HCAW 52

Chapter 52: A Spark Setting the Prairie Ablaze

From afar, Yingzhou’s lights shimmered like floating gold atop the waves. But those who knew the place well understood that the glow was merely a veil for darkness—a façade as thin as gilt foil, easily torn away. Within the reed boats were countless gambling dens, layered with doors and shadows. Dice rolled and bones were broken; they were mouths that devoured silk-robed folk and spat them back out ragged and barefoot.

Mule gazed out through the ship’s window and sighed. In Yingzhou, there were only two kinds of people—those who fed on bones, and those whose bones were chewed. The former were the Xian Mountain Guards and the highborn elite; the latter were the ten thousand indentured servants clinging to life here. If these “walking meat” could pay a heavy price to the Yingzhou Prefecture, they might rid themselves of their slave status and gain entry into the lands around Qingyu Gao Mountain. So many entered the gambling dens clutching the hope of shedding their brands, betting everything they had.

Qingyu Gao Mountain was the only fertile land in all of Yingzhou. There, people had grains to eat, were sheltered from wind and waves, and could keep warm without fear of the cold rain extinguishing their fire. In the Lei Ze Camp, no one didn’t long for Qingyu Gao Mountain. Though they were exiled military men, even here they drifted on wind and water with no place to take root.

Mule stared at the nightscape, lost in thought.

Meanwhile, the banquet was raucous, flutes and strings playing loud and fast. Everyone clutched cups and jugs, drunken revelry in full swing. Amid the din, one person sat silent, eating sea food without a word. It was Si Chen, the sister of Yan Xin, the lieutenant of Lei Ze Camp.

Her mouth was sharp, her face always sour, and she was rumored to be a jinx—whoever got close to her met with misfortune. Few willingly interacted with her. Watching the crowd make a ruckus around Chu Kuang, she snorted coldly.

Hearing it, Yan Xin turned with a smile. “What’s the matter? What are you angry about?”

Si Chen slammed her chopsticks on the table. “I’m angry at you all! A pack of foolish dogs! You actually let the ‘King Yama’ onto our ship—what if the Xian Mountain Guards find out?”

“They’re honored guests from Langgan Guard—”

“We’re not under Langgan Guard! Even if Yu Jue Guard and Langgan Guard were once close, she’s long dead. What’s that got to do with us? Brother, if the Immortal Mountain Guards learn they boarded Lei Ze’s ship, we’re all dead men—two thousand heads gone! And those people? They’ll just walk out of Yingzhou unscathed while we’re left to rot!”

Her eyes burned into Chu Kuang and his group. She didn’t have the same bond forged in blood and battle as the troops did with him, and her heart was full of wariness toward this so-called “King Yama.”

Yan Xin merely smiled, calm and honest as always. That only made Si Chen jump to her feet and shout, “You’re still smiling?!”

“It’s nothing serious. No Xian Mountain Guards are stationed in Yingzhou right now. With the storms outside, they can’t even get in. And soon we’ll escort them to Qingyu Gao Mountain and be rid of them.”

Si Chen was about to argue more when a gentle voice interrupted: “Ah Chen, why are your clothes still wet? Quickly change before you catch a chill.”

She turned her head, and the fierce look on her face vanished in an instant. Coming down from upstairs was a young woman in a dark indigo gown, hair pinned with flowered ornaments. Her skin was porcelain-pale, brows like ink, and her eyes curved like a goose’s. Her belly was high—clearly with child. When she smiled, it was like spring breeze on the face, melting all the frost on Si Chen.

“Still arguing with your brother? Come, tell me about it—I’ll scold him for you.”

“N-no… nothing,” Si Chen muttered, burying her face in her fish. This woman was her sister-in-law, Ah Chu. Because Ah Chu was always gentle and kind toward her, Si Chen—ferocious as she was outside—became meek in her presence.

Ah Chu said softly, “You don’t have to tell me, but take care not to get yourself sick.”

She took a kerchief and gently wiped Si Chen’s cheeks dry. Si Chen blushed, snatched the cloth to finish wiping herself, and tossed it on the table. When Ah Chu asked about Chu Kuang and his group, Si Chen refused to answer, still sulking.

Ah Chu was about to press when a burst of noise erupted from the banquet:

“Sleep together! Sleep together!”

Apparently, Fang Jingyu had lost a game of pitch-pot and was dared to kiss Chu Kuang. Though Chu Kuang had won, the soldiers were eager to tease him after so long away.

