HCAW 22

Chapter 22: Doomed

At dawn, the air was chill and the garden hushed. Under the morning light, Fang Minsheng and Fang Jingyu made their way to the ancestral shrine.

Though the Fang family ancestral hall was usually cleaned by shrine workers and didn’t require much of their attention, the Langgan Guard had appointed Fang Minsheng as one of the custodians in charge, instructing him to frequently check on the site lest any ignorant servants dry grain or nap before the shrine and tarnish its dignity.

Once inside, they saw the memorial tablets of generations past arranged neatly on the altar. The walls were painted red, and large characters were written across them. Fang Jingyu squinted to read, struggling with the words, and said, “Red… death?” Unable to read further, he asked, “Brother, what does this say?”

Fang Minsheng answered, “It’s the Fang family’s ancestral creed: ‘Die with a loyal and unyielding heart; serve the Emperor with utmost devotion.’ For generations, our family has served Penglai with crimson hearts and blood.”

His tone was solemn as he spoke, and Fang Jingyu couldn’t help but grow serious himself. “Minsheng-ge, are you going to become a Xian Mountain Guard too and serve the country?”

Fang Minsheng smiled. “Of course. The Fang family has guarded Penglai for generations. I’ll give it my all too.”

Fang Jingyu looked up to him in awe. Though his limbs were weak, he too wanted to serve and protect the nation like his brother. The two swept the shrine clean, paid their respects to the ancestors, then left to practice swordsmanship.

The training ground had a grey tile roof. A few sword scars marred the walls, and the place was deserted. When Fang Jingyu sparred with his elder brother, he lasted only two moves before sprawling on the ground and crying out:

“Brother, you’re so good—when will I ever catch up to you?”

Fang Minsheng sheathed his sword and smiled. “I’m hardly good. If you want someone truly skilled, it’s Uncle Tao who often visits our manor. Have you seen him?”

Fang Jingyu thought hard and recalled the Mohe Guard: a hunched old monkey of a man with a small frame but extremely agile limbs. He wielded all kinds of hidden weapons—sleeve guns, spiked caltrops, piercing needles—with brutal efficiency. Cunning and sly, he was endlessly resourceful. Even the Langgan Guard treated him with caution. So he nodded.

Fang Minsheng said, “Father ranks only eighth among the Xian Mountain Guards. There are seven others above him. Becoming one of them means you’re no longer just a regular person—I’ve still got a long way to go.”

“If even you still have a long way to go, then I’ve got no hope at all,” Fang Jingyu said dejectedly. He struggled to stand, only to fall flat on his back again. Fang Minsheng came over, looked at his knees, and saw his legs swollen, bruised, and red—almost twice their normal size, with raised welts.

“Why are your legs so swollen?” he asked in concern.

Fang Jingyu squirmed and muttered in embarrassment, “It’s nothing. I was eager to practice swordplay these past few days and fell a lot.”

“Stop practicing for now. I’ll have someone bring medicinal herbs to reduce the swelling.”

But Fang Jingyu refused, stubbornly insisting on continuing. Fang Minsheng had no choice but to carry him to the bamboo grove near the manor, then run back to fetch ointment. He carefully applied it to his brother’s legs and handed him a cloth-wrapped bundle.

“What’s this?” Fang Jingyu asked, confused.

When he unwrapped it, he found a simple bow made of bamboo, wood, and ox sinew. Fang Minsheng smiled. “Since you can’t run, try archery instead. Practice kneeling or sitting shots. I made this bow myself. It’s a low-pull bow—not for strength training. It’s light and a bit hard to draw, so it’s not easy to shoot well. But if you’re willing to work hard and get the hang of it, you could become quite skilled.”

A fresh breeze stirred the bamboo leaves, rustling like the clashing of blades. Countless green leaves drifted down. Fang Minsheng demonstrated, drawing the bow and firing. Fang Jingyu saw that his brother still wore that golden thumb ring, and his heart warmed.

With a twang, the arrow flew—but missed the falling leaves, glancing off a bamboo stalk. Fang Minsheng laughed. “I’m not very good at archery, don’t laugh.”

But Fang Jingyu shook his head. To him, his brother was like a star in the sky—a single flaw couldn’t dim that brilliant light. He loved the bamboo bow, turning it over and over in his hands, and drew it several times, though he failed to hit a single leaf. Fang Minsheng looked at the sun and said:

“It’s getting late. Father wants me to study the Four Books with the tutor this afternoon—I’ll be busy. I’ll carry you back first.”

