HCAW 48

Chapter 48 – Fallen Leaves with No Home

Eight years ago, at the foot of Guxie Mountain.

The mountain was lush, the wind cool. From the woods came a soft sound, like the cry of a deer. A deer stepped through the trees and leaves, ears perked, seemingly listening for the source of the call.

Suddenly, a reed arrow shot out from the forest—sharp and swift—it struck the deer’s neck with a snap. The deer gave a pained cry, collapsed to the ground, and twitched its hooves in its final moments.

A thin, frail-looking boy lowered his birch-bark whistle and emerged from the woods. He stood silently beside the dying deer, waiting for it to go still. Then, he tied up its legs with rope, slung the coarse fiber over his bony shoulders, and struggled to drag it out of the forest. His archery was poor—nine out of ten shots missed. This was the only prey he had caught in two days.

When he dragged the deer to a stone cave, someone had already lit a fire. That person smiled. “You’re back?”

The boy nodded.

The speaker wore a black cloak and a silver mask. He stepped forward, hoisted the deer onto a rope strung between two trees, and efficiently carved it apart. He instructed the boy to take the legs to the stream to wash away the blood and gamey stench.

By the time the boy returned, night had fallen. The masked man shared the roasted meat with him. The boy curled up in the corner of the cave, gnawing at the meat like a small dog. His delicate face was half-hidden by messy hair, and one eye was a blood-red dual pupil.

The man looked at him and said, “Once you’re full, rest well. Tomorrow, learn the sword with me.”

The boy shook his head and rasped, “I won’t learn the sword.”

“Why not?” the man asked, puzzled. The boy gave no reply, sitting still as stone in the shadows, chewing silently. The man thought for a moment, sat beside him, removed his sword, and forced it into the boy’s greasy hands. The boy recoiled as if bitten by a snake.

So the man said, “I understand now—you’re afraid of the sword, aren’t you?”

The boy’s gaze darkened. He neither confirmed nor denied it. The man asked, “Why are you afraid of it? Were you hurt by a sword before?”

The boy’s eyes trembled. He knew that wasn’t it. What he feared was the reflection of himself on the blade’s surface—as if the moment he held a sword, he would become someone completely different. That person had once worn silks and dined on delicacies, cherished as a favored son. But now, he had suffered torment, reduced to dust.

At that thought, the old arrow wound on his head suddenly throbbed. The boy clutched his skull, vision blurring. Memories broke across his mind like shards of porcelain, each leaving pain behind. He saw someone beating him, jeering, “Filthy brat born of a bitch!” Then came scenes of him being strung up, his flesh branded by hot irons, pinned beneath another… One brutal image after another surged into his mind—

From afar, someone called:

“Chu Kuang!”

The voice drew closer. He felt his shoulders being gripped. The man shouted, anxious, “Chu Kuang… Chu Kuang!”

The boy slowly opened his eyes, drenched in sweat, realizing he had passed out while holding his head. He croaked, “Master.”

Only then did the masked man breathe in relief. He took a cloth and wiped the boy’s face, saying, “Why so afraid? If you truly don’t want to learn swordsmanship, we won’t. But you must be good at something. Once we leave Guxie Mountain, if someone comes to kill you, you must protect yourself.”

“Who would try to kill me?”

“Many. Far too many people have their eyes on your life.”

After a while, the masked man asked, “What about learning saber, spear, or staff?”

The boy thought, then shook his head again. Though those weapons didn’t cause as strong a reaction as the sword, they still made his head throb. It seemed his past self had mastered every kind of martial art.

The masked man gave a wry smile. “You sure are stubborn. My best skill is swordplay. I had hoped to pass it on to you—but now there’s no helping it. So, what do you want to learn?”

The boy named Chu Kuang turned his gaze to a bow off to the side.

It was only six feet long, made of bamboo and ox sinew. He felt somehow that this was one skill his former self hadn’t excelled in—and if he learned it now, perhaps the nightmares wouldn’t follow him.

So he said, “I want to learn archery.”

The master was slightly troubled. He muttered, “Archery, huh… It’s not that I can’t teach you, but I’m not exactly a master archer. In Yingzhou, the Ruyi Guard has fine archers—she even owns a whole box of fine arrows called ‘Jin Pugu,’ and they make me drool with envy. But she never meddles in worldly affairs…”

In the end, the master slapped his thigh and said, “Alright then! Archery it is! I don’t believe I can’t teach it!”

They waited for a mild, sunny day and stepped out of the cave. The foot of Guxie Mountain was covered in endless green, with the occasional lark’s song.

Larks were small—at most five inches long—but when they spread their wings, they flew fast and high, chirping in flight, often heard but unseen. The master said to Chu Kuang, “Try drawing the bow. See if you can hit them.”

He strapped tight sleeves onto Chu Kuang’s arms, gave him a leather chest guard and a thumb ring, then corrected his stance, guiding him to nock the arrow and draw the string. Chu Kuang had a vague sense that he had done this before. Following his master’s instructions wasn’t difficult. But the first arrow missed. The master told him, “Your technique’s not the problem. Your mind isn’t calm yet.”

