HCAW 43

Chapter 43 – Loyalty and Righteousness

The Inner Prison was dark as night—cold and damp. A thread of wind slipped in through a narrow window, lashing like a whip and stinging the skin.

A jailer approached, carrying a wooden tray holding a bowl of coarse rice and a bowl of vegetable broth. He didn’t place the bowls into the turn-slot, but instead cast a glance at the young man chained to the wall, gave a cold snort, and said,

“Time to eat.”

That young man, lashed until his skin was flayed and bloody, clearly hadn’t suffered any broken bones. His eyes were cold as frost—chilling to the soul. It was none other than Fang Jingyu, falsely accused of murder.

Fang Jingyu rattled the chains at his wrists.

“Would you be so kind as to unchain me? Otherwise, I can’t hold a bowl.”

The jailer snorted.

“You eat with your mouth, not your hands. If you want the chains off, sure—but it’ll cost you one tael of silver.”

“I heard in other cells it only costs fifty wen.”

“You’re a condemned criminal—and you killed a good man! Why should I make things easy for you?” The jailer spat at him, picked up the bowls, and dumped the food on the ground.

“There. Eat.”

“Not even a bowl?” Fang Jingyu asked.

“If you want bowls, that’s another tael per bowl. Two bowls, two taels.”

“Forget it. My purse is cleaner than your face.” Fang Jingyu lowered himself, chewing the food off the ground with difficulty. His tongue flicked like a cat lapping at water. The jailer watched a while, frowning in disgust.

“Aren’t you ashamed?”

Fang Jingyu lifted his head.

“What’s there to be ashamed of? When I was young, my limbs were weak, and I had to crawl on the ground. The servants looked down on me. I’ve eaten food off the floor plenty of times.”

The jailer snorted again, as if he could never run out of breath, but his brows eased a little. He leaned against the wall and sat down. Only then did Fang Jingyu notice a sand tray on the wooden tray in his hands. Perhaps to pass the time, the jailer had begun to draw figures in the sand—quite lifelike, too.

“What are you drawing?” Fang Jingyu asked after a long silence.

The jailer bared his teeth in a sinister smile.

“You.” Sure enough, he was sketching Fang Jingyu’s face in the sand—eyes, nose, mouth, all vivid. Fang Jingyu nodded.

“It’s quite good.”

But the jailer said,

“It’s not quite right yet. It’ll look perfect in a month.”

“Why?”

“Because in a month, you’ll be taken to the execution ground—your head separated from your body! By then, all that’ll be left is this face.”

Fang Jingyu said nothing. His expression didn’t change. The jailer, used to death-row inmates, had expected howling or pleading. But this man’s calm was unsettling. So he asked,

“You’re not afraid?”

Fang Jingyu replied,

“What’s there to be afraid of?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Still young! Why would you commit murder?”

Fang Jingyu’s voice was cold.

“I didn’t.”

“Broad daylight—dozens saw you do it! And you still deny it?” The jailer’s voice rose in anger, veins bulging on his face like centipedes, eyes sparking with rage.

“I was part of the Jueyuan cavalry too. The captain—he was honest and kind, close to every one of us. He probably cared for you too. And you repay him like this?”

The jailer’s shouting was hoarse with fury. But suddenly, Fang Jingyu understood why the man treated him with such hatred—it was because he believed Fang Jingyu had killed the captain.

With this thought, Fang Jingyu relaxed slightly.

“I really didn’t kill him. It was the Mohe Guard who fabricated the charges. If you don’t believe me, check my chest pocket—there’s a token inside.”

The jailer eyed him warily.

“What if you bite off my hand?”

Fang Jingyu said,

“If you don’t trust me, you can bind my mouth with a wooden clamp.”

The jailer came over cautiously and reached into his robe—pulling out a small Ten-Victory Stone Buddha. Before entering the prison, Fang Jingyu had hidden it under his tongue, avoiding inspection.

“That was the captain’s token,” Fang Jingyu said. “If you were one of his brothers, I ask you for a favor. Take this to the Zhao residence and tell his wife and children that he was reassigned to the frontier army and won’t be coming home. That was his final wish. I’m imprisoned now and can’t go myself. If you do this, you can take anything you want from my house on Qingyuan Alley.”

His tone was earnest. The jailer remembered this token—and saw no blood or signs of violence on it. It didn’t look like something ripped from a corpse. Seeing Fang Jingyu’s stern expression soften, he hesitated.

