HCAW 8

Chapter 8: A Finger Splits the Darkness

In the blink of an eye, Chu Kuang flung a handful of incense ash from the brazier, snuffing out the oil lamps in the room. The light vanished; shadows surged like beasts in the dark.

Behind the table, Yu Ji didn’t move. He let out a low laugh, calm and regal, like a monarch.

“Heh… You call yourself my enemy? My enemies stretch across mountains and seas—they already form a long, winding list! And you claim you’re the one who can kill me tonight?”

“What a pity,” the old man suddenly opened his eyes, and a torrent of killing intent surged skyward,

“Such a person… still hasn’t been born!”

Chu Kuang hurled the axe; it flew through the air and smashed a row of candles. The chamber was swallowed in total darkness, as if shrouded beneath a black cloth. From the shadows, Chu Kuang sneered coldly:

“You crusty old pervert! Born or not, tonight I’ll be the one to send you to the grave!”

Suddenly, Fang Jingyu felt the cold edge at his throat vanish—the one behind him had melted into the darkness. No sound, no trace. He struggled to recall the man’s face: the comical painted mask, a figure about the same height as himself, wearing a patched silk robe with a floral pattern—

Then his heart skipped a beat. That was his childhood friend Zheng Deli’s clothing.

Why was Zheng Deli’s robe on that man?

Before he could work through it, a cold voice cut through the dark.

“Jingyu.”

It was his master, Yu Yin, calling him. Fang Jingyu quickly responded, “Disciple is here.”

The old woman said, “You may be called ‘Jingyu’—‘startled fool’—but in truth, you are just a fool¹ 惊愚 (Jīngyú), which can literally be read as “startled fool”. Shallow in mind, narrow in learning, and completely unaware of your opponent approaching. He could have slit your throat with a single stroke just now—you nearly died.”

Fang Jingyu lowered his head in shame.

“Your sword has also been taken,” Yu Yin continued coldly, extending a hand to the side, “Fetch me Shouci.”

Shouci was Yu Yin’s blade, forged from the iron of Zhu Mountain. It could cut through gold, slice jade, and part steel like mud. Normally it would rest by her side, but to show respect for Yu Ji, it had been placed in another room.

Fang Jingyu groped behind him, bumped against the door several times, and frowned. “Master, the door won’t open—it must be barred from outside.”

Earlier, Chu Kuang had leaned a bronze candlestick against the door. When it closed, the stand fell, blocking the door completely.

Yu Yin sighed. “Useless. All you do is make trouble.”

She picked up a thin slicing knife from the table. “I’ll just use this, then.”

The room was pitch black. Only slivers of moonlight filtered in through the embroidered windows and gauze curtains, scattering on the floor like shards of white porcelain.

Yu Yin called out in a clear voice:

“You little assassin—where are you?”

Of course Chu Kuang didn’t respond.

The moment he made a sound—even the slightest breath—his position would be exposed.

“That’s fine too,” the old woman said, slowly raising the slender slicing knife.

“Wherever you flee, I will kill you.”

In that instant—a burst of blade light exploded!

The gleaming blade danced like falling snow, fanning out in layers across the room. It first split into six strokes, blooming like a white lotus, then those split again—six into thirty-six, thirty-six into 1,296 strokes—darting and swirling, endless and unpredictable.

In one breath, every porcelain vase in the room shattered, embroidered curtains disintegrated into dust.

Amid the drifting haze, Yu Yin suddenly opened her eyes. She had caught the faint sound of breathing—the assassin’s gentle exhale had disturbed the dust. She had found him.

She struck again without hesitation. Her blade was swift and deadly, like a hound snapping at prey—certain and merciless.

But Chu Kuang, cunning as ever, tumbled forward to the ground and rolled beneath Fang Jingyu’s legs, shouting:

“Hit me! I’m right here!”

Yu Yin jerked her blade to a halt. In an instant, the storm of blade light faded, and darkness reclaimed the room.

Seeing that she didn’t dare strike for fear of harming her disciple, Chu Kuang became even more brazen:

“Come on! I’m right under your precious student’s crotch! Go ahead, cut! Best if you slice him half-paralyzed—make sure the line ends with him!”

His language was vulgar, his tone outrageous. Mocked again and again, Fang Jingyu was seething. He grabbed the scabbard of his sword and stabbed downward.

“Shut up!”

Chu Kuang said, “No, I won’t! Try and shut me up if you can!”

He was slippery as an eel, dodging and weaving, making Fang Jingyu miss every strike.

Fang Jingyu drew both sword and saber, brandishing them like twin fans, sweeping blindly through the dark.

