HCAW 73

Chapter 73: Spirits Come to Claim

Outside the porthole, cannon fire raged as Fang Jingyu jolted awake. He turned and looked—his side of the bed was cold and empty, the mattress long since chilled. With a sharp motion, he sprang upright, only to realize his wrist was shackled by an iron chain. The Hanguang Sword by the wall was gone, and the black uniform on the floor had been taken as well. The culprit needed no guessing. Fang Jingyu slammed his fist onto the bed and cursed:

“That deep-fried monkey!”

Thinking back on the madness of the previous night, his face flushed with heat. All the tangled emotions from before flared with nowhere to go. But the more he considered it, the more certain he became—he hadn’t acted normally. Fevered, burning, as if drugged—and waking up in chains—it was almost certainly premeditated. And the identity of the schemer was obvious.

Fortunately, the Vipashiyin Blade was still there. Fang Jingyu rushed to grab it from the wall and, with one clean slash, cut through the iron chain. With no clothes of his own, he had to put on Chu Kuang’s bamboo-patterned silk robe. The fabric was slick and clammy, like snot—he couldn’t help but curse again:

“Filthy mutt!”

(These curses, of course, were things he’d picked up from Chu Kuang.)

He stormed out of the cabin—and ran straight into the madam. She started at the sight of him.

“Your Highness, why are you still here? I thought you’d already left.”

“What time is it?”

“Already past the hour of Mao.” (5:00 AM to 7:00 AM)

The words nearly stopped his heart. The Lei Ze troops should have mobilized long ago! He ran to the dock and looked out—only to discover that the pleasure boat was sailing outward, away from Qingyu Gao Palace, growing more distant by the moment.

He turned back in a rush and demanded, “Why are we sailing in the opposite direction?!”

The madam covered her mouth in surprise. “The brothers from Lei Ze Camp said that since we’re not joining the battle, we’d best get as far from Qingyu Gao Palace as possible. I thought the one sleeping in the cabin was young Master Chu—never guessed it was Your Highness!”

At her words, Fang Jingyu’s face turned ghost-pale. Even the ever-composed son of Emperor Bai couldn’t help stomping the deck and growling under his breath:

“That damned scoundrel!”

_____

Outside Qingyu Gao Palace, the navy was assembled in full strength. Hundreds ships encircled the palace in a tight formation, flags and banners blanketing the sky.

But the floating bridge before the main hall stood eerily empty. Beneath a red silk parasol, the Yu Ji Guard sat calmly on a cypress chair, eyes closed in meditation.

As a general, he had no desire to hide within the palace walls—quite the opposite. His blood burned with anticipation; he longed to tear open his enemy’s chest with his own hands. He had even ordered the palace soldiers: “Do not harm the son of Emperor Bai. Bring Fang Jingyu before me, completely unscathed.”

They would fight. And through Fang Jingyu’s blood, he would declare to all of Yingzhou that he alone was king.

Thinking of this, the old man’s bristling beard twitched as he chuckled darkly. His face, like crumpled bark, trembled—every wrinkle held a reservoir of malice.

Just two li away, aboard a shabby junk boat, a group of people peered toward the floating bridge through a long-distance mirror, skulking in the shadows.

“Before the battle starts, let’s hurry up and take the old bastard’s life,” someone whispered.

The speaker was an old man with perpetually squinting eyes, sly like a fox. The others had nicknamed him “Old Narrow-Eyes.” The rest of the group nodded grimly. They were all missing limbs—veterans maimed in battle, injured soldiers and drifters from Lei Ze Camp. As they stared at the floating bridge, every pair of eyes burned with deep, bitter hatred.

Old Narrow-Eyes had once served under the Yu Jue Guard, fighting across the land. When she lived, the people of Yingzhou still had a shred of dignity. But after her death, their lives descended into something worse than that of pigs and dogs.