“I can go back by myself. I still want to play a bit,” Fang Jingyu insisted. Seeing his determination, Fang Minsheng relented, took off his straight-collared cloak, draped it over him, and gave a few reminders not to catch a chill.

After Fang Minsheng left, Fang Jingyu practiced shooting a little longer, then carefully wrapped the bamboo bow in white cloth and slowly stood up. He walked to the garden wall, looked around, and seeing no servants nearby, held his breath, stepped on stones, and slowly climbed over the brick wall—out of the Fang estate.

By afternoon, the sky was ink-dark with storm clouds. Ever since learning to walk, Fang Jingyu had become a curious little monkey, full of wonder for the world beyond the manor. Though his brother often scolded him out of concern, he rarely listened and would often sneak off on his own.

He ran up the slope behind the estate, barely noticing the pain in his legs, and reached a hilltop where a sea of red arrow flowers swayed like fire in the wind. Sitting on a tree stump, he gazed into the distance. From here, one could see the Ming Sea encircling Penglai. A stone bridge stretched across the waters like a thin rainbow, and the Taoyuan Stone Gate loomed black, sealing the mountain pass. Patrol guards in shining armor swarmed like fish scales, their murderous aura thick in the air. That was the Heavenly Pass of Penglai.

What lay beyond the Heavenly Pass? Fang Jingyu had imagined it many times. Was there a Peach Source untouched by storms? Did people there live safe and well-fed?

As he was lost in thought, he suddenly heard rustling behind him—someone pushing through the trees. Alert, he turned around.

A group of men in black suddenly emerged like wraiths, casting long shadows that blotted out the sky. Fang Jingyu shuddered.

“Little brother,” the leader said. He was a burly man with a hoarse voice. “Are you from the Fang family?”

“Who are you?” Fang Jingyu asked, sensing danger. The man’s face was obscured by a broad hat, but the gaze beneath it felt as sharp and cold as a snake’s. The others were broad-shouldered warriors—far beyond his level to resist.

One of them removed a badge from his waist and showed it to him—it was a Xian Mountain official’s thunderbeast bone token, engraved with a serial number. “Don’t be scared. We’re Xian Mountain officials. Just here to ask you something. Are you from the Fang family?”

This was the Fang family’s back hill—rarely visited by anyone else. But Fang Jingyu shook his head and lied, his voice trembling.

“N-no.”

The man laughed. “Such a little kid, and already knows how to fib! Look at your clothes—what family do they belong to?”

Fang Jingyu looked down and saw he was wearing Fang Minsheng’s cloak, embroidered with bamboo leaves in gold thread—the emblem of the Fang family’s Langgan Guard. His heart sank.

But he said stubbornly, “This isn’t mine. I stole it.”

The man chuckled darkly. “Even if you stole it, you stole it from the Fang estate. Since you know where the manor is, you must be connected to them. Come with us.”

“W-why should I go with you? Why are you going to the Fang estate?”

Suddenly, a bony hand snatched him up like a chick. Fang Jingyu gasped—right into the face of a familiar, bitter-gourd-like wrinkled old man. He had seen this face before, while playing with his brother at the manor.

The man grinned, revealing a chilling smile. Though small, he radiated a crushing pressure like stormy waves.

“Little one, do you still remember your uncle?”

Fang Jingyu nodded, shaking with fear. His bones felt like they might crumble. The black-clad men silently withdrew and stood behind the old man like a brooding stormcloud—he was their true leader.

“I’m the Mohe Guard who often visits your house. An old friend of your father’s. It’s windy out—let’s head back and warm up. I’ve something to discuss with your father,” the old man said, patting Fang Jingyu’s shoulder.

The touch was light, but it landed with the weight of a mountain. His legs nearly buckled. Only now did he understand the terrifying power of a Xian Mountain Guard. If he tried to escape, he’d die on the spot. Smiling, the Mohe Guard pressed on his shoulder, and Fang Jingyu realized he was now a hostage.

He couldn’t resist—only follow meekly.

As they walked, waves of dread surged in his heart. Why was the Mogan Guard heading to the Fang estate with Xian Mountain officials in tow? Why come all this way to find him first, only to drag him back?

A sense of foreboding spread like a sickness in his chest. Anxiously, he glanced up at the Mohe Guard, who still wore a cryptic smile—one soaked in malice.

By the time they neared the estate, the sky was a ghastly pale, like a sick man’s face. The front gates stood wide open. A few gatekeepers lay limp on the ground, arms and legs like soggy cotton, while two lines of black-clad officials stood by, the air tense with killing intent.

Passing the screen wall, Fang Jingyu saw household servants strewn across the courtyard like fallen dolls. The Xian Mountain officials had scoured every corner. The courtyard was packed with them.