But instead of resisting, Chu Kuang had simply leaned in and kissed Fang Jingyu—tongue and all—completely unbothered. A wave of shocked cries followed, then someone laughed:

“Looks like that was easy! Must’ve gotten cozy in Penglai already!”

Another jeered, “A kiss is nothing! Punish them with a bed-warming sword forging!”

The crowd roared with laughter, chanting, “Sleep together! Sleep together!”

Fang Jingyu’s pale face flushed scarlet like a steamed prawn. Chu Kuang remained unfazed and smiled at the soldiers:

“I don’t mind, but I’m no gentleman and hardly worthy of royal favor. I doubt His Highness would deign to choose me as consort.”

Another roar of laughter.

Fang Jingyu was about to explode when Chu Kuang slung an arm around him and led him to a quiet corner.

“What are you so flustered about?” he said. “Did I ruin your virtue or something?”

Fang Jingyu sulked and shook his head.

“They mean no harm,” Chu Kuang went on. “Just a bunch of foul mouths. But you escaped thanks to them. And we’ll need them when we leave Yingzhou. Getting along with them is best. Even Emperor Bai started out among soldiers. If you’re a prince and can’t lower yourself to win the hearts of men, how will you rule the five Xian Mountains?”

This madman, usually reckless and unruly, was now calmly laying out plans for the future, trying to push him toward the throne. Fang Jingyu nodded, but still looked uneasy. Chu Kuang frowned:

“What is it now?”

Fang Jingyu looked awkward, voice low. “You… just now… kissed…”

Chu Kuang blinked, then smirked wickedly. “You’re this old and never even had your first kiss? That was just the appetizer. You make more fuss yawning than that. This time, it was just my lips fighting with yours.”

Fang Jingyu snapped, “Not everyone’s like you—loose and shameless, chasing someone into bed every day.”

Something shifted in Chu Kuang’s face. He turned away, eyes clouded. “So what if I do?”

Fang Jingyu retorted petulantly, “I don’t want to do filthy things like that with you.”

Chu Kuang let him go, voice like ice. “Then this filthy man won’t bother Your Highness anymore.”

And so, he truly stopped pestering Fang Jingyu. After horsing around with the soldiers for a while longer, Chu Kuang went off to drink by himself. Fang Jingyu found his sudden coldness strange, but the thought of that kiss made his head feel as though it were on fire—he couldn’t think clearly at all.

Not long after, another bout of uproar broke out—but this time, it wasn’t about Chu Kuang. One of the soldiers shouted, “The little miss is here!”

Amid the din, zithers and moon lutes burst into sound as a fair-skinned, petite figure darted into the crowd. Turned out it was someone coaxed into performing an opera. This delicate figure was heavily powdered and rouged, with shaved brows and flowered hairpins—clearly no lady, but a man dressed like one. As he opened his mouth to sing, his voice soared in elegant, lilting melodies, adding to the lively atmosphere and earning cheers from the soldiers.

This man was nicknamed “Ling’er.” He often dressed as a woman, fluttering his fingers and putting on airs. With his pretty features, rumor had it he once worked the red-light districts and still secretly played husband to certain men.

Most of the army was full of rough men. Though Chu Kuang was also handsome, his skill with the bow meant that anyone who made a move on him might end up paralyzed with one kick. No one dared openly covet him. But Ling’er was different—weak, afraid of combat, and scorned by many in the Yingzhou border guard.

Yet he had a unique talent. After a few operatic lines, he suddenly flipped his sleeve, and his face transformed into that of a bearded warrior—his voice too became bold and deep. Another flick of the sleeve, and his face morphed back into a coquettish maiden, his voice sharp and sweet. Playing multiple roles at once, he was utterly captivating. Ling’er’s true gift was disguise—his art of “face-changing” made him a marvel.

After his performance, the mood in the banquet grew even rowdier. The soldiers soon grabbed Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang again, someone teasing, “Why are you two sitting apart? Brother Chu, sitting so far from His Highness—can you really protect him that way?”

Chu Kuang replied stiffly, “I’m an archer. I can guard him from a mile away.”

“And Your Highness too—what’s this, sharing a wedding night only to sleep in separate rooms from now on? So heartless!” the soldiers heckled again.

Fang Jingyu matched their tone, face cold. “Even if I were wed, I’d live at opposite ends of the river from my wife, never seeing her again—not like Laborer Chu here, who climbs into bed every day.”

The soldiers roared with laughter, egging them on to perform a skill of their own. Chu Kuang agreed half-heartedly, while Fang Jingyu, remembering his own words about befriending the border guards, didn’t refuse either.

