HCAW 7

Chapter 7: The Mantis Hunts the Cicada

Inside, the hall was brightly lit. Dancers moved with gentle songs and graceful twists, delicate as spring orchids, swirling over the red carpet.

Smiles adorned their faces, but cold sweat gathered on their backs—for two blade-like gazes were sweeping among them, sharp and merciless.

An old man with white hair reclined behind a polished rosewood table, drinking in silence. After a long pause, he finally spoke:

“Yu Yin… I must have disturbed you again. Though Penglai is clearly your domain, you wouldn’t think I’m trying to seize your nest like a cuckoo, would you?”

The black-clad old woman at the table replied calmly, “You speak too formally. The lands beyond the Xian Moutain are bitterly cold. You’ve long defended them and spared Penglai much hardship. Penglai has always welcomed your presence.”

This woman was Yu Yin, the tenth-ranked member of the Xian Mountain Guards. Though she was last in name, her blade technique was unmatched beneath the heavens. Seated now, she was like a sheathed sword—silent, but razor-sharp.

The old man sighed. “True, the world beyond Penglai is a desolate wasteland, full of peril. That’s why the late Emperor Bai spared no expense to transport Taoyuan Stone back from beyond the pass and forge the Heavenly Pass, commanding its guardians to die before yielding. It was to keep the frost and wind of the outside world from seeping into Penglai. But Yu Yin, you must have sensed it too—this world of ours is destined to freeze.”

“That is something we cannot change. How can mortals defy natural disasters? I can only fulfill my duty: to guard Penglai and preserve a flicker of life here.”

The old man smiled, his gaze drifting past the layered ranks of dancers as if he were looking into the past. He said, “You’re not wrong. But while Penglai’s people held to such ideals, Emperor Bai went against the will of the masses, and so he became a tyrant. Yet even though he has no praise to his name, history will remember him. I’ve thought about this for a long time—why is that?”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he was Emperor Bai! Born a child of heaven, wild and arrogant by nature. Do you remember, Yu Yin? Eighty-one years ago, he was only just of age—handsome, upright, and noble. Ignoring the voices of the entire nation, he marched to war. We of the Xian Mountain Guards knelt at Zhenhai Pass, pleading with our lives to stop him, but the Emperor drew his sword and cleaved the road behind him. His strike sundered mountains and parted seas. Heaven and earth trembled—no one dared defy him. That very blade still stands embedded in the Taoyuan Stone at Zhenhai Pass. Its name is Vipashyin Blade.”¹ A Buddha of the distant past, known as the first of the Seven Buddhas of Antiquity. His name means “One Who Sees Clearly.”

“I’ve often wondered,” Yu Yin murmured, “why that blade is called Vipashyin Blade?”

“The scriptures say: ‘A Buddha is born into the world, named Vipashyin. Hearing his name, one is spared from falling into evil realms.’ That sword was forged from red-gold mined in Ying Mountain, tempered with dragon bone, and inlaid with the eyes of turtle shells. It’s said to be terrifyingly powerful—able to slay all demons. But the hilt burns like fire; even I couldn’t pull it free.” Yu Ji sighed. “Yet Emperor Bai could wield it as easily as a pair of chopsticks.”

Yu Yin fell silent. Even Yu Ji, whose martial prowess had reached its peak, had failed to draw the blade. It was now, like Emperor Bai himself, a legend. The prosperity of Penglai had faded into the past, buried with Emperor Bai in the dust of history.

But a shadowy thought flickered through her mind—then flowed to her tongue, becoming words.

“Tianfu… What do you think of him?”

The moment the words left her lips, Yu Ji’s eyes blazed with sudden light, like roaring flames, locking onto her.

“Do you believe Tianfu could draw the blade?”

Tianfu.

The name thundered through Yu Ji’s mind like a storm. He hadn’t heard it in decades, yet once, that name had shone like a star across the heavens. Tianfu had been the pride of the Xian Mountain Guards, a genius who stunned the world. Even without partaking of the “immortal feasts,” he wielded an ancient and peerless sword style. He alone had accompanied Emperor Bai beyond the pass, cutting through thorns and brambles, guarding the imperial carriage to the very end—until he perished in the Ming Sea.

“If Tianfu were still alive… perhaps he could,” the old man said, slowly closing his eyes, as if sealing away an old memory. “Among all the Xian Mountain Guards, only he could stand at the Emperor’s side. Even the historians who harshly condemned Emperor Bai had to acknowledge their unmatched courage and strength.”

He continued:

“The chronicles say: When these two were born, it was as though dormant dragons roared thunder, and the land surged with power—nurtured by earth, chosen by heaven, wild and arrogant beyond compare!”

As his recitation rang out, the candle flames trembled.

Suddenly, a pipa string snapped—as if someone had severed all sound in the world. The music fell silent, and a hush fell over the banquet.

