HCAW 40

Chapter 40: Morning Star Reflects the Sun

Just as he emerged from one dream, he quickly fell into another.

In this dream, he was once again transported back nine years. A cool breeze blew through the reed mat wrapped around his dirty body, pricking him like needles.

He felt someone lift the reed mat that wrapped him and, after an unknown time, he was roughly tossed into a pile of corpses. The stench hit him hard, and the buzzing of flies filled his ears.

He heard voices—apparently soldiers stationed at Difei Mountain—one nervous and stammering, “Should we… really leave this man here? I heard he is the late emperor’s son…”

“The late emperor’s son is now a slave worse than dogs and pigs!” another replied. “His forehead’s pierced through—how can he still be alive? Besides, with the Yu Ji Guard here, we’re just scavengers. The emperor won’t punish us.”

“Let’s go. Don’t linger here among the dead, it’s bad luck.” The soldier spat on the reed mat.

The voices faded, and he gradually lost consciousness. A sharp pain struck his head. He knew his life was nearly at its end and that he might soon die here. He was in a pit for discarded corpses, the stench overwhelming. He couldn’t remember who he truly was, only vaguely recalling holding a feathered arrow that he had stabbed into his own forehead. Everyone believed his wounds were fatal, even divine healers powerless, so they abandoned him to the wild. The pain felt like a worm burrowing through his skull and body.

He remained unconscious for a long time. In a haze, he sensed someone pushing aside the reed mat and lifting him up, though he did not know where he was taken.

The person who carried him cut away his blood-caked clothes, cleansed his skin with warm water, applied ointment, brewed a decoction of chili peppers in wine, and made him swallow it. But his injuries were severe; a relentless high fever set in. As his life hung by a thread, his caretaker sighed softly:

“Though I hate to use this medicine, it’s a last-ditch effort.”

He felt his jaw pried open, thick liquid poured into his mouth. He struggled to open his eyes slightly and saw a figure cloaked in a mantle standing before him. The person wore a wind hat and a gilded silver mask embossed with swan patterns. Their voice was gentle and soothing like flowing water. The earthenware bowl in their hand held a black potion with strange pieces of meat floating in it. Strangely, after drinking it, the pain in his head lessened somewhat, and he found the strength to speak. He asked:

“Who… are you?”

The man in the silver mask said, “I am the one who saved you. If you feel gratitude, you may call me ‘Master.’”

He weakly moved his eyes and saw the dim, cracked mountain walls around him—it was a cave, but one furnished with beds and a stove, like a place cut off from the world.

“Am I… dead?”

“You were supposed to be, but because of this medicine, you can cling to life a little longer.”

“What kind of medicine is this?”

The silver-masked man smiled bitterly. “Perhaps you could call it ‘Immortal Elixir’… but it is somewhat different. Consider it a bitter broth of meat.”

“Why save me?” he murmured, lips cracked and trembling. “Let me die… my life… is useless now.”

Every time he closed his eyes, grim memories surged forth. Though vague, the burning pain of the branding iron on his skin, the bone-chilling cold of icy water poured over his head, the dull ache from punches and kicks—all tormented him without respite.

“Do you have no wish to fulfill?” the silver-masked man asked.

A wish? Besides revenge, what wish could he have? He had felt life meaningless. But after the man’s question, he began to think. The silver-masked man continued, “As long as the heart harbors an unfulfilled wish, even through fire and blades, one can endure. Do you have such a wish?”

Suddenly, a faint memory emerged. He did have an unfinished wish. Like sunlight piercing through his mind, his consciousness briefly cleared.

The pain eased for a moment before he weakened again. He felt as if a hand was violently stirring his brain; his skull seemed about to shatter. His body felt aflame, about to burn away every limb and bone. He suddenly grabbed the silver-masked man’s cloak, breathing heavily:

“Master… I’m about to… die.”

The man shook his head. “You took the medicine. You’ll improve soon. You won’t die.”

“But my head is splitting… maybe I’ll forget everything.” He struggled to move his throat. “Please, Master, remember one thing for me… if I still cling to life… remind me always—don’t let me forget…”

“What is it?”

He hazily recalled a scene: green spring grass blooming in order, he holding the hand of a small boy as they ran up a hill blooming with red flowers. The boy’s bright eyes shone like a thousand miles of sunlight; his small face filled with pride, vowing to cross the Heavenly Pass, reach the peak, overlook all under heaven, and travel the world with his elder brother. He nodded then, promising the boy’s request.

For some reason, this memory was deeply engraved in his heart. Now, with nothing left but revenge, it was his only tie to the world.

A piercing pain struck his head, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. He said, “Master… if I forget this, please… remind me always.”

“I must… take someone and escape from Penglai’s Heavenly Pass, riding side by side with him.”

He reached upward, like a drowning man grasping for a rope. The silver-masked man lowered his eyes to him. This was a handsome youth, though scarred and battered, like a nearly burnt-out log still holding some warmth.

In the firelight, the silver-masked man gently took his hand and nodded. “Very well.”

“I will remember for you.”

…

His consciousness fell into silence. He felt his soul like a bubble floating in a boundless ocean. Suddenly, the light and shadows shifted before him, as if he had fallen into a familiar courtyard.