The Mohe Guard led him through the crowd, which parted in silence.

And then he saw it: the room looked as though a storm had passed through—tables overturned, chairs broken. Only one chair remained upright in the center, carved of purple sandalwood with bamboo-joint patterns. Seated on it was the Langgan Guard, surrounded by the officials. Clad in a dark cassock and embroidered armbands, his sword-like brows were sharply raised, his bronze face flushed, veins bulging in his fists. He looked like a wrathful guardian deity.

Due to his leg ailment, rainy days brought unbearable pain, and he could no longer stand unaided. So he sat in the chair, facing what was to come.

Seeing the Mohe Guard step into the main hall, the man seated inside shouted harshly, “Old Tao, what the hell do you think you’re doing? We’ve been brothers for years—yet you barge into my home, injure my servants, and act without reason? That’s not how brothers behave!”

The Mohe Guard clasped his hands behind his back and smiled. “My apologies, truly. Brother Fang, I meant no harm. There are just some matters I must clarify with you, and I feared you’d be evasive, so I asked these Xian Mountain officials to serve as impartial witnesses.”

“What do you want to ask?” The Langgan Guard glared at him, eyes blazing with fury.

The little old man smiled kindly—but his words were like a dagger thrust straight at the Langgan Guard’s heart:

“—Where is Emperor Bai’s orphan?”

The Langgan Guard said nothing, his mouth sealed as if stitched shut, but his gaze burned like wildfire.

The Mogan Guard continued, “Brother Fang, this is no trivial matter. Emperor Bai was a tyrant hated by all. There is not a soul in this realm who supports him now. I know he once favored you, and you served him loyally, but that was in a past dynasty. If you’re sheltering his child, then you’re guilty of treason!”

“Rubbish! What orphan? You came here just to spit lies?” the man roared. “I have two sons—don’t I know how many children I’ve fathered?”

“Deny it all you like. I’ve already spoken to the midwife who delivered for your household. Fang Huaixian, the Langgan Guard—you had only one child. Where did the other come from?”

The old man’s gaze turned razor-sharp as he laughed. He knew Fang Huaixian was a man of integrity, too proud for dark dealings. That was why—even knowing the risks—he hadn’t silenced the midwife who once helped his wife deliver.

Fang Huaixian sneered, his face turning purple. “Old Tao, I never knew you had such a devious mind. Who told you this? Gossip about me runs rampant. Every year a dozen people come to claim I’m their long-lost father!”

“If you want to be stubborn, I can’t stop you,” the old man said. “But I’m speaking as a brother here. Hand the child over, and I’ll plead your case before His Majesty. You might escape with a lighter sentence. But if you keep defying imperial authority…”

He turned to the officials behind him and ordered, “Bring it.”

Fang Jingyu had been staring, wide-eyed, at everything unfolding. Emperor Bai’s orphan? Treason? He’d read some books with his brother and knew that Emperor Bai was now reviled. But the Mohe Guard was saying that his own father had hidden the Emperor’s child.

A black-robed official stepped forward respectfully, presenting a gold-inlaid box wrapped in silk. When opened, it revealed a bone fragment.

The sight of the bone darkened the Langgan Guard’s eyes. He growled, “You’ve got some nerve.”

The Mohe Guard replied evenly, “This is a remnant of Emperor Bai. Surely you’ve heard of the ‘bone-drip test’—drop your sons’ blood on it. If it’s absorbed, they’re of his bloodline. Forgive me, Brother Fang, but I must test your sons.”

He moved like a whirlwind, grabbing Fang Jingyu’s wrist and drawing a dagger to slash his hand.

Suddenly, a thunderous shout exploded: “Stop!”

The Langgan Guard leapt from his chair like a tiger, sword flashing down toward the Mohe Guard. His strike was fierce and fast, the sword wind like a crashing tsunami, sending the surrounding officials staggering. The old man had to raise his blade in defense. He sneered.

“So that’s why you kept showing up at my place, drinking my wine—you were scouting out my home to throw this filth on my head!”

The old man laughed heartily. “Brother Fang, why so hasty? If you’d let me prick the boy’s hand without resistance, I might not have suspected you. But now that you’ve snapped like this—how can I not?”

Then, his expression turned cold. “His Majesty has given me a handwritten edict to root out traitors and purge those who would deceive the throne. Fang Huaixian, the Langgan Guard, you are not to interfere!”

“A hand-written edict?” the crippled man laughed darkly. “If you’ve got it, show me. If not, I’ll charge you with impersonating imperial authority!”

