HCAW 47

Chapter 47 – A Name Recorded in History

In the blink of an eye, the Langgan Guard and the Yu Ji Guard clashed in chaos.

When the Xian Mountain Guards crossed blades, the heavens and earth would tremble. The Langgan Guard wielded refined steel longswords, shaking the six directions¹“six directions” (六合 / liùhé) refer to the six spatial dimensions that encompass all existence: East (東) West (西) South (南) North (北) Up / Heaven (上 / 天) Down / Earth (下 / 地) and four seas with his might. The Yu Ji Guard, with his iron palms impervious to blades and spears, radiated a fierce aura that pierced the heavens. In moments, a cloud of dust shot up before Zhenhai Pass. Ordinary soldiers, should they carelessly stumble into this clash, would at best suffer torn muscles and broken bones—at worst, lose their lives. Witnessing this scene, none dared to draw near.

The Yu Ji Guard frowned slightly. He had heard that the Langgan Guard had long been bedridden, yet upon crossing blades, he found the man before him vigorous and sharp, not at all like someone weakened by illness. The Langgan Guard’s strikes were ruthless, even more refined than nine years ago. The elder shouted:

“Langgan Guard! Was your ailment merely a ruse?”

The Langgan Guard gave a slight smile. “I may not be clever at scheming, but I am no brute. Better to die on the battlefield than rot away in bed.” His eyes widened in fury, and he suddenly shouted, “The Fang clan has kept low for over twenty years, all for this day! Emperor Bai was no tyrant—only slander and lies have turned truth to falsehood. Penglai needs a new sovereign to ascend the throne, campaign against the Ming Sea, and ultimately reach Guixu, to end the endless snow disasters!”

He turned back and shouted, “Jingyu, go! Leave through Zhenhai Pass and take a boat to another Xian Mountain!”

Fang Jingyu was stunned. “Then… what about you, Father?”

He stared at the Langgan Guard’s back, emotions churning. As a child crawling on the ground, he had often looked up to this towering figure. The Langgan Guard’s coldness had once filled him with grief. But now it was different—he understood this figure was a rampart, a great shield, an eave sheltering him from wind, snow, and storms.

The Langgan Guard laughed heartily. “Don’t worry! Your father’s a cunning rabbit with three burrows—those old geezers won’t catch me. Go on, I’ll catch up!”

The Yu Ji Guard sneered coldly. “Langgan Guard, aren’t you overestimating yourself? You’re only ranked eighth among the Xian Mountain Guards, and yet you dare challenge me as an equal? Foolish dreams!”

The elder bent low, his ten fingers like iron blades stabbing into the earth. All around, the ground trembled as if the sea surged and mountains groaned. The onlookers were shocked—could this old man really flip the land over?

Suddenly, an iron arrow shot across the sky like a flying swan, aimed straight at the Yu Ji Guard. His hands were buried in the earth and couldn’t rise in time—but he tilted his neck, and with rows of jagged iron teeth, he bit the arrow in midair.

As everyone was still dazed, they saw a young man in an iron mask on a black steed ahead, panting as he shouted, “Fire the powder-tipped arrows!”

It was a prime opportunity to strike the Yu Ji Guard, and so the archers drew their bows. Explosions of powder rang out nonstop.

That youth was none other than Chu Kuang, barely recovered from grave injuries. His face was pale, blood still at the corner of his mouth, and his body swayed like a paper sheet, on the verge of collapse. Yet he ignored Fang Jingyu’s protests, mounted a piebald horse, and charged into the smoke, firing at the Yu Ji Guard.

Chu Kuang knew well that this elder’s head was like bronze and his arms like iron—one moment of slack in combat would shift the tide against him.

Yellow dust blanketed the land like hanging clouds. From within the smoke, a sudden whistle burst forth—that snapping sound of the Yu Ji Guard’s fingers. Chu Kuang twisted to dodge, but a sudden dizziness dulled his reaction. He slipped from the horse. As the fierce wind swept toward him, a sword appeared from the side and blocked it head-on.

Chu Kuang looked up in shock—standing before him was the Langgan Guard. A shining longsword gleamed in his hand, as if it could shield him from all peril.