This was the Fang estate ten years ago, near dawn. The silver specks in the dome of the sky gradually faded, unclear to the eye. The crape myrtle bloomed bright as rosy clouds; holly grew lush and green. The estate’s garden was still bright and beautiful, and he was still a young boy.

Under the dark sky, he and Langgan Guard sat on the porch railing, looking through the mottled shadows of crape myrtle leaves toward the heavens.

He heard Langgan Guard speak softly, “Have you seen your younger brother?”

“The one in the outer courtyard? I know you won’t let me meet him directly. I climbed the wutong tree secretly a few times to see him. His life is bitterer than bitter herbs. Why must we treat him so?”

Langgan Guard frowned slightly, a bitter smile in his eyes, but did not answer directly. Instead, he put his arm around him: “Minsheng, do you know what you and he resemble?”

“What?”

Langgan Guard pointed to the sky. In the black dome, everything was dark and dim. Only a single morning star hung high and shone alone across the land. “This is the Morning Star, also called ‘Da Xiao.’ At the darkest moment before dawn, this star shines bright and clear like a pearl or jade. You are like this Morning Star—meant to be a guide to your brother.”

He nodded. “And Jingyu? What is he?”

“Your brother is the son of Emperor Bai, Penglai’s hope, the rising sun. But his light is weak and still needs our support. You are the reverse—your early life was one of comfort and honor, but hardships await you later; while he must first endure trials before reaching the broad bright road.”

They sat a long while on the porch railing, gazing at the solitary star flickering in the sky. After some time, molten sunlight began to glow behind the leaden clouds. A red sun slowly rose, and soon light poured like a flood through the gaps in the clouds, swallowing the land. The Morning Star that had shone briefly quietly vanished in the dawn.

The man beside him suddenly spoke with regret: “Minsheng, I have been unfair to you both. Will you regret it?”

He shook his head.

“You’re still young; there’s still time for regret. I can still find a way, try a desperate move.”

“No, Father. Let me be Jingyu’s Morning Star.” He raised his face to Langgan Guard. The man was surprised to find not only a star in the sky but also a glowing star in his eyes. “The Fang family’s ancestral creed is ‘Dying with crimsons hearts, devoting loyalty to the emperor.’ I am a Fang too, and must serve faithfully, spilling blood and heart for the emperor’s heir.”

“The Morning Star only shines briefly before dawn, then must vanish with the morning…” Langgan Guard sighed. “Are you willing to be such a fleeting star?”

“I am,” he said, “This is my destiny.”

Suddenly, a dazzling white light burst forth, and his world was overwhelmed by a flood of brightness.

One by one, the past dreams shattered: the boy once cherished as a heavenly favorite and precious treasure, the one abused in the Difei Mountain tent who finally stabbed an arrow into his head, the youth sitting with Langgan Guard in the Fang estate courtyard—all broken into glittering points of light. He found himself wading a river; past memories were nothing but reflections on the water. At the river’s end, the light grew stronger, as if stepping into the sun itself.

In the blink of an eye, he found himself kneeling on the ground, his reed-bark clothes damp with cold sweat. He had fainted in the bridge cave earlier, and truly, a river’s sound flowed near his ear. The sky was dark like the bottom of a pot—it was already the late night hours.

Then he suddenly knew who he was. He was the slave Fang Jingyu redeemed, the feared “King Yama,” with a bestowed name: “Chu Kuang.”

But before receiving this name, he had another. When he remembered it, he realized everything was destined. His mission to save someone had been set millennia ago. He remembered the destination but forgot where he began.

He knelt, banging his forehead hard on the ground, pale-faced, clenching his fists fiercely, murmuring: “I am… the King Yama. No, I am Chu Kuang…”

His head felt as if cut by a blade. He pounded the earth once more, gritting his teeth with eyes closed:

“I am… Fang Minsheng.”

Chu Kuang, drenched in cold sweat, supported his aching head, stood, and walked out of the cave. The dark sky seemed to have a small hole, with red light softly spreading upward like fresh blood. The lone star stubbornly hung in the sky, though nearly extinguished.

He walked toward that star, as if embracing its fading glow. Morning smoke curled into the air, the marketplace slowly grew noisy, and Penglai welcomed another dawn. The stars in the sky were drowned by the light, but no one knew that on the ground, another star was slowly rising.

The red-clothed girl’s voice seemed to echo again: “You must go save Fang Jingyu!”

Back then, Chu Kuang did not know why he must save someone. Now he finally understood. Fang Jingyu is the daylight sun, and he is the Morning Star. He must guide Fang Jingyu out of the long dark night.

This is the only meaning he has lived for until now.

AN: Though obvious, a reminder: the two protagonists share no blood ties; even if they call each other brother, it’s just for the story’s flavor.

Also… Volume 1 is ending! Volume 2 will begin as a VIP release. Thanks so much for your support!

This is a cold-themed story, so I’m ready to camp in the Arctic circle. But I’m truly grateful for your comments.

Since the CP rankings have changed, free works rarely rank. I’m sadly switching to VIP… There are four volumes total, and subscriptions cost about the price of a milk tea. I’ll update more frequently once VIP starts!

Hope for your continued support, dear friends!