HCAW 24

Chapter 24: A Heart Branded with Blood and Hate

After Fang Minsheng was taken away, the Fang estate fell into silence.

The crape myrtles had withered; even the holly trees had lost their vitality, their leaves dry, wrinkled, and dark brown. By the water pavilion, the yellow jasmine grew wildly, like tangled threads. Most of the servants had been injured, and those who remained tiptoed about quietly, afraid to make the slightest sound.

The Langgan Guard shut himself away like a frost-bitten eggplant, no longer stepping outside. It was said that the Yu Ji Guard’s earlier blow had wounded him seriously—not just in body, but in spirit. Ever since the day Fang Minsheng had been taken, curses rang constantly from the main quarters:

“Castrated old wretch! A pair of decrepit bastards!”

The yelling was relentless, like a pestle pounding mortar, until it finally dissolved into gut-wrenching sobs. No one could’ve imagined such piteous wailing could come from the chest of a man eight feet tall. Even on quiet days, no servant dared linger near the main hall, fearing it was no longer a man but a ghost howling within.

The revelation that Fang Minsheng was Emperor Bai’s orphan caused an uproar throughout court and country. Most of the household staff were dismissed, and under the Emperor’s orders, military officers sealed the Fang estate tightly shut. Not even wind could slip through. However, out of consideration for the Langgan Guard’s past military service, he was spared execution and placed under house arrest instead. The manor fell still. A bitter northern wind whistled through the fake mountain rocks like the weeping of ghosts.

Fang Jingyu locked himself in a dark chamber and lay there for days.

He felt dazed, as if his soul had fled his body. The truth that Fang Minsheng was not his real brother, but Emperor Bai’s orphan, now taken away by the Xian Mountain officials—this fact burned in his heart like a red-hot coal. Every time he remembered it, it scorched him with pain. He wandered the courtyard like a walking corpse, sometimes stumbling into nearby streets. The officials stationed to watch the estate made no effort to stop him.

They all knew that, though this second son was the Langgan Guard’s blood, the man had poured his whole heart into raising Emperor Bai’s son. He had never spared this one even a glance. Seeing how frail and crippled he was, they let him be.

Without his brother beside him, Fang Jingyu felt as if a piece of his chest had been carved out. When he wandered the streets, the tea houses still sold lotus-root pastries and osmanthus cakes, the temple flutes still blared in processions, the peddlers still hawked their goods door to door. But the eyes of passersby had changed. Once, the neighbors hadn’t even known him. Now they pointed and whispered: “That’s the traitor’s younger brother…”

Whenever this happened, Fang Jingyu would hunch his shoulders and rush past, but the anger boiling inside had nowhere to go.

At night, he tossed and turned as if sores covered his back. His brother—son of the late Emperor. The current sovereign hated Emperor Bai with every breath. Would his brother be paraded like a criminal, beheaded before Zhenhai Pass?

That night, he dreamed a chilling dream: Fang Minsheng held him in a final embrace, saying goodbye. Then a heavy blade fell from above. Warm blood soaked through his clothes. When he blinked again, he found only his brother’s head in his arms, pale as snow.

He jolted awake with a cry, finding himself in the pitch-dark side room. Looking down, he held nothing but a patch of cold moonlight.

Time slipped by silently. Months passed without him realizing. Fang Jingyu slowly gathered himself and resumed practicing his qi and sword. He fooled himself into thinking he had to keep up with his training—because if his brother ever returned, he’d want to test him.

When he was too tired to train, he would go outside and walk slowly along the Huai River, waiting for the heat and ache in his hands to cool.

One day, he walked farther than usual and found himself in an unfamiliar part of town. On both banks rose elegant pavilions and gilded towers. Music of zither and harp echoed continuously. A few young servants in crossed-collar hemp robes were washing menstrual cloths by the water, and only then did Fang Jingyu realize he had wandered into the red-light district.

Though still young, he had overheard enough bawdy gossip from the Xian Mountain officials stationed at the manor to understand these things. But every time he thought about it, his face flushed, and an unspeakable disgust twisted in his chest. It all felt dirty and foul. Seeing the young servants making eyes at each other while scrubbing bloodstained cloths, he grew annoyed and turned to leave.

