HCAW 46

Chapter 46 – A Hundred Battles for My Lord

“King Yama” was a legend that rose among the rebel army in Yingzhou.

It was said that he was a fearsome, ghost-like figure who shocked the world with divine archery that never missed its mark. Tall and imposing, he wielded a divine bow named Fan Ruo, once used by the great archer Yi,¹refers to Hou Yi (后羿) is a legendary figure from Chinese mythology, known as a divine archer. He is most famous for the myth in which ten suns rose in the sky, scorching the earth and threatening all life. Hou Yi shot down nine of the ten suns, leaving just one to provide light and warmth. Fan Ruo has nothing to do with Huo Yi, the author probably tied them together for mythic weight. capable of shooting down the nine suns. Rumor had it that the whistling arrows he used were actually the ancient divine arrows Jin Pugu, whose release spelled certain death. He had once broken into the imperial mausoleum, desecrated tombs, stolen the late emperor’s sacred body, and left entire regions drenched in blood, filling Penglai with so many corpses that the bones seemed to prop up the sky.

But those were just legends. At this moment, Fang Jingyu grabbed the man’s hand and leapt onto the horse, suddenly feeling that the myth and the reality were worlds apart. In the tales, “King Yama” was a cold-blooded killer, but now he found this man’s hand warm, like spring.

“King Yama” said to him, “Hold on tight!”

Fang Jingyu nodded and quickly wrapped his arms around the man’s waist. “King Yama” squeezed the horse’s belly, and the steed shot off like a gale, hooves flying like lightning. Xiao Jiao hurried to spur his horse to follow. The commoners on the roadside instinctively parted to make way as the two riders galloped down the streets. When the pursuing officials of Xian Mountain appeared, the crowd surged once more to block the path, preventing their advance.

Fang Jingyu and “King Yama” rode on the same horse. Pressed against the man’s back, he could hear the rapid pounding of his heart, beat after beat, as if echoing his own.

Suddenly, it felt as though a restless little bird had fluttered up inside his chest, wings flapping to break free. Amid the rushing wind, he softly called:

“Chu Kuang?”

“King Yama” turned his head slightly—it was indeed the man he thought it was. It could be no one else, for those red, flame-like double pupils were one of a kind. Fang Jingyu asked again, “Why did you come to save me?”

“Because you are my master,” Chu Kuang said after a pause. “Besides, you haven’t paid me for the work I did back then.”

“I won’t short you your wages. And why are you using the name ‘King Yama’?”

Chu Kuang retorted, “Let me make this clear: I’m not that fugitive. I only use the name to scare off that old dog Yu Ji Guard.”

“But I saw you hit the mark with your arrows a hundred paces away—you’re more impressive than the real ‘King Yama.’”

“You still won’t give up trying to catch me and turn me in for that ten-tael bounty?” Chu Kuang cried. “Pah!”

When they first exchanged a few words earlier, Fang Jingyu felt something was different—Chu Kuang’s eyes kept dodging his, as though deliberately avoiding him. But now, seeing him still so spirited, Fang Jingyu felt reassured. He said, “And what if you really are the real ‘King Yama’? I’m Emperor Bai’s orphan. If you’re the real deal, then we’re equally wanted men.”

Chu Kuang shot back, “You think too much. I’m an upstanding citizen. I came to save you—if anyone’s being dragged into this mess, it’s me!”

The three of them raced toward Zhenhai Pass, the distant roar of black waves crashing against the rocks echoing in their ears. The light of dawn rose from the horizon, dyeing the mountains red like burning coals. Fang Jingyu turned to Chu Kuang and said earnestly, “Thank you for saving me.”

He felt Chu Kuang’s body stiffen, seemingly unaccustomed to gratitude. Chu Kuang replied, “If you’re really grateful, then make sure I’m well-fed and pampered from now on.” Riding alongside them on the black steed, Xiao Jiao grinned and reminded Fang Jingyu, “Stuffed buns with fine filling!”

Fang Jingyu thought, If we can fight our way out of this deathtrap, forget stuffed buns—I’ll serve them camel hump, bear paw, bird’s nest, and shark fin like offerings to two golden Buddhas. But just then, a thunderous roar came from behind as a wave of heavily armored cavalry, wielding lances, charged like rolling thunder. An official from Xian Mountain shouted:

“Seize the traitors! Capture Emperor Bai’s orphan alive—kill the other two if you must!”

Xiao Jiao gritted through her pain and turned back, swinging her chain wide, striking the legs of the pursuing horses and sending several Xian Mountain officials crashing to the ground. One of them shouted, “Loose the arrows! Aim for the horses—their legs aren’t armored!”

But Xiao Jiao moved even faster. Her chain whipped across the ground, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that obscured the archers’ view. Although Emperor Changyi had ordered the Yu Ji Guard not to spare Fang Jingyu, the Xian Mountain officials dared not act rashly before the order was explicitly given. Blinded by dust, the archers held their fire.