The Yu Ji Guard was his worst nightmare. Once, during a brutal battle, he hadn’t escaped in time. He watched with his own eyes as those iron claws reached out and crushed his wife and children into a bloody pulp—limbs and heads indistinguishable. Since that day, his own heart had felt just as mangled. Only revenge had kept him alive until now.

Everyone on that junk boat was the same. All had lost something to the Yu Ji Guard—limbs, loved ones, lives. Though they remained in Lei Ze Camp, they had long been barred from the battlefield. At most, they were allowed to row boats or work the rudder—menial labor.

There was nothing left in this world they cared about. If anything remained, it was this: to take the Yu Ji Guard’s head with their own hands.

They knew the Yu Ji Guard was fiercer than a flood dragon. They knew their mission was suicide. They also knew they stood a better chance if they fought alongside the rest of Lei Ze Camp. But dying without vengeance would haunt them forever. Old Narrow-Eyes moved swiftly, gripping his crossbow tight. It was handcrafted—the shaft, limbs, and trigger all made from premium wood. The arrowheads had been coated in poison: one scratch, and you were dead. He was determined: even if he died today, he’d kill that bastard with his own hands.

The junk boat crept closer to Qingyu Gao Palace. One by one, the men draped reed leaves and water grasses over their heads, held hollow reed straws in their mouths, and slipped into the water. They were expert swimmers and planned to approach the floating bridge underwater, pry up the planks, and launch a surprise attack with concealed weapons.

And surprisingly, the plan progressed with ease—far beyond expectation. Perhaps it was because the appointed duel with the son of Emperor Bai was drawing near. The palace soldiers had their eyes fixed on the horizon, awaiting the arrival of the massive Lei Ze warships—and had completely forgotten to watch beneath the surface.

Moreover, the palace soldiers, used to treading dry ground atop Qingyu Gao Mountain, were not swimmers. They failed to notice the approach of these desperate, submerged avengers.

The group swam silently to the edge of the floating bridge. Underwater, Old Narrow-Eyes clenched his fist, extended his arm straight, then swept it back—a signal for the others to form a flanking encirclement around the Yu Ji Guard. Quietly, they dispersed, slipping reed straws into the gaps between the planks and using iron awls to drill tiny holes. Beneath the water, they raised their crossbows and aimed at the Yu Ji Guard through the openings.

Through one of the holes, they could see the Yu Ji Guard seated calmly on the floating bridge, composed and serene. Old Narrow-Eyes’ heart thundered in his chest like a war drum. Though he had rehearsed this moment countless times in his dreams, the reality of it made every hair on his body stand on end.

They were facing a Xian Mountain Guard, one who ranked second among them. Could someone like that really be killed so easily? Old Narrow-Eyes suddenly felt his crossbow slip in his grasp—he didn’t know whether it was seawater or sweat, but he could barely hold on.

He steeled his nerves, positioned his fingers over the trigger, and was just about to fire—when he suddenly saw the Yu Ji Guard lift something from a small hardwood dish on the table beside him.

It was a hawthorn fruit.

The Yu Ji Guard placed it in his mouth and slowly chewed. Then, with a puff of his cheek, he spat out the pit.

“Pop.”

A muffled thud followed. Old Narrow-Eyes flinched—then saw one of his comrades underwater suddenly freeze. A plume of blood burst into the water beside him!

The Yu Ji Guard’s cheeks puffed again. Each time he spat out a hawthorn pit, a blossom of blood bloomed beneath the sea. Underwater, people died without a sound. The surface remained as calm as ever, as if nothing had happened. In just a short while, corpses began to float up, backs pressing against the wood planks, swaying gently with the tide.

Old Narrow-Eyes watched in horror. He had expected a suicide mission—but not like this. The Yu Ji Guard was far more terrifying than imagined. Without even opening his eyes, he had known they were lurking beneath the floating bridge! Old Narrow-Eyes’ hands trembled violently. He could barely keep hold of his crossbow.