Soon after, Chu Kuang grabbed his bow, ready to show off his archery. But the soldiers protested—pitch-pot had already shown his skill. They wanted something new.

“Show us swordwork!” someone called.

More joined in: “Right! Word is His Highness is a master swordsman—wounded that Yu Ji Guard, didn’t he?”

“Give us a show!”

Though few had been present at Zhenhai Pass, word of Fang Jingyu’s skill with the sword—wielding Emperor Bai’s blade, Vipashiyin—had spread. Curious and eager, the soldiers cleared space, moving tables and mats for a demonstration.

The two were nudged toward the center of the floor. Fang Jingyu looked uncomfortable but took the iron sword tossed to him. Chu Kuang, however, remained still, holding only his bow.

“What’s wrong, Ah Chu? The mighty ‘King Yama’ doesn’t know how to use a sword?” someone jeered, sparking a round of laughter and boos.

Chu Kuang’s expression darkened. “I don’t use swords,” he said.

Seeing his unease, Fang Jingyu felt a strange, vengeful satisfaction. He still hadn’t forgotten that kiss. Smirking, he said deliberately, “Exactly. Can’t even hold a sword. Some ‘King Yama—all you’re good at is kissing and nibbling.”

Chu Kuang’s face grew uglier by the second, but he took the bait. At last, he accepted a sword from the soldiers.

The two stood across from each other. The crowd backed away, giving them space. Fang Jingyu took up a stance and launched into “An Inch of Gold,” a sword move from Langgan Guard’s style.

His sword thrust forward like lightning, aiming straight for Chu Kuang’s face! Chu Kuang blocked instinctively—a surprisingly refined move. Even Fang Jingyu was startled. Perhaps the man wasn’t entirely untrained with a sword.

But in the next instant, Chu Kuang’s aura collapsed. His grip slackened, his sword drooped like a strand of wet cotton. Fang Jingyu seized the moment, swept his foot out, and knocked him to the ground. Chu Kuang’s face was deathly pale, his limbs trembling, gaze unfocused.

The soldiers didn’t notice, still laughing. “Wasn’t this a sword match? How’d it turn into wrestling?”

Chu Kuang rolled away, dodging Fang Jingyu’s strikes. But then he dropped to his knees and retched violently.

“Kid drank too much!” the soldiers joked.

Fang Jingyu set his sword down and rushed to help him. Chu Kuang was soaked in cold sweat, his clothes clammy. He clutched his head, the pain unbearable. Fang Jingyu turned to the others.

“He’s not feeling well—I’m taking him to rest.”

“Go on, go on!” someone called, chuckling. “From the looks of it, Ah Chu might be with child!”

Fang Jingyu flushed with embarrassment, fumbling for words but ultimately stayed silent. He helped Chu Kuang upstairs.

Inside the cabin, Chu Kuang was limp, leaning heavily on him. Once laid down, he collapsed onto the bedding like water. Fang Jingyu fetched hot water from the soldiers, wiped his face clean with a cloth. Chu Kuang, half-delirious, mumbled incoherently.

Fang Jingyu teased gently, “I paid two taels of silver for you, but it feels like I bought a master to serve instead. You’re the lord; I’m the servant.”

Chu Kuang didn’t answer, just clutched his head, groaning about the pain. He seemed terrified of swords. Even a brief clash had left him undone.

Helpless, Fang Jingyu undressed him and changed him into clean underclothes. Chu Kuang’s scars still made his breath hitch—every one of them looked like it held a painful story. Silver moonlight poured through the window, casting its glow on both their bodies.

Fang Jingyu emptied the basin and hung the wet cloth to dry. Just then, a voice behind him called softly:

“Jingyu.”

The name hit him like a blow, cracking open something deep inside. The tone was hauntingly familiar—as if from someone long lost. He turned to see Chu Kuang lying on the mat, half his face bathed in moonlight, half hidden in shadow. The lit half gazed at him with a faint, sorrowful smile; the dark half seemed to weep in silence.

Who are you?

Are you someone I once knew?

The questions stirred within him, begging to break free. But when they reached his lips, they changed form. “What is it?” he asked.

Chu Kuang said nothing. That lucid gleam in his eyes lasted only a moment before the haze of intoxication returned. As Fang Jingyu leaned in, Chu Kuang suddenly wrapped his arms around him, clinging like a vine to a tree—just like that night in Zui Chun Garden.

It all felt like a dream—or the illusion of a drunken haze. No one knew who moved first, but when their lips met again, unnamed emotions and hidden fears ignited, as if a single spark had fallen into a field of dry grass—And in an instant, set the whole prairie ablaze.