The Langgan Guard also looked back at him. That firm and resolute gaze suddenly softened like spring ice.

“Minsheng,” the man called.

Chu Kuang was momentarily dazed.

His head throbbed painfully. Ever since he ate that piece of meat from the Da Yuan Dao leader, he had healed, yet his mind grew ever more muddled. He felt as if something important had been forgotten. Had he known the Langgan Guard before?

The man turned and touched Chu Kuang’s cheek with a rough fingertip. His eyes were filled with longing, guilt, and reluctance as he said:

“You did well. It’s your father who wronged you.”

In that instant, the heavy burden in Chu Kuang’s heart vanished like smoke. He stared blankly at the man, and for some reason, it felt like eating a plum—his heart ached with bittersweet sorrow. Unknowingly, tears welled in his eyes. The Langgan Guard gently pushed his shoulder.

“Go. I’ll handle the Yu Ji Guard. Go back to Jingyu—you’re his morning star!”

Chu Kuang stumbled back a few steps, watching the man plunge into the yellow dust. His figure vanished like a water droplet swallowed by waves. Due to the meat’s effect, he no longer remembered this was a reunion after nine long years. He only felt a hollow ache in his heart and, as if bewitched, obeyed the man’s words. He turned and ran into the dust, toward Fang Jingyu.

Seeing Chu Kuang return, Fang Jingyu’s eyes lit up. He quickly grabbed his hand and scolded, “You’re still injured—how can you be running around like this!”

“My injuries… are healed.”

“Even so, you can’t just run around. Come, let’s get to the Ming Sea Bridge!”

But Chu Kuang hesitated. “Wouldn’t that be leaving him to die?”

Fang Jingyu asked, “Left whom to die?”

Chu Kuang paused. “Your father.” His head throbbed terribly—his thoughts were tangled and unclear.

“If we die here, that would be truly betraying their will.” Fang Jingyu’s gaze was firm. “My father is mighty—he won’t die here. Didn’t you always say you’d take me out of Penglai? Then take me.”

Chu Kuang looked at him. His eyes were dark and bright, like a mirror reflecting the whole world. So Chu Kuang composed himself and nodded, running with him through the Zhenhai Pass gate.

By now the dust had settled, but the Yu Ji Guard was nowhere to be seen. The soldiers panicked as the Xian Mountain officials, who had come with both the Yu Ji and Yu Yin Guards, surged forward like a rising tide, plunging Zhenhai Pass into chaos.

The Langgan Guard, sword in hand, searched the surroundings and finally spotted the elder’s figure. He moved like a swallow, stepping atop the black walls with ease—he was climbing the side to cross the pass toward the Ming Sea Bridge!

At that moment, Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang were rushing to the bridge. Through the Taoyuan Stone Gate, once atop the bridge, they could journey deep into the Ming Sea and set sail for another Xian Mountain. Still young and green, the two would surely die if they faced the Yu Ji Guard head-on. The Langgan Guard clenched his teeth and gave chase.

Brilliant dawn bloomed at the horizon. A glimmer of light pierced the sky like a needlepoint. The dark Ming Sea Bridge was bathed in morning light. Guided by the Langgan Guard’s old subordinates, Fang Jingyu, Chu Kuang, and Xiao Jiao had reached the bridge’s head—but the Yu Ji Guard still pursued relentlessly.

The Langgan Guard caught up and shouted, “Old lackey, you’re brave enough to bully the weak from on high, but not to face your Xian Mountain peers in open combat?”

The Yu Ji Guard laughed coldly. “Langgan Guard, I’m not here for you. If you want your bones mended for speed, come find me another day!”

The Langgan Guard whistled. His old subordinates understood at once, tossing nooses from all sides to bind the Yu Ji Guard. These tethers, used for wild stallions, had iron hooks. Together, they pulled tight, binding the burly elder fast.

But the Yu Ji Guard possessed monstrous strength and the might of a war god. Within moments, he flexed his muscles and tore the ropes apart. Still wearing a composed smile, he drew a pouch from his waist—larger than a typical official’s—and retrieved two gauntlets.