As he spoke, the Langgan Guard thrust forward. People said his son, Fang Minsheng, was a prodigy with the sword—but Fang Minsheng’s first teacher had been none other than him. His swordsmanship far surpassed his son’s.

In the blink of an eye, sword energy filled the hall like a storm. Cold wind howled. The Xian Mountain officials had their skin split open by the sword wind and collapsed backward.

But the Mohe Guard was slippery as a shadow, darting and weaving like a fish in water. Though thin and small, his skills were extraordinary—he ranked seventh among the Xian Mountain Guards. The Langgan Guard clicked his tongue, then kicked over a large incense burner. Ash scattered everywhere.

Though he couldn’t see the Mohe Guard’s form clearly, his feet left traces in the ash. With a furious shout, the Langgan Guard swept his sword in a slashing arc and tore through the old man’s robes.

Just a bit deeper and that strike might’ve killed him. But the old man, long used to danger, flipped back and landed upright, grinning.

“Brother Fang, are you rebelling?”

“You people twist truth like clay—calling white black and good evil. With no evidence, you’ve come to label me a traitor and ransack my home looking for the late Emperor’s son?” Fang Huaixian sneered. “You think you can just come and go as you please? Where is the law?”

The Mohe Guard chuckled. “If you’re innocent, let your sons drip blood on the bone. Why struggle?”

“And what if you’ve tampered with the bone?” Fang Huai-xian retorted. “Maybe anyone’s blood would get absorbed and you’d call them the Emperor Bai’s heir!”

Since words failed, swords spoke again. The Mohe Guard darted forward, dagger aimed at Fang Jingyu. The Langgan Guard stood behind his son and didn’t hesitate—he struck again, a powerful blow that cut through the Mohe Guard’s chest and abdomen like a coiled serpent.

It was the first time Fang Jingyu had seen his father protect him, and his heart surged with joy—until he met his father’s eyes. They were cold as frost, not reflecting his image at all. The warmth in his chest cooled instantly.

Father’s only defending me because that old man trespassed. Not because I matter, he thought.

The sword wind roared again, forcing the Mogan Guard to call out: “Xian Mountain officials, stop him!”

They didn’t understand but followed orders, throwing themselves between the two. Chaos reigned, yet in the middle of the crowd, the two Xian Mountain Guards danced—a sword versus a dagger, their weapons clashing like thunder. Blades flashed faster than the eye could follow. Many officials collapsed, their pants soaked in fear.

Then—a flash of cold light caught Fang Jingyu’s eye. He turned just in time to see his father leap on one leg to the folding screen, kicking it down. Behind it stood a lacquered rack holding a sword in a black sandalwood sheath wrapped with python skin. When drawn, it rang with a dragon’s cry, its icy aura filling the room.

Fang Jingyu shivered—it was his father’s treasured sword, Hanguang (Cold Light).

Once unsheathed, Hanguang’s blade was invisible, and in the blink of an eye, officials fell like wheat before a scythe. This was the late Emperor’s gift: the West Sovereign Iron Sword. Its body gleamed like snow, etched with a stream of white fireflies.

Fang Huaixian stood among the fallen, Hanguang in hand, fierce as a wrathful guardian deity.

“Come out, Tao, you dog,” he growled, abandoning honorifics. “We haven’t fought in decades. But you dared invade my home and injure my people—today I’ll gut you like a fish!”

The Mohe Guard shrank back into the crowd like a turtle in its shell, refusing to show his face. But he sneered, “So you’ve kept the late Emperor’s sword. Clearly you harbor treasonous intent…”

Fang Huaixian snorted and raised Hanguang to strike.

But just then, laughter echoed from the floral gate.

“Fang Huaixian, if your heart is clear, summon your sons and let their blood touch the bone. Why all this violence?”

In an instant, Fang Huaixian stiffened.

He whipped around and, in a blur of motion, raised Hanguang defensively. But the newcomer merely reached out and pushed the air. A crushing force like a tidal wave slammed into him. His waist buckled, and he collapsed.

As he fell, Fang Huaixian caught a glimpse of the man: a towering elder in plain robes embroidered with red patterns and the colorful plumage of a pheasant. At his waist hung a milky white rooster shaped jade.

His eyes blazed with light like clustered fireworks. Just standing there, he radiated a dread that froze men’s hearts.

All the Xian Mountain officials dropped to their knees as one, bowing frantically.

“Greetings to the Yu Ji Guard!”

Fang Huaixian slowly struggled to his feet, cold to his core.

He knew: the most fearsome demon of Penglai had now arrived.

The Fang estate—was doomed.