HCAW 20

Time swept by like a stroke of lightning. Fang Minsheng’s birthday was fast approaching, and guests from across the lands poured into the estate, breaking past the threshold, bearing exotic treasures from every corner of the realm. Stacks of jade like mountain ranges, golden amber brush rests, Kunlun jade bracelets—gifts piled high in the chambers. One even presented a resplendent, rainbow-sheen jeweled longsword, gleaming as though forged in the heavens. Well-wishers came and went in an endless stream.

Seeing such splendor, Fang Jingyu grew anxious. He had long received his brother’s kindness; now was the time to repay it. But if he offered no gift on Minsheng’s birthday, wouldn’t he look like a thankless wretch? Yet his brother already possessed all kind of rare wonders—what could he possibly give?

He chewed over the question restlessly. Even lying on his bed at night, he could not sleep, tossing and turning as though his back were on fire.

Eventually, he remembered his clay coin jar. Back when he’d been confined to the outer courtyard, he’d been given a few strings of copper coin each month, which he had carefully saved in the jar.

He returned to his room to search for it and found it at last in a dusty, cloud-dragon patterned cabinet. But when he picked it up, it felt light. He shook it. No sound.

He smashed it open—and found it empty.

The copper coins had all been taken.

It turned out the servants, thinking he couldn’t walk or spend money, had stolen them for themselves.

Fang Jingyu was furious. He flung the hammer to the ground. These toadies had bullied him before—fine—but now they’d even stolen his money, leaving him with nothing for his brother’s birthday gift!

Luckily, he had been cautious enough to hide some coins beneath his bedding. He dug them out one by one. The total was pitiful. Still, clutching the meager handful of cash, he ventured into the marketplace.

He stumbled around all day but couldn’t find anything suitable for the coins he had. What caught his eye was a bright yellow jade thumb ring. He remembered Minsheng was skilled with the sword but lacked in archery, and often hurt his hand with flimsy wooden rings when drawing his bow. This would be a perfect protective ring.

But the shopkeeper priced it at two taels of silver—far beyond what Jingyu could afford.

He pointed to the jade ring and mustered the courage to ask, “Boss, I want to buy this. Can I pay on credit?”

The shopkeeper gave him a once-over, then sneered. “Credit? What’s your name? Why should I give you credit?”

“I’m Fang Jingyu, son of the Langgan Guard.”

“Pah! You brat! What ghost tale is this? Everyone knows Langgan Guard has only one son—Fang Minsheng. You, some ragged urchin, think you can cheat me?”

He cursed loudly and raised a broom, chasing Fang Jingyu off. Jingyu fled, stumbling along—but didn’t go far. He crouched behind a wall, carefully watching the stall.

Anger burned in his chest. He knew few people knew of his existence—locked away for over a decade, hidden even from his own household. But did he have to suffer ridicule even beyond those gates?

The fury churned. And as the shopkeeper turned to fetch something inside the stall, Jingyu summoned all his qi and leapt like a spring-loaded pellet, grabbed the jade ring, and ran.

The shopkeeper bellowed and gave chase. Jingyu ran fast—but not far. His breath caught, strength failed, and the qi in his bones dispersed. His legs gave out and he collapsed.

The shopkeeper caught up, snatched back the jade ring, and beat him savagely with the broom, striking blow after blow.

“Thieving brat! Hands that filthy already, huh?” he shouted, slapping Jingyu’s face again and again until it swelled red and raw.

Just then, he spotted a figure in green—an old servant from the Fang household. Even a servant from the Xian Mountain Guard’s estate held more status than common folk. The shopkeeper froze, stiffened, and bowed deeply.

“You’re here just in time, sir. Caught this thief trying to steal a jade ring. I was just disciplining him.”

The servant, arms folded, said nothing—only cast a cold glance at Fang Jingyu.

The shopkeeper, sensing his cue, asked, “He claimed to be a young master of the Fang family—surely not? You know who he is, don’t you?”

The servant said coolly, “He’s a servant. A new hire.”

Jingyu stared, stunned. Then his fists clenched.

He’d known the servants never treated him as one of the family—but to deny him outright in public, in broad daylight…

The shopkeeper laughed. “Good, good! So the brat was lying after all. Since he’s a fresh servant, not yet whipped into shape, I’ll take care of it!”

He raised the broom again, ready to strike—

“Stop.”

A clear voice rang out.

The shopkeeper froze and turned. A youth in brocade stood there, bamboo pattern on his robe, silk eye patch over one eye, tiger claw scars faint beneath. He was striking as a tree of jade in the snow—it was Fang Minsheng.

His brow was tightly furrowed, his voice taut with restrained fury.

“Don’t touch him. He’s my brother. What did he take? I’ll pay ten times the price.”

The shopkeeper’s smile turned oily. He bowed again and again.

“No, no, I wouldn’t dare! Since he’s your brother, it’s clearly my fault. Please, take the ring as a gift.”

Minsheng shook his head. He accepted the ring with one hand and reached into his robe with the other.

“My brother was wrong to steal. I apologize for his actions.” He weighed the ring in his hand. “It’s imitation ware. At most, worth thirty copper coins.”

The shopkeeper turned pale with sweat.

Fang Jingyu, stunned, realized he’d been swindled—fooled into thinking the ring was worth two taels of silver.

Fang Minsheng fished two taels of loose silver from his purse and handed them to the shopkeeper. “Just take it at the price you asked.”

The shopkeeper accepted the silver with effusive thanks, practically beaming with joy as he left.