The old man’s face dulled with weariness. “But all of that is in the past. Tianfu is dead, and Emperor Bai has crumbled like a mountain.”

Yu Yin turned sharply to the musicians and barked, “What’s going on? Why did the music stop?”

A young musician knelt in panic. “Forgive me, my lords—I plucked too hard and broke the string. I’ve ruined your pleasure. I deserve death!”

“No need to continue the music,” Yu Ji said. “I’ve already enjoyed a fine dance and remembered an old friend. My heart is content tonight.” His gaze landed on one of the dancers in the crowd—a tall girl with rouge-painted cheeks, radiant like the evening sun, dressed in flowing white sleeves.

“Your dance was excellent,” Yu Ji said. “Like a soaring dragon or startled phoenix—your steps were light as air, ethereal and divine.”

The dancer dropped to her knees in gratitude. “To be graced with your favor is a blessing beyond words.”

Yu Ji sighed. “Though your movements were elegant, your other skills are still a bit unrefined. A dance like that, wasted on casual eyes, is a true pity.”

At his nod, a servant crawled forward with a large box filled with gold. Yu Ji poured the gold out, letting it spill like sunlight onto the floor.

“Give this to the madam,” he said. “From now on, this dance will belong to me alone.”

The dancer bowed again, tears welling up. Born into the world of brothels, she had finally seized her chance to escape. To now serve the powerful Yu Ji was, for her, a step into the heavens.

“Come closer,” Yu Ji beckoned. “Let me get a good look at you.”

The dancer moved forward under the envious stares of the others and knelt gracefully. Her pale ankle peeked out from beneath her skirt, white as fine jade. Yu Ji did not look at her face—but rather, at the pair of feet that had just danced so enchantingly.

He extended a rough, thick, yet powerful hand, slowly caressing the dancer’s delicate feet—more as if inspecting than desiring.

The dancer’s face flushed deep red, but she dared not move.

Suddenly, a piercing, bloodcurdling scream tore through the room!

Blood splattered; a splash of crimson struck the old man’s face. That face, lined with wrinkles and calm as still water, twisted into something monstrous—like an asura.

Yu Ji lifted the severed feet, placed them reverently into a large box.

Beneath him, the dancer lay drenched in blood. Her feet had been severed, white bone showing through the gushing stumps.

The old man smiled.

“I’ll be taking this dance with me. The madam won’t object, will she?”

“N-no… of course not!”

The dancers felt as if they’d fallen into an icy abyss. None dared flee. With a sweep of motion, they all dropped to their knees.

“Good. Clean this place up and leave. I will dine now with Yu Yin and her favored disciple.”

The servants entered and quietly carried the dancer away, as if handling a piece of merchandise.

In Yu Ji’s eyes, everyone in Zui Chun was merchandise. He simply selected the best piece, discarding the rest—just as he had taken a pair of beautiful feet from the dancer’s body.

The dancers withdrew pale-faced. From beginning to end, the black-robed old woman sat cold and still, unmoved by Yu Ji’s brutality, like a carved statue.

Yu Ji studied the bloodstained feet in the box and nodded in satisfaction. After a long pause, he suddenly spoke:

“Yu Yin, though I just said Emperor Bai is gone and the past has faded into unreachable legend… in your years guarding Penglai, surely you’ve seen some fine jade among men?”

“I have,” Yu Yin replied calmly, “but sadly, none of them have been carved.”

“Heh… then the one arriving tonight must be the finest raw jade of all. What’s the name of the disciple you’ve taken in?”

The old woman answered clearly without opening her eyes:

“His name is Fang Jingyu, son of Langgan. As a boy, he abandoned his family, wandered the streets like a stray dog. I took him in and taught him the blade.”

The old man’s eyes lit up like twin flickering ghost-lights. He thought of the dark-robed youth who had once held a blade to him outside Baicao Pass—his bearing cold and clear, his gaze sharp as frost, just like Yu Yin.

“Oh, Fang Jingyu!” He laughed heartily. “So that’s his name!”

____

Outside, moonlight filled the courtyard.

A dark-robed youth stood in the corridor, expression cold and severe.

Fang Jingyu stared at the figure before him, doubt crashing through his heart like stormy waves.

He had come tonight at Yu Yin’s invitation—her direct disciple. He’d stood watch at Baicao Pass for nearly two weeks, yet hadn’t found a single trace of King Yama. This failure had left him disheartened, even questioning his own judgment.

His sword and saber had both been shattered by Yu Ji’s bare hands. After returning to the city, he’d spent a fortune forging a new set, and for months afterward he’d been forced to eat rice husks to get by. He was mentally exhausted and physically drained, and now his master had summoned him to a brothel.

Though reluctant, he came, unwilling to neglect the obligation.

Pushing past a cluster of courtesans and finally making it upstairs, he saw someone hanging upside down from the railing, clearly up to no good.

So he grabbed the man by the ankle. Fang Jingyu was strong—doing so took no effort. As expected, he was immediately cursed out.

