sidelong look. “What are you doing?”

Chu Kuang grinned wickedly. “Just meat buns won’t do! That little glutton never eats vegetables—someone’s gotta fix that habit!”

No sooner had he tossed the bitterleaf into the sea than, as expected, the waves spat it back onto the shore like it was retching. Chu Kuang refused to accept defeat and tried again and again. Each time, the sea rejected it. Fang Jingyu said, “You’ve made the Great Immortal sick.”

Fuming, Chu Kuang could only watch as the waves gobbled up the entire box of buns. The waves tumbled in clusters, seeming to mock him with glee. After placing the offerings, the two knelt facing the sea, praying for the Great Immortal Yonghe to protect Penglai—may it be ever peaceful and prosperous.

The clear wind swept the moon, waves rose and fell like sacred chants. The surface of the sea sparkled, as if ten thousand silver fish leapt in the light. When the rites were done, the two carried their empty boxes and walked side by side through the night without speaking.

Eventually, Fang Jingyu broke the silence. He turned to Chu Kuang and called:

“Brother Minsheng.”

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking… Even though we’ve broken the ice wall and rebuilt Penglai, what about the other versions of us in all those other worlds?”

Chu Kuang’s gaze dimmed for a moment, but quickly regained its shine. “According to Bai Huan Guard’s records, and my master’s memories, none of the worlds he passed through ever found a way out. Our current situation is unprecedented. But the ‘Dao gives birth to One’ is the hardest part. Once that’s done, ‘One gives birth to Two, Two gives birth to Three, Three gives birth to all things.’¹Chapter 42 of the Dao De Jing (道德經), traditionally attributed to Laozi. The Dao (Way) is the primal source, beyond form or name. “One” is often interpreted as the undivided Unity or the original being. “One gives birth to Two” Duality arises: Yin and Yang. “Two gives birth to Three” The interaction of Yin and Yang creates harmony, or Qi (energy) that mediates them—thus “Three.” “Three gives birth to all things” From this triadic interaction, the ten thousand things (everything in existence) emerge.—the rest gets easier. I believe that in the countless worlds beyond the Taoyuan Stone Gates, those other versions of us will find their own path.”

“What will you do, Brother Minsheng?” Fang Jingyu hesitated. “Will you stay here… or come with me, out to sea, to find the Nine Provinces?”

Chu Kuang looked at him but didn’t answer. His crimson double pupil shimmered like a radiant jewel. Fang Jingyu’s heart skipped a beat. He suddenly thought of all the hardships they had endured—how many times they had been wounded, nearly died. After all that pain, would Chu Kuang still want to follow him?

Chu Kuang lowered his head, his steps slowing. He kicked at the sand, silent for a moment before asking:

“What about the emperor’s throne?”

Fang Jingyu was caught off guard. Chu Kuang continued, “Aren’t you the Son of Heaven now? Doesn’t that mean you have to run the realm, day in and day out—you can’t just leave on a whim, right?”

Suddenly, Fang Jingyu stepped forward, his expression earnest. “I already told everyone: I would only hold the throne until the ice wall was broken. There are many capable people here—Bi Bao Guard, Bai Huan Guard, Ruyi Guard, my father, Sichen… One day, they’ll choose a new sovereign. But it doesn’t have to be me.”

“Yet you are Emperor Bai,” Chu Kuang said with a bitter smile.

“I am not Emperor Bai. I am Fang Jingyu.”

Fang Jingyu replied. It was a phrase he had stubbornly repeated many times. Beneath the gentle moonlight, his face was as clear as polished jade, with dark eyes that seemed to hold the whole world.

“I’m your younger brother, a sickly, fragile commoner, a poor constable who only had enough to keep warm and fed. If I were Emperor Bai, I would live and die for the people and the nation. But if I’m Fang Jingyu, then my whole being—from body to heart, from life to death—is for you alone.”

“My only wish in this life is to travel the world by your side, seeing all the beauty under the heavens.” Fang Jingyu said, a hint of nervousness in his gaze. He held out his hand. “Brother Minsheng, will you walk with me?”

Chu Kuang looked down at the hand extended to him, the silver moonlight casting a soft glow over them both like mercury.

Ten years ago at the Fang estate, he had reached out to help this frail, boneless younger brother walk and wield a sword. When they broke out of Penglai’s gate, galloping into the execution ground, he had extended his hand again and asked Fang Jingyu if he would follow him through fire and blade.

Chu Kuang suddenly smiled. That smile was like spring wind rippling a clear spring, shining as bright as the moon. Though the world had turned upside down and times had changed, this promise had never wavered. Through ten years of hardship, the person remained unchanged, the heart unshaken.

The next moment, their hands clasped tightly together. Fang Jingyu could not contain his joy—but just then, darkness brushed his vision as something soft and warm touched his lips, a fleeting kiss like a dragonfly on water.

It was light and quick—but it was the first kiss Chu Kuang had ever offered him in Guixi without turning away.

Bathed in moonlight, Fang Jingyu saw Chu Kuang’s cheeks bloom red, rosy as peach blossoms.

Softly, Chu Kuang said:

“I will.”

________

Half a month after the festival, word that the two would journey to the Nine Provinces spread like wildfire across Penglai.