“You really didn’t kill him?”

“I swear it on the divine curse. If I raised a hand against him, may I be struck by lightning.”

The jailer finally relaxed and put away the Buddha. He didn’t leave, though—just smiled faintly and smoothed the sand tray flat, drawing another sketch and sliding it over.

“What’s this?”

“A map of the execution ground. I’ve escorted prisoners before—I know how the Xian Mountain officials will deploy their guards.”

Fang Jingyu memorized the diagram silently. Then he said,

“You’re giving secrets to a death-row inmate. Aren’t you afraid I’ll bring disaster on your head?”

“Precisely because you’re on death row, I can afford to share them.” The jailer laughed.

“You’ll be executed in a month—dead men keep secrets best. What harm’s a few extra words now?”

“But from the way you speak, it’s like you don’t want me to die.”

“No one escapes from the Inner Prison easily. Whether you live or die from here on out depends on your fate. But if you really are Emperor Bai’s orphan…” The jailer paused.

“Then I hope you live.”

“Because the night in Penglai has gone on long enough. We’re all waiting for the break of dawn.”

____

Since reading the words on the bone shard, Xiao Jiao had been pestering Zheng Deli to decipher more. But the inscriptions were dense and contorted—every line took him half a day. And the bone shard itself was strange—each segment of writing changed style mid-way, scattered and disordered, leaving Zheng Deli utterly baffled.

Xiao Jiao, anxious, flitted around Zheng Deli like a housefly, occasionally snapping,

“Have you figured anything out yet?”

Zheng Deli laughed bitterly.

“Miss Qin, this isn’t some ordinary book you can digest in a bite—it’s not something I can decipher so quickly.”

While he was still working on interpreting the bone shard, Chu Kuang returned home once. When Xiao Jiao saw him, she shouted angrily,

“You’ve got the nerve to come back?”

But Chu Kuang didn’t laugh or act slippery as he usually did, trying to talk his way out of things. His expression remained cool the whole time—he even looked a bit like Fang Jingyu with that deathly face he often wore. He said,

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to save him.”

Xiao Jiao spat at him. She knew this hired hand was a thorough scoundrel—wherever the silver flowed, that was where he leaned. Today he said he’d save someone; who knew if tomorrow he’d turn coat and run? Chu Kuang didn’t bother arguing. He just said he was heading to Zui Chun Garden. When he came back, he was carrying a bone bow wrapped in white cloth. After stringing it with a fresh tendon cord in the side room, he disappeared again. Xiao Jiao didn’t bother with him.

Eventually, Zheng Deli managed to decipher something useful on the bone shard. Following the line that read “In the twenty-third year of Changyi, in the month of Jianshu,” came another:

“The people’s cries boiled over, grievances filled the roads.”

It seemed Fang Jingyu had won the hearts of the people—if his head really rolled, the citizens of Penglai would be outraged. So Zheng Deli told Xiao Jiao:

“It says here that after news of Jingyu’s execution spread, the people of Penglai were furious and grieved.”

At that, Xiao Jiao’s tears came flooding back.

“So it’s really settled then? The Tight-lipped gourd’s going to die for sure?”

But Zheng Deli still harbored doubts about the shard. When his father gave it to him, he had only said it was an old historical record from Penglai. How could the ancients have written about events that hadn’t yet happened?

Looking more closely, he realized that many other entries on the bone had already come true. The writing must be reliable. His mind spun in all directions.

Suddenly, Zheng Deli smacked his forehead.

“Wait—we’re not out of options yet. Mencius¹Mencius (Latinized name of 孟子, Mengzi) was a Chinese philosopher who lived during the Warring States period (c. 372–289 BCE) and is considered the most famous Confucian thinker after Confucius himself. said, ‘One wins the people by winning their hearts.’ Putting Jingyu in prison was unjust from the start. The neighbors must already be resentful! Let’s go tell everyone. On the day of the execution, we’ll all gather at Zhenhai Pass and raise hell. In the chaos, we can rescue Fang Jingyu!”

Xiao Jiao’s eyes lit up at once and she leapt to her feet.

But no sooner had Zheng Deli said it than doubt crept in. It sounded simple enough, but there would likely be ten or more convicts marched out that day. Two or three hundred Xian Mountain officers would be guarding the execution ground, escorted by military officers, and the National Preceptor himself would be present. The guards would surely seal the place tighter than a drum. What could just the two of them possibly do?