“You son of a bitch! Are your eyes stuffed with donkey shit? Why the hell are you lifting me up?!”

“Looks like the donkey shit went in your mouth first—how else could you spit out such filth?”

The man continued, “I saw two legs dangling in the dark, thought someone was trying to hang themselves. So I yanked you up. Didn’t expect such foul gratitude.”

The man flipped upright, seething with rage.

Fang Jingyu got a good look at his painted face—white and red with lead powder and rouge, like a mischievous spirit from a New Year’s poster.

He folded his arms and asked, “Who are you?”

“You lifted me up first! Shouldn’t I be the one asking?!” the man barked, stomping his foot.

But Fang Jingyu noticed his gaze—sharp and watchful, as if assessing him. Had they met before?

“I’m a constable,” Fang Jingyu said. “You look suspicious. I was just about to haul you in.”

The painted man chuckled. “A constable! A proper constable out enjoying the brothel, huh? Keep harassing me and I’ll tell everyone you’ve been sneaking around boys’ rooms. I’ll say your lust can’t be caged, that you bedded ten gigolos in one night!”

Fang Jingyu snorted. Clearly, this was just a street rogue—one of those scoundrels who loved picking fights.

He asked, “What were you doing hanging there?”

“What’s it to you? I was watching the men wash their asses! You’re blocking my view!”

Hearing this nonsense, Fang Jingyu no longer wanted to engage. He turned to leave.

At that moment, a maid in green rushed over and said respectfully,

“Is that Young Master Fang? Lords Yu Ji and Yu Yin are waiting for you in the hall. Please follow me.”

Fang Jingyu nodded and started walking away—when the painted man suddenly grabbed his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Fang Jingyu asked coldly.

“I changed my mind,” the man said. “Men’s butts aren’t that fun to watch. I want to come with you, see Yu Ji and Yu Yin, and maybe get a bite at the banquet.”

Fang Jingyu’s eyes swept over him like a blade. “Have we met before?”

The man froze, like a mouse caught by a cat. “N-no, never.”

Chu Kuang’s heart was pounding. That day at Baicao Pass, he’d fought Fang Jingyu with a muffled voice and a hidden face. Now, he didn’t know if Fang Jingyu was sharp enough to see through his disguise and recognize him as the infamous fugitive—King Yama.

But Fang Jingyu didn’t seem to notice.

“If I haven’t met you, you’re no acquaintance of mine,” he said. “Why should I vouch for you to the Xian Mountain Guards? The world’s full of people who want to meet them.”

The painted man quickly explained,

“Truth is, I’m a performer invited by the garden tonight. I spent too long squatting in the latrine and missed my cue. I was hoping you’d help me sneak in so I wouldn’t be punished by Lord Yu Ji.”

But Fang Jingyu said coldly, “You’re not here to perform. You’re here to kill someone.”

Chu Kuang’s body tensed.

Fang Jingyu calmly opened his hand, revealing a carpenter’s axe lying in his palm.

Chu Kuang reached behind his back—only to realize the axe was gone.

“You call yourself a constable with hands that slippery?!” Chu Kuang snapped.

Fang Jingyu wrapped the axe in a cloth and tucked it away. “You were completely undefended.”

He yanked free from Chu Kuang’s grip and warned, “Lucky for you I’m busy tonight. Stay here. I’ll deal with you later.”

“…Okay.”

Chu Kuang actually stood still, obediently.

Fang Jingyu strode forward. At the end of the corridor, golden light spilled through a half-open elm door. Jasmine-scented air greeted him. Inside, candles glowed, and at the head of a rosewood table sat an old man.

Fang Jingyu’s eyelid twitched. The old man looked vigorous—it was the same Yu Ji he’d once threatened with a blade.

Yu Ji saw him and laughed heartily, his voice booming like a drum.

“Who goes there?”

“Fang Jingyu, officer of Xian Mountain.”

Yu Ji shook his head.

“No, I wasn’t asking you. I was asking the man behind you.”

Fang Jingyu froze. A flash of cold light flickered at his neck—someone had silently approached from behind and drawn his sword, now resting its edge against his throat.

He turned slightly. In the corner of his eye, he saw a painted face—the same one he’d just met in the corridor.

“You bastard…” Fang Jingyu muttered.

So he wasn’t a performer—he was an assassin.

The painted man grinned.

“You were completely undefended.”

Yu Ji’s voice rang out again.

“Who goes there?”

Chu Kuang stepped from the shadows, sword in hand, holding Fang Jingyu hostage. His face, garishly painted red and white, looked grotesque and demonic.

“Nothing special,” he said with a wicked grin.

“Just an old enemy of yours—”

He sneered coldly.

“Someone who’s here tonight to kill you.”

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  A Buddha of the distant past, known as the first of the Seven Buddhas of Antiquity. His name means “One Who Sees Clearly.”