The gauntlets, forged from Tianshan gold, fit like savage tiger claws.

At the sight of them, dread filled the crowd. The Yu Ji Guard had already driven them to the brink barehanded—now armed with favored weapons, how could they possibly resist? Claws were a lowly weapon, but in his hands, they were enough to bring despair.

Sure enough, with the golden claws donned, the Yu Ji Guard’s ferocity surged. One slash unleashed five gusts, each as powerful as the flicks he used before. Anyone struck had their skin torn, blood spraying, and limbs maimed. The Langgan Guard met his blows with a sword, each strike like facing the fury of a whale or a fierce shark.

To prevent his longsword from breaking, the Langgan Guard gripped the hilt with one hand and the blade with the other, executing the refined technique of half-swording. Since the Yu Ji Guard’s body was as solid as stone, only by holding the blade itself and channeling power into the front section could he generate enough force to pierce armor and leave wounds on his flesh. After a few exchanges, the Yu Ji Guard burst out laughing:

“Langgan Guard, truly a treasured blade that has not dulled with time. You go to such lengths to protect the son of a tyrant of the previous dynasty—aren’t you afraid there’ll be no place left for you in Penglai?”

The Langgan Guard shouted, “The Emperor is dead. My wife is gone. What do I have left to fear? If I can’t remain in Penglai, I’ll go to one of the other Xian Mountains. The world is vast—why would it not hold me?”

But the Yu Ji Guard was, after all, among the top ranks of the Xian Mountain Guards. In a contest of brute strength, the Langgan Guard fell behind. As their battle intensified, Chu Kuang stopped, spun, pulled back his bone bow, and shouted, “Clear the way!”

Sensing something, the Langgan Guard quickly dodged. Chu Kuang released seven arrows in rapid succession, each striking the Tianshan golden gauntlets. This time, each arrow was a fire-pomegranate arrow.²So in the term 火石榴箭: “火” = fire “石榴” = pomegranate (likely metaphor for something that bursts) “箭” = arrow

In an instant, flames surged, heating the gauntlets to a searing temperature. The old man gritted his teeth, his movements slowing. He realized Chu Kuang was trying to force him to shed the burning gauntlets.

The Yu Ji Guard roared with laughter, flung off the golden claws, and waved a hand to summon another set of iron gauntlets from the Xian Mountain officials behind him. Though not as fearsome as the golden ones, these new claws were still sharp. Resuming combat with the Langgan Guard, he held his ground. After a few fierce clashes, cracks appeared on the steel longsword—it was about to break.

Fang Jingyu shouted, “Father!” and threw the Hanguang Sword to the Langgan Guard.

The Langgan Guard caught it with a reverse grip and laughed, “Jingyu, watch closely—I’ll show you the Fang clan swordsmanship!”

As he spoke, the man lunged with a swift, forceful thrust aimed at a vital point. He shouted, “This is called ‘An Inch of Gold’!”

The next move was a storm of strikes, blade flashes like whirling snow. He said, “This is ‘Frost Across the Courtyard’!”

Then came another sword technique, vast and awe-inspiring. “The Rainbow Over Upper River!”

He followed with more moves: “Jade Pot’s Water,” “Golden Thread,” “Tune of the Waters,” and “Flowers in the Small Courtyard”—seven techniques in total, each executed to perfection. It was the first time Fang Jingyu had seen the family’s secret arts in full display. Awestruck, he silently committed every move to memory.

These seven sword forms, forged through years of refinement, pushed the Yu Ji Guard into temporary retreat. But the Yu Ji Guard only laughed. “Langgan Guard, you truly haven’t aged like the rest. If this were twenty or thirty years earlier, I might have had to give up my place as number two! But I won’t tangle with you any longer—the Emperor’s orders take precedence—”

The old man’s gaze passed over the Langgan Guard’s shoulder and blazed onto Fang Jingyu like fire. He laughed wickedly:

“The real priority—is to kill this boy right here and now!”

In a flash, the Yu Ji Guard surged forward like a storm wind. With a powerful leap, he vaulted past the Langgan Guard. Twin iron claws gleamed as they stabbed toward Fang Jingyu. The Langgan Guard, sensing danger, rushed to intercept—but it was too late.