But seeing Xiao Jiao’s eyes shining, he couldn’t bear to kill her hope.

“Let’s give it a shot,” he said. “Take it one step at a time.”

Two Xian Mountain officers were stationed outside the Fang residence, watching their every move to prevent Xiao Jiao from causing trouble. Zheng Deli and Xiao Jiao discussed their plan and headed to the stable, where they grabbed a bundle of straw and fashioned two human-shaped dummies. They took off their usual coats and dressed the straw men in them, then placed the figures on stools beneath the trees. With the tree shadows cast over them, they looked from a distance like the two of them sitting and daydreaming.

The two then climbed out over the kitchen wall and made their way to Jinshan Temple.

It was the season for delivering winter vegetables to the Immortal Palace. With the market in full swing, the streets were packed and hard to navigate. It was the fifteenth of the month, and the temple was staging a newly imported opera from Yuezhou. Xiao Jiao spotted the Fool character in red on stage and said,

“I know that troupe.”

Zheng Deli was puzzled. Xiao Jiao crossed her arms and said,

“Back when the Da Yuan Dao members were slaughtering people in Penglai, they’d behead any white-face actor they saw and peel off his skin, sticking it on flagpoles in the name of ‘punishing treachery.’ If they saw a pretty actress, they’d drag her off and defile her. The Tight-lipped gourd and I arrested those members. The troupe leader was so grateful he practically worshipped us.”

They entered the temple and found the troupe leader. Sure enough, when the man saw Xiao Jiao, he clasped her hand and bowed repeatedly, his back curved like a cooked shrimp. When the two explained their request, the leader hesitated at first—but once he heard Fang Jingyu was in danger, he steeled himself and slapped his chest in agreement.

By afternoon, the stage had been set up behind the Hall of Heavenly Kings, with curtains and props all in place. The opera was “The Orphan of Zhao.” On stage, Zhao Shuo sang:

“In vain I served my sovereign with loyal heart and soul!

That treacherous butcher holds all the power and control!

By wicked schemes, he claims my life and sends me to the blade—

In Yuyang’s market square, I am falsely slayed!”

The rich baritone rang strong and clear, the rhythm perfectly timed. The crowd of worshippers cheered with righteous fury, slapping their thighs in outrage.

When the actor sang the line:

“To repay kindness is to walk with honor; to turn from justice is to be no man!”

Thunderous applause erupted below the stage.

After five acts of thrilling drama, the crowd was still buzzing when suddenly a red-clad girl jumped onto the stage and shouted:

“Fathers, elders, fellow townsfolk—please hear me out!”

Everyone turned to look.

The red-clad girl cried,

“Do any of you know Fang Jingyu? He’s the second son of the Langgan Guard, now serving as a constable in Penglai Prefecture.”

Voices rose throughout the crowd—

“I know him!”

“You mean Captain Fang? He chased off the bandits from Qingshan Road!”

“I work for the Zhang family now—he was the one who bought my freedom!”

It seemed Fang Jingyu had truly done many good deeds. Ask his name in Penglai, and everyone knew it.

Xiao Jiao raised her brows.

“Fang Jingyu is being framed. His brother-in-arms was murdered, and the blame was pinned on him. A month from now, he’ll be executed in public! The one who framed him is the Mohe Guard. Penglai is now ruled by traitorous officials. The Mohe Guard is no better than Tu’an Gu, who exterminated the loyal Zhao clan!” ²from the classical Chinese play 《赵氏孤儿》 (The Orphan of Zhao), often considered the first Chinese historical tragedy.  In short calling someone Tu’an Gu is like calling them Brutus or Judas.

Her words were bold and dangerous. The crowd looked around nervously—speaking ill of the Xian Mountain Guards was a serious crime. But Xiao Jiao looked heartbroken as she cried:

“Captain Fang once stood up for you all. Are you really going to forget everything he did for you?”

She pointed at an old woman in the front row.

“Grandma, I heard you say you knew Fang Jingyu. Did he ever help you?”

The old woman trembled as she said,

“My eldest grandson once fell in the river—it was Captain Fang who pulled him out.”

The girl pointed at another person and asked loudly,

“You just said you knew Fang Jingyu too—how did you come to know him?”

The man replied,

“I once offended a rogue in a muddied robe—he threatened to wipe out my entire family. It was Captain Fang who found him and talked him down. He protected me.”