The skies were clear, the air warm. A ship was ready at the harbor, set to sail. By the Taoyuan Stone Gate, a sea of people had gathered—so dense not even water could seep through. Several Xian Mountain guards stood at the front to see them off.

Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang had packed their things and bid farewell to everyone. The people of Penglai were reluctant to part, wiping their eyes as they pressed into their hands bundles of dried beans and thousand-li noodles.

Ruyi Guard stood with hands on hips and protested, “Your Majesty, you’re giving up being emperor? You haven’t even rested long, and now you’re off to the seas again?”

Fang Jingyu laughed. “Penglai doesn’t need an emperor like me anymore. I have no grand ambitions—just the wish to be the younger brother who holds the reins for his elder brother. I’ll leave the governing to the Xian Mountain Guards, just as it’s always been.”

Chu Kuang rolled his eyes. “Crafty tongue! You’re just shifting the blame to me!”

The crowd burst into laughter. Bi Bao Guard said cheerfully, “Don’t say that, Your Majesty. In our hearts, you’re still the true emperor. We’re only stewards for now—until you find the Nine Provinces and return victorious.”

“Then consider us advance scouts.” Fang Jingyu nodded with a smile.

He cleared his throat and called out to the crowd, “Everyone, please hear me!”

The crowd instantly quieted. All eyes turned to him. In the golden sunlight, the two of them—one in plain black, as straight as a pine; the other in arrow-sleeved brocade, as graceful as bamboo—stood like the sun and moon side by side. Fang Jingyu declared:

“Though this land is still barren, there are no longer snowstorms or cruelty. Spring lies ahead. I ask you all to help tend this place well. Today, the two of us set out for the Nine Provinces. Stay safe here—and wait for our good news!”

Cheers erupted. People surged forward, grasping their hands, reluctant and joyful, pouring out farewell wishes. Some wept, “Officier Fang, don’t leave—stay just a few more days!” Others stuffed supplies into their arms, saying, “Your Majesty, when you find the Nine Provinces, send us a letter!”

Fang Jingyu nodded. “I will. I promise.”

Langgan Guard was among them. He stepped forward silently and then suddenly pulled the two of them into a tight embrace.

“Take care of yourself, Minsheng,” the man said gruffly. Chu Kuang nodded, flustered.

Langgan Guard turned to Fang Jingyu. “And you, look after your brother.” Fang Jingyu answered, “I will.”

The man let go and took a step back, gazing at them with pride. The brothers had grown strong enough to stand on their own. But the next moment, he fixed his face and said sternly, “But don’t get too carried away! Jingyu, don’t bully your brother too much, understand?”

The two turned red to their ears, muttering yeses, wishing they could sink into the ground.

Just as the sand ship was about to leave, a woman in white robes slipped from the crowd—it was Bai Huan Guard. She smiled and said:

“Since you two are leaving, I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” Fang Jingyu asked.

“Since we don’t know when Your Majesty will return, I beg you to leave behind something—a mark, so we might remember.” Bai Huan Guard said.

“We’ll be back soon—why bother with ceremony?” Chu Kuang muttered. Bai Huan Guard smiled:

“It’s like the tale of Emperor Bai’s expedition. Even a few words can give strength to the people. And besides, this day will be recorded in history. If you don’t leave anything behind, how will a humble chronicler like me write it down?”

The two glanced at each other. The crowd looked at them like they were gazing at the sun, filled with hope.

Fang Jingyu suddenly asked, “Is the Vipashiyin Blade here?”

“Here,” said Bi Bao Guard, offering it with both hands.

Fang Jingyu took the blade. It was the weapon that Emperor Bai had used to shatter the ice wall—forged from Ying Mountain red gold, inlaid with dragon bone and turtle-eye gems, impossibly heavy. When he first saw this blade, he had been a lowly officier trapped in Penglai. Now he stood as its bright sun, shining over the land.

Suddenly, he drew the blade and slammed it into the Taoyuan Stone Gate with a thunderous strike.

Gasps rose like waves from the crowd. The blade struck the stone gate exactly where the Zhenhai Gate had once borne its mark.

Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang exchanged a smile, then drew their swords—Hanguang and Chengying—and with flowing strokes, carved sixteen words onto the stone:

“Dormant dragon thunders, mountains and rivers resound; Earth bears divine grace, Heaven grants wild brilliance.”

Then they boarded the ship. The sails billowed. The two stood at the prow, waving farewell with beaming smiles.

At that moment, the sun rose high, casting molten gold over ten thousand miles. They sailed toward the light, like birds unbound. From then on, nothing in the world could stop them—not even the edge of the world or the heights of Heaven. Wherever they went, they would go together.

The sunlight gleamed on the carved stone, illuminating the words left behind.

—— End ——

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  Chapter 42 of the Dao De Jing (道德經), traditionally attributed to Laozi. The Dao (Way) is the primal source, beyond form or name. “One” is often interpreted as the undivided Unity or the original being. “One gives birth to Two” Duality arises: Yin and Yang. “Two gives birth to Three” The interaction of Yin and Yang creates harmony, or Qi (energy) that mediates them—thus “Three.” “Three gives birth to all things” From this triadic interaction, the ten thousand things (everything in existence) emerge.