But then, their voices floated after him—and stopped him cold:

“Hey, did you hear? The Langgan Guard was hiding a son of the late Emperor, and the Yu Ji Guard caught him!”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s old news by now!” the other whispered, lowering his voice. “But you know what I heard? Some officials from the Xian Mountain Guard came to the brothels drunk and loose-tongued. They said His Majesty was feeling merciful—not going to kill the bastard prince, but instead offering him up as a plaything to powerful households. Word is, a bunch of young lords were fighting to be his ‘first.’”

Suddenly, everything went black. Fang Jingyu felt as though a boulder had crashed down on his chest, crushing the breath from his lungs.

He staggered to a mud wall and leaned against it, nearly collapsing. His brother—reduced to a toy, abused at will?

Then he heard more:

“I heard that imperial orphan was raised like a spotless jade—but these days he’s been tortured so badly he’s not even human anymore! Might’ve been better if he’d just been sold to Zui Chun Garden. They say after the rich boys finish with him, they let the stablehands and cooks take turns too. Some even brought in dogs—two yellow ones—to…”

A searing fury exploded in his skull. Fang Jingyu spun around and shrieked:

“Lies!”

The servants flinched, silenced. They exchanged nervous glances and stammered, “S-sir, we were just chatting… It’s all just rumors—who knows if it’s true…”

“My brother would never be treated like that! He’s not dead! He’s fine! He promised me—we’d go see the world beyond the pass together! You’re all lying! Lying!” Fang Jingyu screamed, veins bulging in his neck, eyes bloodshot, howling like a beast possessed. The servants thought he had gone mad. They scrambled to gather their buckets and bath powders and fled, while curious residents peeked from their windows—only to shrink away in fear when they saw the boy’s crazed, broken expression.

The Huai River flowed silently. Fang Jingyu stood trembling violently, his chest rising and falling like bellows in a blacksmith’s forge.

He felt the world spinning. The moment he closed his eyes, his brother’s figure would surface in the dark. His brother, clad in brilliant white brocade, danced with a sword beneath the holly trees, graceful beyond compare. His brother would hold him while they read and practiced calligraphy, always carrying the faint fragrance of clove and incense. In Fang Jingyu’s heart, his brother was perfect, flawless, like a star in the heavens—how could he have fallen into filth, passed from one bed to another, reduced to a noble’s plaything?

He slammed his fists against the mud wall in rage, beating until blood streamed from both hands, his throat hoarse, his mouth filled with the taste of blood, still stubbornly screaming, “Lies!”

Fang Jingyu staggered back to the Fang estate, vision darkened.

The Xian Mountain officials guarding the grounds saw him and spoke in lowered tones, “Easy now, young master. The Yu Ji Guard is here, speaking with your father. Best not to disturb them.”

At the mention of “Yu Ji Guard,” Fang Jingyu trembled all over. The rage that had surged in his chest was instantly doused, like a bucket of cold water thrown on fire. Even his father, with all his martial skill, had been no match for that man. The Yu Ji Guard was his nightmare—a towering wall he could not overcome.

He ignored the officials’ words and crept quietly toward the main hall, crouching beneath the screen door to eavesdrop.

Sure enough, a furious roar shook the house—it was the Langgan Guard, shouting:

“You filthy cur! I’ll kill you! Kill you!”

The Yu Ji Guard’s voice answered from beyond the door, filled with mirth. “Brother Langgan, you’ve not yet recovered from your injuries—don’t agitate yourself.”

It seemed the elder patted the Langgan Guard on the shoulder. Suddenly, the man’s furious roars faded into pained gasping. After a long pause, the Yu Ji Guard chuckled, “Your son, being born of Emperor Bai’s bloodline, bears a grave crime. That he yet lives is already a gift. What more could you possibly want?”

“You donkey—!”

“But,” the old man continued, “I must say, I had the pleasure of breaking him in. What a taste. Brother Langgan, you truly raised a fine one. No matter how I ground him down, his eyes still blazed like stars—never once did he bow.”