Xiao Jiao stood tall, eyes gleaming with pride.

“Exactly! Fang Jingyu has helped you all time and again. And now, in his time of greatest need, if you don’t repay him—then when will you? Thirty years ago, the Langgan Guard defended the realm and brought peace to Penglai. Now his only living son faces ruin, and no one steps forward? Must we let a hero die with a cold heart?”

The crowd’s gaze began to shift. The red-clad girl pressed her advantage, raising her arms and shouting:

“We don’t need to die for this! On the day of the execution, all we need do is stand beneath the execution platform and shout aloud: ‘Fang Jingyu is innocent!’ Say it three times! If our cries reach the heavens, the Emperor will surely re-investigate. Captain Fang’s life is in your hands!”

Someone murmured,

“What if… this gets us killed?”

“It won’t! They can’t punish us all. All we need is one loud shout on the day!”

Another voice rang out,

“Even if it does cost us our lives—so what? Captain Fang risked everything for us back then!”

At that, voices rose from the crowd:

“That’s right—we ought to help him!”

“Just shouting a few words? Easy as pie!”

Seizing the moment, Xiao Jiao grabbed the sword from the actor playing General Han, raised it high, and let the tassel dance in the air. She shouted:

“Then let’s all go together! ‘To repay kindness is to meet again; to turn from justice is not true courage!’”

It was a line from the play—about the old chancellor Gongsun Chuju, who gave his life to protect the orphan of the Zhao clan. The crowd was stirred to the core, blood surging hot. Applause and cheers burst like thunder through the temple.

Amid the thunderous noise, Xiao Jiao ducked behind the divider and into the backstage area. She threw her arms around Zheng Deli, who’d been waiting anxiously, and beamed.

“No-balls Zheng, the words you wrote really worked!”

In her palm was a wrinkled slip of paper, written in tiny script—the very same speech she’d just delivered. Xiao Jiao was barely literate, so Zheng Deli hadn’t dared write anything too complex; many difficult characters were replaced with simpler ones. Even so, she’d stayed up nights memorizing them, earning herself two enormous black circles under her eyes.

Zheng Deli flushed, smiling shyly.

“Miss Qin delivers it with such spirit. If I’d gone up there, my legs would’ve shaken like sieves.”

He circled around the pillar to peek at the front stage. The crowd was ablaze with righteous fervor, faces full of purpose. He finally breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Xiao Jiao.

“From now on, every time we need to stir people up, we’ll have to trouble Miss Qin. The more we rally, the better Jingyu’s chances.”

Xiao Jiao patted her chest, her eyes glowing.

“Leave it to me!”

____

After several busy days, Zheng Deli finally had a moment to return home. As soon as he entered his room, he spotted a packed travel chest on the floor. Inside were white wax candles, a brush case, a porcelain cup, flint and steel, a pouch of bone shards, and several small bundles of common herbs—clearly a kit for a long journey.

Puzzled, he turned to see his father walking down the corridor in a loose robe, collar wide open, looking relaxed. He walked up behind Zheng Deli and patted his shoulder.

“If you want to leave, then go.”

Zheng Deli gave a helpless laugh.

“Dad, when did I say I wanted to leave? Are you kicking me out?”

His father said slowly,

“By day and night your stars shine bright. Deli, it’s time for you to leave Penglai. There’s a bag of bone shards in the chest—those hold Penglai’s past… or maybe its future. One day, Emperor Bai will rise again in Guixu. Penglai will no longer need to seal the Taoyuan Stone Gates. All truths will be revealed. Take your time reading them.”

Zheng Deli’s father had always spoken in cryptic, mystical tones. Zheng Deli had grown used to it and never took it seriously. But today, for some reason, he couldn’t help calling after him:

“Dad, I have something to ask.”

His father paused. Zheng Deli hesitated.

“The bone shard you gave me—was it really an ancient artifact?”

“It was.”

“Then how does it record things that haven’t happened yet?”

His father drew a circle in the air with his finger, intoning mysteriously:

“The past is the future. The future is the past.”

Then he stepped into his study, took a birdcage from the rack, and handed it to Zheng Deli.

“Take this bird with you too.”

Zheng Deli stared at it blankly. He knew how much his father loved birds—and this tern was his favorite, with its long tail and slender beak, always doted on and played with. Why give it away?