In that moment of crisis, Xiao Jiao hurled a firecracker with a loud bang! The Yu Ji Guard’s steps faltered for an instant. The Langgan Guard seized the opportunity to throw himself between them—but still couldn’t block the incoming claw. The iron gauntlet grazed past the Hanguang Sword and drove straight toward the Langgan Guard’s chest.

Just as another tragedy was about to unfold, a vivid memory flashed before Fang Jingyu’s eyes—Chu Kuang, covered in blood, collapsing weakly against him. His whole body shuddered.

How could he let someone else take the blow for him again?

He was the son of Emperor Bai—how could he disgrace that once-proud title? How could he let loyal followers shed blood while he remained unscathed?

In that split second, it was as if lightning cleaved his mind open. His muscles tensed like drawn bows, and the dragon-head iron bones creaked as if they would shatter. He had already given the Hanguang Sword to the Langgan Guard—now, with empty hands, how could he fight back?

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a long blade stuck in the Taoyuan Stone Gate, covered in moss and vines, nearly forgotten by time. Scarlet blood-arrow flowers bloomed across it like flames. That’s right—he had forgotten. This blade was still here. It was the very sword Emperor Bai had wielded eighty-one years ago in a legendary campaign—

The Vipasyin Blade!

Without hesitation, Fang Jingyu’s hands shot out like thunderbolts and seized the ancient hilt.

This was a blade even the Yu Ji Guard had failed to draw. It was unimaginably heavy, and the hilt burned like fire. The moment Fang Jingyu gripped it, it felt as though his whole body was being pulled into the blade. The dragon-head iron bones shook violently. Thunder roared through his body, and blood oozed from his skin under the strain—like red tattoos etching themselves into his flesh.

The Vipasyin Blade had stood immovable for nearly a hundred years. How could a mere Xian Mountain official hope to take it? Fang Jingyu was wracked with agony, sparks flaring through every vein. Yet he clenched his teeth and swore: he would draw this blade—and save lives!

In that instant, tiger roars and dragon cries resounded across the heavens. It was the roar of the sword as it quaked the world. Inch by inch, the blade rose from the Taoyuan Stone. The Yu Ji Guard froze mid-attack, eyes wide with disbelief, watching a young man whose hands dripped blood, eyes reddened, and teeth clenched to the point of near shattering.

Moss fell from the blade as its mirror-like edge reemerged, glowing with blazing golden light. The chasing Xian Mountain officials turned pale, gasping in shock.

Fang Jingyu had drawn the imperial sword that had remained untouched for nearly a century—Vipasyin Blade!

The Yu Ji Guard’s face turned corpse-like with shock. The youth’s features overlapped with the Emperor Bai of eighty-one years past—radiant and indomitable.

In the moment the Yu Ji Guard was distracted, Fang Jingyu lifted the Vipasyin Blade, poured all his strength into it, and swung with all his might.

The strike mirrored the Langgan Guard’s earlier “Frost Across the Courtyard”—bold and sweeping. The Yu Ji Guard was slashed across the chest, a line of blood blooming like red thread into the sky.

Though it was merely a flesh wound, the Yu Ji Guard had not suffered a blow like that in ten years. He staggered back, face filled with disbelief. As he fell to the ground, he looked skyward and let out a wild howl—then burst into laughter.

“Good—brilliant! The orphan of Emperor Bai… so that’s how it is! Just like him… Fang brat, you’re the spitting image of Emperor Bai!”

While the Yu Ji Guard was down, Chu Kuang threw Fang Jingyu a leather strap. Fang Jingyu quickly slung the blade across his back. The Langgan Guard tossed the Hanguang Sword back to him and shouted:

“Jingyu, go! This is as far as I can take you. The rest of the road—you walk it yourself!”

The former subordinates of the Langgan Guard were retreating one by one—clearly, they had prepared an escape route. Fang Jingyu stamped his foot and stood still for a moment, looking at the Langgan Guard, at this father he had once hated with clenched teeth, yet now could not bear to part from. The man’s temples were already flecked with gray, soaked in the frost and snow of Penglai. In this moment, Fang Jingyu suddenly felt that his father no longer seemed so towering as he once had.