Just then, a long, booming laugh rang out:

“Stand back! I shall take all three of them myself!”

Amid the swirling sand, a towering, broad figure emerged. The Yu Ji Guard rode a fine stallion, swift-hoofed and powerful. His eyes gleamed with cold light, beard flying in the wind. Behind him, the Yu Yin Guard followed, gripping the long saber Shouci, face expressionless. The two of them looked like grim reapers coming to collect souls, making the three fugitives shudder.

The Yu Yin Guard charged first. Shouci flashed out of its sheath like the icy light of a vast frozen desert, aimed straight at Fang Jingyu. He turned, drew Hanguang, and countered in a flash. Blades clashed in a storm of steel. The Yu Yin Guard pursed her lips, silent. For some reason, Fang Jingyu felt she was holding back—her strikes never aimed to kill.

“Jingyu, you’re truly an unfilial disciple.” After several exchanges, the old woman finally spoke, her voice light but laden with a heavy sigh. “Get out of here. The farther you go, the better. Once you leave Penglai, don’t ever call yourself my disciple again.”

Fang Jingyu’s heart trembled, and he saw her feint and let him go.

Their horses began to slow. The Yu Ji Guard said, “Yu Yin Guard, can’t bear to kill your disciple, can you?”

The Yu Yin Guard said calmly, “It’s only that the horse grew tired and couldn’t keep up with the fleeing traitors ahead.”

The Yu Ji Guard laughed heartily. “Since the Yu Yin Guard is soft-hearted, I’ll do the disciplining on her behalf. They say a strict master produces outstanding disciples—there’s no shaping them without a firm hand.” After saying this, he turned to a nearby Xian Mountain official. “Bring me a sword.”

The official hurriedly handed over a knife. The Yu Ji Guard caught it, tossed the scabbard aside, and grinned. “I’m not much for handling these things—going to embarrass myself in front of the Yu Yin Guard.”

He swung the blade, and a wild gust surged forth like a stormy sea crashing down upon the three ahead. The horses neighed uneasily, as if on the edge of an abyss. As the blade came slashing down, Fang Jingyu hastily drew Hanguang to block it. Yet that seemingly casual strike from the Yu Ji Guard struck with the weight of a thousand tons. When it landed on his sword, it sent shockwaves through his arms, the dragon-headed hilt vibrating violently, nearly snapping in two.

The long blade shattered into fragments in the Yu Ji Guard’s grip, and he sighed with regret. “ Fang family brat got some skill!”

Fang Jingyu was drenched in sweat, but felt no joy at surviving the blow. He knew the Yu Ji Guard preferred to fight barehanded—his swordsmanship was crude and unrefined. Yet even receiving a single blow had left Fang’s insides churning, blood surging to his throat.

There was no way they could stand against the Yu Ji Guard. As the galloping horse drew nearer, Fang Jingyu’s heart pounded wildly, like hooves trampling inside his chest.

The Yu Ji Guard laughed again. “That was just a warm-up on behalf of the Yu Yin Guard. Now it’s time to get serious!”

He dropped the blade, raised his fingers to snap. Fang Jingyu braced in panic, but Chu Kuang turned his horse sharply, raised his bone bow, and called out to him, “Don’t clash with him head-on—I’ll handle this!”

Even as the words fell, the bowstring twanged, and a flash of light streaked forth. The Yu Ji Guard narrowed his eyes and reached out casually, snatching the iron arrow from the air like catching a fly. But this time, he had misjudged—Chu Kuang had loosed a fire-pomegranate arrow, and just as the fuse burned to its end in the Yu Ji Guard’s grasp—

BOOM!

A thunderous blast erupted, fire surging skyward.

Chu Kuang seized the moment to gallop away, widening the distance. Yet when the flames died down, the Yu Ji Guard stood unscathed save for his slightly singed beard. He tossed aside the arrow remains and threw his head back in laughter. “You little bugs are quite amusing!”

His gaze locked onto Chu Kuang, and after a moment of recognition, he sneered. “Ah, so it’s you. This little bug—an old acquaintance of mine after all.”

Chu Kuang ignored the provocation. Swift as thunder, he pulled another arrow from his quiver and fired. This arrow, three feet long with a flat-headed iron tip, was made for piercing armor. As it flew, Fang Jingyu heard a thunderclap at his ear, nearly bursting his eardrum. Chu Kuang’s draw and release were precise and fluid—his skill, unfathomable.

The arrow struck the Yu Ji Guard square in the chest. Though it carried the strength to subdue tigers and dragons, it only tore his padded armor and grazed the skin beneath. The Yu Ji Guard laughed maniacally. “Cat scratch? You dare show off such paltry tricks before me?”