His father added:

“Don’t underestimate it. Sailors who cross vast seas always keep a tern like this. They say it’s born of the sea and can cross ten thousand li—no matter where it flies, it always finds its way home. Bring it with you. If you ever get the chance, send a letter home to let us know you’re safe.”

With those words, his father walked off with his hands behind his back.

Zheng Deli stood dumbfounded in the corridor, feeling like he’d been booted from the house. Until now, he’d drifted through life with no idea what his future would look like. Avenging Xiao Feng came from indignation. Helping Fang Jingyu came from sympathy. But had he ever truly thought about leaving home?

He suddenly remembered something his father once told him:

“Pull back, and you become a nobody, clinging to life; leap forward, and you die a hero, a blaze of glory.”

He vaguely felt he was being swept into a great current.

He absently packed up his bag. Inside a side pouch was a map—he pulled it out and looked. It showed the outer lands beyond Penglai. Four immortal mountains were marked: Yingzhou, Yuanqiao, Daiyu, and Fanghu—names he’d never heard before. Everyone in Penglai knew there were five immortal mountains, but no one knew their names, let alone visited them. Each mountain bore a mark for the Taoyuan Stone Gates. In the middle of the open sea was a tiny symbol: a drawing of a nine-legged octopus, labeled “Immortal Yonghe.” Zheng Deli frowned.

“What the hell is this?” he muttered.

Finished packing, he headed to the central courtyard. The locust trees cast heavy shade, and beneath them sat a girl in a pale yellow jacket, softly humming a Xianlü melody. When she turned, her eyes shone like morning dew. It was the maid Xiao Feng.

She smiled and bowed.

“I heard the master say you’re leaving—is that true?”

Zheng Deli scratched his head.

“He’s suddenly throwing me out. I’m still foggy about it.”

“What the master says always comes true. Are you still hesitating? Leaving Penglai is dangerous—the world won’t welcome you. But if you stay home, your life will be safe,” Xiao Feng said with a smile.

“Then you, Xiao Feng…” Zheng Deli blinked.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Of course I hope you stay safe. But if you choose danger, I won’t stop you. No matter what, I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

She smiled, her cheeks blooming like clouds at sunset. Seeing that smile, Zheng Deli’s heart eased. He had avenged her, let her smile again—but in doing so, had brought trouble to Fang Jingyu. How could he turn his back on him now?

Xiao Feng saw the knot between his brows loosen. She smiled and resumed her gentle melody, softly singing:

“…To repay kindness is to meet again; To turn from justice is not true courage.”

Suddenly, Zheng Deli felt as if struck by lightning. A surge of strength flooded his body and drove into his legs. He suddenly wanted—desperately—to see Fang Jingyu again, to pull him out of that cold, lifeless prison.

He whispered:

“To repay kindness is to meet again… To turn from justice is not true courage.”

He steeled his heart.

“Yes. I’m going to save Fang Jingyu. Even if I’ll never have a place in Penglai again. I’ll hide myself well—I won’t drag you down.”

Xiao Feng smiled.

“Even if you do, it’s all right. Just remember—no matter where you go, someone in this household will always be waiting for your return.”

Zheng Deli’s eyes glistened.

“I’m leaving now.”

Xiao Feng nodded.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Zheng Deli turned and walked away with a heart full of melancholy, passing through the covered corridor. At that time, he did not yet know that there would be no return from this journey, nor that the path across the Immortal Mountains would be paved with blood and tears. All he did then was glance back—Xiao Feng’s figure gradually faded into the distance, yet still leaned quietly against the lush, verdant locust tree, like a frozen painting.

He suddenly thought of the window flowers pasted up during the New Year. He used to gaze through them at the snowy world outside. In that frozen landscape, only the crimson cutouts in the paper glowed warm and alive.

Those window flowers were taken down after the festival—but the image of Xiao Feng beneath the trees never faded. It stayed with him, lodged in his heart, bright and constant for the rest of his life. Just like that day—engraved in his bones.

• 1
  Mencius (Latinized name of 孟子, Mengzi) was a Chinese philosopher who lived during the Warring States period (c. 372–289 BCE) and is considered the most famous Confucian thinker after Confucius himself.
• 2
  from the classical Chinese play 《赵氏孤儿》 (The Orphan of Zhao), often considered the first Chinese historical tragedy.  In short calling someone Tu’an Gu is like calling them Brutus or Judas.