In the morning light, the Langgan Guard smiled at him and glanced toward Chu Kuang. “No, looks like you’ve got someone with you. Take care of each other on the road ahead.”

Fang Jingyu nodded and finally said, “I’m going, Father.”

The Langgan Guard replied, “Safe travels.”

The sun rose, golden light gradually spreading over the land as the indigo of night receded. The two turned and walked in completely different directions. Fang Jingyu moved toward the dark and boundless Ming Sea—yet into the light. The Langgan Guard walked into the surging crowd, took the iron sword passed to him by his men, and stood before the pursuers, charging into the shadows to fight, bathed in blood.

Most of the Xian Mountain officials were still reeling from the shock of that world-shaking slash Fang Jingyu had unleashed with the Vipasyin Blade. Discussions erupted. Among the old troops, someone shouted, “Emperor Bai!” Then threes and fives echoed the cry—“Emperor Bai! Emperor Bai!” The call spread until even some of the pursuing Xian Mountain officials, emboldened, joined in:

“Escort Emperor Bai out of the Pass!”

Still, some soldiers clung to dreams of military merit. Taking advantage of the Langgan Guard’s divided attention, they rushed toward the three crossing the Ming Sea Bridge. Seeing the soldiers approaching, Chu Kuang turned to Fang Jingyu and Xiao Jiao and asked:

“Do you two trust me?”

“At this point, what’s the use of asking that?”

“In that case, follow me and jump!” Chu Kuang said, grabbing the iron chains of the bridge. Fang Jingyu hesitated for a moment, looking down. The black sea below felt impossibly distant. Many armored warships patrolled the waters—if they jumped, they would either be devoured by the sea or torn to shreds by enemy soldiers. Some of the pursuing military officers even jeered:

“Ha! A bunch of little monkeys offing themselves—let’s carve them up for the brothers!”

But in the next moment, Fang Jingyu’s palms were gripped by two pairs of hands—Chu Kuang and Xiao Jiao, one on each side. Xiao Jiao said, “Jump!” So Fang Jingyu nodded—and leapt.

Wind howled in their ears as the three of them plunged from the Ming Sea Bridge, falling into the inky waters below. Armored warships closed in, blades drawn, trying to capture them before they hit the water.

But just before they reached the surface, a swift boat appeared. Bundles of straw were stacked high atop its cabin, cushioning their landing. The ship’s crew were all former subordinates of the Langgan Guard from Yingzhou. As the three rose to their feet, they saw Zheng Deli grinning and waving from the helm, carrying a medicine box and a tern cage.

Xiao Jiao tumbled up with a shout, “No Balls Zheng, how’d you get here?”

Zheng Deli replied, “You all go do something this thrilling and don’t even call me? That’s not very brotherly.” Calling such a deadly mission “thrilling” left Fang Jingyu half laughing, half crying.

As they spoke, the armored warships had already mounted their trebuchets, loading twelve-jin stones. The muzzles aimed straight at their swift boat.

Xiao Jiao quickly shouted, “Go! Go!”

But looking at the enemy ships closing in like a curtain of night, there seemed no chance of escape.

Then—the warships did not attack. The soldiers fumed and cursed, but their machines didn’t work. Some had torn leather sleeves, others had cut ropes. Clearly, the Langgan Guard’s men had sabotaged the ships ahead of time. With the siege engines disabled, the soldiers tried to ram the swift boat instead.

Just then, Chu Kuang raised the Fan Ruo Bow and fired a fire-pomegranate arrow—not at the ships, but into the sea. With a boom, the surface of the water erupted into flames. The soldiers aboard the swift boat followed suit, launching fire arrows into the sea—flames rose into the sky.

It turned out a layer of fire oil had been spread over the water near shore. Chu Kuang had purchased it days earlier from Mule. The black Ming Sea had hidden it well, and the Yu Ji Guard’s troops hadn’t noticed. The blaze cut off pursuit. The swift boat raised sail and left Penglai behind.