But Chu Kuang had already fired again. The next arrow hit the shaft of the first, driving it an inch deeper into the Yu Ji Guard’s chest. A sharp pain lanced through his chest; he looked down to find blood seeping from beneath his armor.

He hadn’t been wounded in years, but this former prisoner from his own estate never failed to surprise. “King Yama” might’ve been a rumor in Penglai, but to the Yu Ji Guard, he was a true anomaly.

“Go!” Fang Jingyu shouted, now that they had gained some distance. The roar of waves grew louder in his ears—Zhenhai Pass was finally in sight.

Chu Kuang responded and wheeled his horse around to flee. But suddenly, a shadow fell over them.

They looked up in alarm to see a figure blotting out the sun—like a flying squirrel diving down from the sky. The Yu Ji Guard had leapt from his stirrups. He launched into the air and, with claws like an eagle’s, snatched the backs of their collars and slammed them to the ground.

Chu Kuang’s blood ran cold. He knew the Yu Ji Guard could carry a mountain—if they hit the ground like this, they’d be pulp. Desperately, he wrapped himself around Fang Jingyu midair, twisting to cushion the impact. With a groan, his spine and ribs cracked under the force, fragments stabbing into his lungs. Blood misted from his breath.

The two crashed to the ground, dazed and disoriented. Fang Jingyu, still wounded from Milu Village and months of torture, felt his body shatter like cracked porcelain. Blood seeped from countless fissures. Chu Kuang, having shielded him, suffered even worse. His vision blurred; the world became fog. Through the haze, he sensed a heavy presence leaning over them—

The Yu Ji Guard.

He murmured darkly and chuckled low.

“Come back to my manor and warm my bed, won’t you? You and this little lordling both have fine looks—much better than those southern boys. Let me be your merry patron.”

Chu Kuang could barely breathe. He felt his jaw seized in an iron grip, his mask torn off. The Yu Ji Guard inspected his bloodied face. With effort, Chu Kuang moved his tongue like dragging stone—and spat a mouthful of blood into the man’s face.

The Yu Ji Guard was silent for a moment, then laughed. “Just like a wild dog—stealing food and snapping at hands.”

Suddenly, a voice rang out:

“Don’t touch him!”

It was Fang Jingyu. Struggling upright, he forced Hanguang from its sheath.

The Yu Ji Guard grinned. “Looks like there’s another one who bites.”

He surveyed the two of them, battered and broken. “His Majesty commands Emperor Bai’s orphan be captured alive. Now then—should I take you alive, or kill you here and now?”

Fang Jingyu covertly glanced behind the Yu Ji Guard—the white steed was galloping toward them. If they could distract him for just a second, they might mount up and escape.

But the Yu Ji Guard didn’t seem inclined to give them even that chance. He shook his head in mock regret and said, “Though you are striking in appearance, boy, it’s still safer to kill you. Don’t want another mistake like nine years ago. Wouldn’t want His Majesty blaming me.”

Fang Jingyu’s body went rigid. He saw the Yu Ji Guard clench his iron fist—

That earlier slam had already half-killed them.

If this punch landed…he’d be dead for sure.

However, he was too gravely injured to move. The Yu Ji Guard’s fist came crashing down, the wind howling like tigers and wolves. In that instant, Chu Kuang suddenly struggled to his feet and threw himself in front of Fang Jingyu, taking the blow head-on.

Fang Jingyu froze in shock, feeling hot blood splatter over him. Looking up, he saw that the fist had punched clean through Chu Kuang’s chest and abdomen.

His vision was stained red with blood, and his mind went completely blank. All he remembered was the muffled groan Chu Kuang let out, refusing to scream even as he endured the agony. Fang Jingyu immediately pulled an arrow from the quiver and stabbed at the Yu Ji Guard. Taking advantage of the old man’s evasion, he let out a quivering whistle to summon Bai Qing Mao, then dragged Chu Kuang onto the horse with brute force.

Fang Jingyu was chilled to the bone. He squeezed the horse’s flanks, signaling Bai Qing Mao to charge forward. Only then did he have a moment to glance back at Chu Kuang. Chu Kuang slumped weakly against his back, limp as if all his bones had been pulled out, his face pale as snow. The hole punched through his torso had soaked his entire back with blood. Fang Jingyu’s hands were slick with it, and he shouted in panic:

“Chu Kuang… Chu Kuang!”

Chu Kuang still had a thread of breath. He opened his eyes with difficulty, but as soon as he moved his lips, a gush of bloody foam surged out. Barely audible, he pointed toward the bowbag. Fang Jingyu growled, “You’re insane! Still thinking of drawing a bow at a time like this?”