He met the eyes of another comrade underwater—there was pure terror in them. A few, in sheer panic, threw away their weapons and tried to flee. But all that followed were a few wet pops—and they too died under the Yu Ji Guard’s hawthorn pits.

In the blink of an eye, the waters beneath the floating bridge were stained red.

Old Narrow-Eyes shook uncontrollably. He was the only one left. His whole body went stiff, paralyzed. Yet the Yu Ji Guard hadn’t moved against him—he simply chewed slowly, savoring another hawthorn fruit.

Had the old monster failed to notice him?

Old Narrow-Eyes clung to that hope. The mud was thick where he lay, and the water grasses covered him well. Maybe—just maybe—he had gone undetected.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Old Narrow-Eyes raised his crossbow and, from the hole in the planks, aimed directly at the Yu Ji Guard. He had to kill this bastard—this was the moment, the only chance.

With a snap, the arrow burst from the water, flying like a venomous snake toward its mark!

But in that instant, the Yu Ji Guard casually plucked another hawthorn fruit from the dish and, with two fingers, caught the arrow in midair using the fruit as a shield.

He pulled the arrow from the hawthorn, smirking with amusement. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he hurled the arrow back the way it had come—its tip aimed directly at Old Narrow-Eyes’ hiding place.

A wave of cold fear gripped Old Narrow-Eyes. He realized, now too late, that the Yu Ji Guard had toyed with them from the start, playing with their lives like a cat with mice. He turned to flee, but it was far too late. He shut his eyes, waiting for King Yama to come claim his soul. But in his heart, he still burned with bitterness—so many lives lost, yet not even one enemy slain.

Just then, a crisp metallic “ding” rang in his ears. A flash of light filled his vision.

For the first time in decades, Old Narrow-Eyes opened his squinting eyes wide. That white light—cold as moonlight—filled his gaze completely.

Someone stepped above him, across the floating bridge. Their steps were steady, a sword in hand. Just moments ago, this person had flicked their blade with ease, slicing through the returning arrow like a breeze brushing water. Dressed in black, wearing archery bracers and studded boots, they were lightly armed—but their aura was sharp and unstoppable, like a blade unsheathed.

Seeing the sword in his hand—emblazoned with the imperial dragon pattern, a weapon bestowed by the emperor—the palace guards at Qingyu Gao fell silent and stepped aside. None dared to stop him, for he was the one destined to face the Yu Ji Guard.

The Yu Ji Guard also saw the figure and chuckled darkly. He stood slowly from his chair, a towering mass like rising peaks. Accepting the Tianshan golden armor from a soldier, he called out in a booming voice:

“Scion of Emperor Bai, I see you’ve come well! I let you escape before and have pursued you through stone gates—I’ve searched far and wide, and now, I’ve finally found you here. This time, I shall welcome you properly and make you forget all thoughts of leaving!”

With those words, he lunged like a loosed arrow, vanishing in a blur and appearing before the figure. The Heavenly Moutain gold armor soared high; in an instant, a fierce wind howled and the sky seemed to change color. The bridge groaned as if about to splinter. Even Old Narrow-Eyes was swept up by the crashing waves, catching only a glimpse of that lone figure raising their sword to meet the earth-shattering blow.

For the first time, surprise flickered across the Yu Ji Guard’s face.

Sunlight filtered down through the mist, illuminating the warrior’s face—pale skin, a pair of fiercely unyielding eyes, one pure black, the other a blood-colored double pupil.

“What a pity,” the man sneered. “You were expecting the son of Emperor Bai. But what you got instead—was your old enemy.”

He smiled with a feral edge. It was Chu Kuang.

He gripped his sword tightly and struck against the Yu Ji Guard’s golden claw. The Hanguang Sword gleamed with radiant light as he bellowed:

“Old bastard! King Yama’s calling roll—I’ve come to drag you to the underworld myself!”