Fang Jingyu clenched his teeth, head lowered, tears brimming in his eyes. He could feel the mocking gazes of the market crowd searing into him like flames. But his brother simply squatted down, let him climb onto his back, and said, “Don’t be scared. Let’s go.”

“Mm.” Fang Jingyu buried his face against Minsheng’s shoulder, answering in a choked whisper. He could feel two kinds of stares following them—admiration, envy, praise—all drawn to Fang Minsheng. But the disgust, the disdain—those clung stubbornly to him alone.

Back at the estate, Minsheng carried him straight into his own room, laid him on the bed, gently wiped his face clean, and applied medicinal salve to his wounds. In a reproachful tone, he said, “Why did you steal? If there’s something you want, I can buy it for you. Why do something like that?”

Fang Jingyu turned his face away, lips pressed tight. After a long pause, he muttered like a mosquito, “But I didn’t have money… to buy you a birthday present.”

Minsheng blinked, then laughed softly and rubbed his head. “So that’s what this was about? Still, you must never steal again, understood?” Fang Jingyu nodded.

Minsheng picked up the fake jade thumb ring and turned it over in his fingers. Fang Jingyu couldn’t stand it and pouted. “It’s a fake…”

Minsheng simply slipped the ring onto his finger, wearing it with great fondness. “So what if it’s fake? Sometimes fakes are better than the real thing.” He smiled and added, “Thank you for this gift. I’ll wear it always.”

The word “always” hit Fang Jingyu hard. He stared, stunned.

But Minsheng truly meant it. From that day on, he wore the jade ring every single day—while practicing archery, eating, even sleeping. It was as if the ring had grown into his flesh. Fang Jingyu was overjoyed. He thought that as long as his brother wore that ring, his bow draw seemed just a little steadier.

One day, after completing his spear drills, Minsheng came to see him, grinning.

“You gave me a great gift. I should return the favor. Reciprocity is the way of the gentleman.”

He pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle from his robe, unwrapping it layer by layer to reveal a pair of bone pipes, each with eight holes.

“This is a bili, an instrument commonly used in the border troops.”

He lifted one to his lips and played. The sound was shrill and mournful, like the cry of a wild goose. Minsheng carried him to the stables and, hiding behind some hay, gave a sharp blow. At once the horses whinnied and stamped in chaos.

The brothers collapsed in laughter. Fang Jingyu felt a twinge of mischievous delight. Minsheng explained, “These are often used to direct trained horses. Some obey it; others kick wildly. Keep it—practice music with it.”

Jingyu held the other pipe carefully. Minsheng played again, this time a haunting, sorrowful melody—each note a dull knife scraping the heart. Unknowingly, Jingyu wept.

“That one’s called Farewell’s Sorrow,” said Minsheng.

Jingyu tried blowing a few notes himself, but the screech was jarring—like sawing wood. The horses neighed in protest, and both brothers burst out laughing.

Jingyu said bashfully, “Even the horses think you play better than me.”

With more training, Jingyu’s qi circulation improved. He could walk and even run, though he often stumbled, leaving bruises on his knees. When idle, he would race to the martial grounds, swinging a wooden sword, eager to spar with his brother. Minsheng had no choice but to humor him.

Jingyu memorized many moves, though he struggled to execute them. It was as if his limbs were bound by invisible ropes.

After practice, he would sit panting on the ground, watching Minsheng polish his sword. His brother’s lowered black eye gleamed like polished onyx. Curious, he once asked:

“Minsheng-ge, how did you fight that tiger back then?”

Minsheng seemed caught off guard and looked up blankly.

“I mean your eye—you got that scar fighting a tiger, right? They say you were barely past your study years, and you still fought the beast off. That’s way more impressive than all those Xian Mountain guards!”

Minsheng’s expression shifted oddly, and he answered vaguely, “Mm, yes. That’s how I got the scar. That’s why I wear the eyepatch—it’s too unsightly.”

But he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. No matter how curious Jingyu was, the topic was dismissed without further explanation.

Changes crept in quietly. Jingyu could now move about the estate, and those servants who once scorned him no longer dared speak ill. Yet he noticed more and more minor wounds on Minsheng—evidence of training injuries. It made him uneasy.

One day, he came to the martial yard and heard voices. He paused and pressed against the wall to listen.

It was Minsheng and the Taoist master who sometimes came to teach him swordplay.

The Taoist said, “Minsheng, I’ve noticed your temperament growing agitated lately. You’re rushing—why? Swordsmanship requires peace of mind. The more impatient the student, the less they gain.”

Minsheng answered, “You see right through me, Master. It’s true—I’ve been impatient. Deep down, it’s because I want to inherit the Langgan Guard’s title.”

The master chuckled. “You want to be an Xian Mountain Guard? I remember you used to scoff at such titles. Why the change? Seeking glory?”

“I want to obtain the ‘Immortal Elixir.’”

“The Immortal Elixir?”

“Yes. It’s said to extend life and cure any illness. I want to cure one person’s affliction. That’s why I must earn the reward.”

Jingyu’s heart skipped.

To walk the path of the Langgan Guard was grueling and dangerous. Yet his brother would face that—just to save one person?

“And this person—who is it? What illness do they have?”

Minsheng replied, “Soft Bone disease. To cure it, there are only two methods: one, to embed a framework of bone inside the body—but the pain is extreme. The other… is the Immortal Elixir.”

Jingyu trembled.

He peeked around the corner and saw Minsheng lift his head, eyes burning like twin stars. The young man stood proud, unafraid of hardship, and declared with unwavering resolve:

“I will become an Xian Mountain Guard—to save my brother.”