But Chu Kuang’s fingers lost strength and fell limply, like a puppet with its strings cut. Fang Jingyu dared not delay. He bent down and flipped open the bowbag, finding inside a pigskin pouch—filthy and black. Then it hit him. Back in Milu Village, the Da Yuan Dao leader had given this pouch to Xiao Jiao, saying it was a condiment for meat porridge. Somehow, Chu Kuang must have picked it up afterward.

Opening the pouch now, he found it filled with jet-black slices of meat, wriggling like worms. Fang Jingyu’s skin crawled. Was Chu Kuang asking him to feed him this?

Then he remembered—when he had been seriously injured before, he seemed to hear Chu Kuang mention that this meat could heal wounds and restore strength. Perhaps it had effects similar to the “Immortal Elixir.” The walking meat had eaten it before too. Eat it and go mad, or don’t eat and die. There was no time for hesitation. Fang Jingyu picked up a piece, pried open Chu Kuang’s mouth, and forced it in.

Moments after Chu Kuang swallowed the meat, he began to cough violently, spewing blood with every heave—his condition seemed worse than before. Fang Jingyu’s heart thudded in terror, until he heard Chu Kuang whisper faintly:

“…It hurts.”

“Where does it hurt?” Fang Jingyu asked urgently.

“…My head.” Chu Kuang’s voice was weak, his eyes still unfocused. But Fang Jingyu breathed a sigh of relief—if his head hurt more than the wound, it meant there was hope. Looking again at the gaping hole in his torso, he saw it was slowly beginning to close. The meat from the Da Yuan Dao leader truly had some strange, miraculous effect.

Whether it had long-term side effects was unknown, but to save Chu Kuang’s life, Fang Jingyu had no other choice. Xiao Jiao had already ridden ahead, and Fang Jingyu urged his horse to follow.

Zhenhai Pass came into view—but in front of it swarmed rows of soldiers, a solid wall of black. Behind them, the Yu Ji Guard and Yu Yin Guard galloped in pursuit. They were caught between pincers, like fish in a trap.

Just then, a lone rider burst out from the soldiers wielding a steel sword, charging toward them. At the same moment, the Yu Ji Guard laughed behind them:

“Don’t think you can get away, boy!”

A series of finger flicks came flying—like lethal beasts pouncing after their prey. Worried that Chu Kuang might be hit, Fang Jingyu turned his horse around and shielded him. But just one flick sent searing pain across his entire body, as if he’d been chewed up by a saw blade. He was about to collapse when he saw that mounted soldier swing his sword—not at him, but at the Yu Ji Guard!

The blade swept out with a fierce momentum, halting the Yu Ji Guard in his tracks. The air itself seemed to scream.

Fang Jingyu’s eyes widened.

He saw a face that should never have appeared here—someone from his past.

It wasn’t just him— even the Yu Ji Guard stared in shock. That rider was clad in shining armor, tall and broad as a mountain, his sword-sharp gaze like blazing stars, wild as a tiger—he was Langgan Guard!

The soldiers from Zhenhai surged forward, surrounding the Langgan Guard and shielding Fang Jingyu and the others behind them. These weren’t ordinary gatekeepers—they were the Langgan Guard’s retainers, long hidden on the border of Yingzhou, now reemerging at last.

Fang Jingyu’s mouth hung open. After a long moment, he stammered:
“…Father?”

Even the Yu Ji Guard’s face changed. He shouted, “Langgan Guard—didn’t you pass away! How can you be here?!”

Suddenly, realization dawned. He did recall hearing from the Mohe Guard that when the Fang family held a funeral, the Langgan Guard had “died,” and only a box of ashes remained—his remains supposedly burned, preventing anyone from performing the bone-drip test on Fang Jingyu.

But what if that death was just a ruse? If the Langgan Guard had protected Emperor Bai’s orphan for over twenty years, he could not have been a fool. The Yu Ji Guard had always suspected he might still be alive—now, that suspicion was confirmed.

The Langgan Guard hadn’t died—he had waited in ambush at Zhenhai Pass, wings hidden.

The Yu Ji Guard threw back his head and laughed, his chest heaving. All of Penglai had been fooled by this one family for over twenty years!

The man gave a slight smile. “The Langgan Guard truly did die—he died before the eyes of the Mohe Guard. The one standing here now… is just a commoner named Fang Huaixian.”

He raised his steel sword, morning light dancing along its blade like a flare. The soldiers shouted in unison, their roar drowning even the sea’s fury. The sun’s golden light broke across the sky—the new dawn had come. The man bellowed to the stunned officials of Xian Mountain:

“Brothers, guard the heir! Escort him out of the pass!”

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  refers to Hou Yi (后羿) is a legendary figure from Chinese mythology, known as a divine archer. He is most famous for the myth in which ten suns rose in the sky, scorching the earth and threatening all life. Hou Yi shot down nine of the ten suns, leaving just one to provide light and warmth. Fan Ruo has nothing to do with Huo Yi, the author probably tied them together for mythic weight.