The Yu Ji Guard sighed, almost regretfully. “But alas, the tallest tree catches the wind. The proudest ridge faces the fiercest current. A boy like that—too hard, too upright—can’t last long. I suspect he won’t live past another fortnight.”

As expected, those words sent the Langgan Guard into a thunderous frenzy. “I’ll castrate you, you old bastard! I’ll carve you into dog feed! I’ll have your parents chained like beasts and your kin defiled for generations! I’ll kill you!”

A violent struggle erupted, the sound of shattering like a storm. Fang Jingyu could no longer bear to listen. Trembling and dazed, he stumbled back to the side courtyard.

He collapsed by a puddle, dry-heaving. Heaven and earth spun like a whirlpool. Whether his eyes were open or closed, all he saw was his brother; in his ears, the Yu Ji Guard’s vile words echoed again and again. The moon had risen. Sparse shadows from the bamboo spilled across his body. The sun was just beginning to dimly break through the clouds, and still he huddled by the stones, vomiting bile as green as his despair.

And then, suddenly—a thought struck his mind like lightning:

Fang Minsheng would never come back.

In that moment, a sob welled up in his throat, and Fang Jingyu broke down into voiceless weeping.

One day and one night passed. The inner courtyard was a mess—withered flowers and dead leaves blanketed the ground. Fang Jingyu stumbled step by step to the main hall. It seemed the Yu Ji Guard had just departed after clashing violently with the Langgan Guard; the house was deathly still. Despair hung over the estate like a pall of smoke.

He knelt before the door, bowed his head, and knocked it against the threshold—again and again—until bruises bloomed across his forehead.

He shouted, “Father, I beg you, train me! I may not match Brother Minsheng, but I can now channel qi into my bones—I can walk, I can hold a sword! Please, teach me swordsmanship!”

Inside, all was silence. So long passed that Fang Jingyu began to think no one was there. But then, a rasping voice, like sawing wood, finally answered:

“Swordsmanship… for what purpose?”

The man groaned, “I, the Langgan Guard, once won countless battles—and look what’s become of me! I can’t even protect my own son, let alone guard Penglai!”

“For revenge,” Fang Jingyu gritted his teeth, and slammed his head down again.

“Revenge? A brat like you talking about revenge? What nonsense! You think learning the sword will let you defeat the Yu Ji Guard?”

Fang Jingyu nearly ground his teeth to powder. He slammed his head down again and shouted, “To protect Penglai.”

That had been his brother’s dream. When Minsheng was still at home, he’d proudly declared his intention to uphold the Fang family’s ancestral code—to defend Penglai’s people and inherit the Langgan Guard’s legacy.

The man inside fell silent.

Fang Jingyu raised his head and declared loudly, “Father, I may be useless—but I am your son! The Fang family creed is ‘Die with loyal and unyielding hearts, serve the Emperor with all devotion.’ I too must defend the throne. Even if Minsheng was the late Emperor’s son, he was still a child of the throne—and I bore the duty of protecting him!”

“Nonsense!”

Suddenly, the Langgan Guard roared. The door cracked open, and a crimson-lacquered medicine bowl flew out, shattering at Fang Jingyu’s feet. Scalding soup splashed across his face.

“I gave everything to the sword and still couldn’t defeat the Yu Ji Guard. And you—a weak little brat—how long do you think you’d last? You speak of defending Penglai, but all you really want is revenge for Minsheng! If you fail, the Fang estate will be dragged down with you! Can you bear that responsibility?”

Fang Jingyu bowed his head, kneeling without reply.

After a long silence, he said softly, “Then… if I’m no longer a member of this household, I won’t implicate the Fang estate, will I?”

The man inside seemed stunned into silence.

Fang Jingyu slowly stood up, spine straightening. He had always slunk about like a beast, crawling through life. But now, for the first time, he stood tall like a human being. In the whistling wind, his silhouette resembled a slender green bamboo.

“From this day forth, I am no longer the son of the Langgan Guard.”

His voice was firm as a blade. In his eyes was a resolve steeped in blood.

“Whether I live or die—it has nothing to do with the Fang estate!”