“How do I calm my mind?”

“Watch where the arrowhead is headed. Let your mind be free of all else.”

Chu Kuang looked up at the sky. The blue above was like a great swath of fabric, stretching over him and the lark, trapping them in an invisible cage. He had nothing. No home, no family. What distractions could he possibly have?

In that instant, he pushed the bow with his tiger’s mouth and loosed an arrow.

A sharp cry rang out. The master shouted joyfully, “Well done! You hit it!”

But Chu Kuang was blank and disoriented. He looked at the grass, where a lark lay bleeding. It struggled, then died. That tiny body would never again soar across the skies. Just like him.

The master trained him in archery for some time, and Chu Kuang improved rapidly. One night, by the campfire, the master smiled and praised him, “You understand everything the moment I explain it. Like melting snow in a furnace. In no time, not even the border army’s elite archers could match you. When the time comes, I’ll bring you to train with the Yingzhou military. The battlefield will refine your skills better than bird hunting ever could.”

Chu Kuang said nothing.

The master looked at his lifeless face, then smiled and called out, “Chu Kuang.”

Chu Kuang looked up. The master said, “Don’t wear that long face. Do you know how to deal with tigers and wolves?”

“Throw stones at them?”

“Stones only keep them at bay for a moment. You must smile. The more calm and composed you are, the more your enemy will falter.”

Chu Kuang replied, “What’s the use of smiling? In the blink of an eye, that beast can rip your throat out.”

The master said nothing, only smiled. After a long pause, he said, “Take that bow and go try it. Right now, you’re still too restrained. You must become a beast yourself.”

He added, “A beast that fears nothing—one that can break out of any cage.”

Clouds filled the sky, and moonlight gleamed in the cold air. Chu Kuang carried his bamboo bow into the woods. During the day, he had dug pits and set snares to catch foxes and lynxes.

But by the stream, he saw under the moonlight a lone wolf drinking. Its eyes glowed green, ribs tight against its belly—it looked starved for over half a month. Chu Kuang tensed. The wolf raised its head and met his gaze.

Chu Kuang’s body tensed. He grabbed his bow and pulled the string—but the starving wolf was faster. Its body sprang like a loosed string and lunged at him. Its fangs tore a gash into his leg. Chu Kuang remembered: wolves liked to torture their prey, waiting until their victim lost all strength before delivering a fatal strike.

Had it not been so hungry and weak, his throat would already be torn out. The wolf was too fast. In the blink of an eye, Chu Kuang had several more wounds. He fought back with all his strength—but all he had was a wooden bow. The wolf was far too close. There was no way he could kill it from this range.

In the midst of the pain, Chu Kuang suddenly felt a flicker of regret—should he have just learned the sword from his master back then? If he’d studied swordsmanship, perhaps he could now defend himself.

The night was dark, the moon growing dim. A veil of black seemed to shroud the woods, not even a hand visible before one’s face. Only the wolf’s lantern-like eyes floated in the air. Chu Kuang struggled with all his might to fend it off, but new wounds kept appearing on his body. Blood poured endlessly; his consciousness neared collapse. He had forgotten the martial arts he once knew, flailing in panic, trying to flee. The starving wolf went all in, jaws snapping at his throat again and again. Chu Kuang was knocked down. His strength was draining. The foul breath of the wolf’s muzzle hovered near his neck.

If this went on—he would die.

Despair struck him. He couldn’t believe he would die here, worse than that lark he shot, not even getting the chance to spread his wings before being torn open. Then his master’s words flashed through his mind: “You have to smile. The calmer you are, the more your enemy will falter.”

What use is a smile? Yet in that desperate moment, Chu Kuang could only try. Drenched in sweat, he forced a smile.

To his surprise, the wolf froze upon seeing his face. In that brief instant, Chu Kuang rolled over and threw it off him. The wolf lunged again, jaws wide, and Chu Kuang raised his bow stave to block. In that moment, he seemed to understand—his master had told him to smile so he could draw courage from it.

The wolf whimpered beneath him. The bowstring snapped. Chu Kuang seized the bow’s sinew and strangled the beast’s thick neck. The wolf’s claws tore more gashes across him, but he no longer felt a thing. The blood kept flowing, and a strange surge rose within him.

He suddenly realized—it was the effect of the meat his master had fed him. Ever since he was rescued, he had suffered nightmares, hallucinations, fits of mad rage like a rabid dog.

It felt like flames burned through his muscles and veins. He wanted to laugh—let that fire burst from his throat.

Kill! A beast-like instinct surged through his body. His eyes turned blood-red as he stared the wolf down. When the claws came again, he dodged, then, with sudden savagery, bit into its leg. Warm blood filled his mouth, and he had only one thought left:

Kill! Kill! Kill!

By midnight, covered in blood, Chu Kuang dragged a dead wolf back to the stone cave.

His master still sat by the fire, a rope already tied to hang the wolf carcass. Seeing Chu Kuang’s state, he wasn’t surprised. “Back already?”

Chu Kuang nodded.