Back on the Ming Sea Bridge, the Yu Ji Guard clutched his wound and rose sharply. He watched the swift boat vanish beyond the flames, speechless. His smile vanished as he barked, “Chase them!”

“M-my lord, the fire oil’s too thick to cross for now. And today the northeast wind is blowing—we’ll have to wait for the flames to die down…”

The Yu Ji Guard inhaled deeply and said nothing. After a while, he spoke: “Prepare ships once the fire is out. We pursue.” He asked, “Are there other ships at Chunsheng Pass?”

A soldier paled and reported, “My lord, last night… bandits set fires and seized boats near the ferry. Most of our vessels were destroyed. With the executions today, there wasn’t time to report…”

The Yu Ji Guard’s eyes bulged like ox-eyes. Releasing the chain in his hand, the soldiers saw—he had crushed it into powder.

Looking back, the Langgan Guard and his men were already gone. That seemingly proper and loyal man had a mind as cunning as the Mohe Guard. Everything had come to a close. The fugitives could not be caught.

Frustrated, the old man tilted his head to the sky and howled. His bloodshot eyes burned. “Chase them! Even if to the ends of the earth—I’ll drag them back in chains!”

By now, dawn had broken. Golden light spread across the heavens, setting the world ablaze. The swift boat sailed toward the edge of that light. From afar, Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang stood at the bow, shoulder to shoulder, casting a final smile back at their pursuers.

The Yu Yin Guard stepped onto the Ming Sea Bridge and stood beside the Yu Ji Guard. The old woman gazed at the scene and suddenly said, “Yu Ji Guard, don’t those two look familiar to you?”

The Yu Ji Guard sneered, “Didn’t at first. After all this mess—they certainly do now.”

The Yu Yin Guard shook her head. Her eyes pierced the fire curtain to the two figures at the bow. “That’s not what I meant. Eighty-one years ago, there were two others who left Zhenhai Pass, bound for Guixu. Doesn’t today feel just like that day?”

The old man said nothing. Of course he remembered—back then, Emperor Bai had been a dazzling young sovereign, able to seize stars and grasp clouds. The histories recorded it: he and the Tianfu Guard left the Pass, braving danger and crossing four Xian Mountains. Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang were just like them.

So the elder murmured softly:

“‘When the dormant dragon roars, mountains and rivers rise—The earth bears genius, and the heavens favor the bold.’”

Then he laughed aloud. “‘Every five hundred years, a ruler must rise—and among them, a brilliant one shall appear.’ But whether their departure brings fortune to Penglai—or disaster—who can say?”

The old woman replied, “Fortune or disaster, Penglai will remember this day forever.”

A rare smile crept onto her cold face:

“Their journey from here on—will be remembered in the annals of history.”

The two fell silent, watching the swift boat vanish into the distance. The sun had fully risen. Even the pitch-black Ming Sea now glowed with gold. The waters looked like they were set aflame, the mountains seemed to burn, and even the wind carried a radiant warmth. At this moment, the whole sky and earth were bright—night had passed.

Since Emperor Bai’s campaign nearly a century ago, the sun had risen 29,565 times.

But only this day’s sunrise had bathed all of Penglai in its light.

_________

—End of Volume One: Penglai Night—

Volume One complete!

The theme of this volume was night and stars. I approached each volume like a standalone novella, and with this, one arc comes to a close! The next volume will be a new journey—I hope reading it brings you joy (^^*) I originally set out to write some stylish fight scenes, but I may have overdone it… I mentioned last time I wanted to challenge myself, so this story uses a different narrative approach than my previous ones. If you noticed any of the hidden setups along the way—great job! I love both protagonists dearly and wanted to portray them well, hehe~

The next volume will feature Xiao Chu—it’s time for some romance! (rubs hands)

Thank you all so much for your support—I love you! *′)′)

Volume Two – Yingzhou Fire

• 1
  “six directions” (六合 / liùhé) refer to the six spatial dimensions that encompass all existence: East (東) West (西) South (南) North (北) Up / Heaven (上 / 天) Down / Earth (下 / 地)
• 2
  So in the term 火石榴箭: “火” = fire “石榴” = pomegranate (likely metaphor for something that bursts) “箭” = arrow