“Think it would’ve been better to learn swordsmanship? If you’d mastered it, that beast wouldn’t have gotten close.”

Chu Kuang still shook his head. So the master said, “If you insist on archery, then your arrows must be faster and deadlier. Never give the enemy a chance to breathe. Arrows are hidden weapons, unlike the sword—they must kill in one strike. Once loosed, they are no longer your concern. It’s harder than swordsmanship. Are you still willing?”

“I am,” Chu Kuang answered.

To the master’s surprise, the boy wore a smile on his face—because of the blood, it looked eerie, like a beast stalking prey.

From that night on, Chu Kuang learned to smile.

It was a raw, wild grin—bold and ungraspable. When facing beasts, he would wear that smile like a mask, a madness deep in his bones. Yet slowly, he began to feel lost. Even mastering an art capable of slaying monsters—what was the point? Who was he living for?

The wolf meat lasted them several days. Guxie Mountain was desolate and empty. At night, they warmed themselves by the fire and chatted idly. Chu Kuang asked:

“Master, why did you save me back then?”

“You looked pitiful. I saved you on a whim,” the master said. “I wrapped your rags and straw mat around the corpse of another boy, one about your age and build, and disfigured the face. Those who hurt you were fooled—they thought that dead boy was you. While they search, we hide here.”

“Who wants to kill me?” Chu Kuang asked, but regretted it immediately. The familiar headache was creeping in. Delving into his past only brought pain.

The master smiled. “I’m just a passerby. I don’t know the truth.”

Chu Kuang changed the subject. “Who are you, really?”

The masked man gazed at him with calm eyes, silent. Then, it was as if all the darkness of night cloaked him—at once within reach and yet impossibly distant. At length, he said, “I have no name. I’m just a wanderer.”

Chu Kuang said, “Even someone like me has a name. You should at least have a nickname. Can’t go around being Master Father.”

The master just smiled. Seeing the cracked bamboo thumb ring on Chu Kuang’s hand from the wolf fight, he took off his own jade thumb ring and handed it over.

“Keep it. My name is carved on it. Once you learn to read, you’ll know who I am.”

Chu Kuang took it. The ring was a yellowish fake jade. A sharp pain flared in his skull—he vaguely recalled once owning a similar ring. There were characters carved on this one, but he couldn’t read them. He couldn’t read anything. The arrow wound that pierced his head had damaged his brain. All writing now appeared meaningless to him.

“Why do you wear that silver mask?” he asked. “To hide your identity?”

“To keep from scaring you,” the masked man chuckled. He removed the mask. Chu Kuang was stunned. Half the face was delicate and fine—the other half blackened and hideous, as if burned by fire. Muscles pulsed beneath the scars like a demon’s visage. “I ate foul things in the past. Too much, and I turned into this.”

Though terrified, Chu Kuang showed no expression. He shook his head. “I’m not afraid.” Then forced a toothy grin.

The master put the mask back on and smiled. “Good. That’s the way. Smile more. Don’t wear that dead look on your face. Even if you’re afraid—don’t let it show.”

The fire crackled on. Night lay thick like fog. Everything seemed asleep—only the flickering flame remained awake. Chu Kuang and his master sat in silence. A deep sense of confusion welled in him. In this vast world, he was just a mayfly, with nowhere to belong.

The master suddenly sighed. “It’s been many years. I’ve been stranded outside the borders, unable to return home. I’m like a fallen leaf—rootless, unburied. In a blink, everything’s changed.”

“Master’s homeland is Penglai?”

“Yes.”

Chu Kuang said, “But I don’t have a homeland. I don’t even know where to go.”

“No homeland just means the whole world is your home. That’s not a bad thing. If you want to break the cage, you have to give everything up—your homeland, your nature as a man. Chu Kuang, sharpen your claws and fangs. Become a beast unbound. Like these fire-fed logs—burning, splitting, yet still blazing with light.”

The master fixed his gaze on Chu Kuang—deep as an icy abyss.

“One day, you’ll understand it all. Though I’m just a passerby, whether I saved you, taught you archery, or take you to Yingzhou—it’s all fate. You returning to Penglai to lead someone out—that too is fate.”

The fire burned fiercer. Everything seemed like a dream, even his master—like a shadow within it. Chu Kuang chewed on the words, confused.

“I don’t understand, Master. Are you saying my life, my death, whether I rise or fall—it’s already set? You want me to just accept it?”

The night wind and firelight seemed to freeze, like a scene from a tranquil painting—one that would be branded into him forever. Chu Kuang suddenly felt fire was a miraculous thing—blazing light born from the corpse of wood. In a night without starlight, fire was the only dawn, the sovereign of the cold dark.

“No,” the master smiled, reaching to stroke Chu Kuang’s head. Beneath the pitch-black sky, his eyes danced with flame—like sparks ready to ignite the world.

“I want you to know all this—and still refuse to bow to fate.”

_____

AN

Volume Two Begins!

This volume’s protagonist is Xiao Chu, and yes—we’re moving into the romance arc! Time for some lingering couple moments~ (`′)