Chu Kuang lashed out with both legs, clamping onto the scabbards, then coiled up Fang Jingyu like a vine twisting around a tree.

Fang Jingyu shuddered, grabbed a nearby teacup and flung it at him—then bowls, plates, whatever he could reach. But Chu Kuang wouldn’t let go—he clamped down with his teeth, leaving a bloody bite mark on Fang Jingyu’s cheek.

With a muffled growl, Chu Kuang muttered through his clenched teeth,

“I’ve changed my mind. I won’t talk anymore. I’m gonna taste this smooth little body of yours.”

“Let go!” Fang Jingyu shouted, slapping his face repeatedly.

Chu Kuang had only just begun to gloat—

But then, like raindrops pounding down, Fang Jingyu’s fists fell on his head.

Chu Kuang didn’t care at first, but—one blow struck his old arrow wound.

A searing, chisel-like pain shot through his skull. His vision went completely white.

“…Ugh!”

Chu Kuang clutched his forehead as a burning pain flared through his old arrow wound.

It was an old affliction—ever since that arrow had pierced his skull, nightmares, madness, and agony had clung to him like rot in the bone, never fading.

He panted through the pain—but just then, Fang Jingyu struck him hard between the shoulder blades. The blow pierced through muscle and bone, landing squarely on his injured spot. Caught off guard, Chu Kuang let out a grunt, lost his grip, and tumbled to the ground. Another swift kick sent him flying, crashing against the edge of the dais.

The old woman’s voice rang out low and sharp:

“Brat, don’t think of escaping!”

Her blade flashed like a whip, cutting through the dark.

Chu Kuang ignored the searing pain, rolled to his feet, and dashed onto the dais. He snatched up the bone bow and bolted.

He had lied.

He never intended to kill Yu Ji tonight.

Yes, the old man was his lifelong nemesis—but Chu Kuang was weak, injured, and had no chance against him. And with Yu Yin also present, taking on two members of the Xian Mountain Guard? He didn’t stand a chance.

All he wanted… was that bone bow.

As long as he could get it, he’d flee to some remote wilderness, recuperate, train for ten years—then come back and kill Yu Ji.

Yu Yin saw him slip toward the window and slowly raised her blade. But under the pale moonlight, she caught a sudden glimpse of his silhouette.

He had straightened, bow in hand, string drawn. Against the silver moon, his figure was pitch black—like King Yama himself.

Chu Kuang said,

“I’m not running. You should be.

Listen up—

I’m firing three arrows, and every one’s gonna send you pissing yourselves!”

Suddenly, he plucked the bowstring three times—

THWANG! THWANG! THWANG!

The noise was like thunder. Yu Yin and Fang Jingyu instinctively readied sword and blade, but soon realized—it was all a bluff.

Just as they moved to charge, pain flared through their bodies—several mud pellets had struck their pressure points, immobilizing them for a moment.

Chu Kuang had never loosed any arrows. He’d only snapped the bowstring to draw their attention—then flicked the pellets from his fingertips, striking with misdirection.

A petty trick like that couldn’t hold Yu Yin.

In an instant, she shattered the grip on her pressure points and leapt into motion—her next strike a breathtaking arc, beautiful as a white egret taking flight, yet filled with deadly killing intent.

But Chu Kuang was ready.

He rammed his shoulder into the window frame, crashing through it and leaping out.

With the bow in hand, he bolted into the night like a wheel.

Yu Yin exhaled coldly.

“Clever dog. To escape from my blade… he’s not without some minor skill.”

But from the shadows, a voice suddenly rang out, calm and domineering—

Yu Ji.

“He dares spew such wild words in front of me—does he think I’ll just let him flee?”

He had been still this entire time, watching the confrontation between Yu Yin and the assassin. Now he raised a calloused, powerful hand. With thumb and middle finger, he lightly flicked.

Just a flick—but it unleashed a wave of energy like a sword tearing through the heavens.

The night split open. The window exploded inward. A thunderclap echoed like a mountain collapsing.

Chu Kuang, now four hundred paces away, suddenly felt as if he’d been struck by a giant’s hammer.

His skin cracked open, blood spraying into the night.

Four hundred paces away—and with just a finger, Yu Ji could still strike to kill.

Fang Jingyu watched, stunned to his core.

Only now did he understand—Yu Ji had held back that day at Baicao Pass. His power was unfathomable. Between them lay a chasm deeper than heaven and earth.

Chu Kuang tumbled off the roof, a crippled bird with broken wings.

Moonlight like frost spilled across the black tiles. The world fell silent.

Yu Yin rose, sheathed her blade, and bowed to Yu Ji.

“To allow such wickedness to intrude tonight and disturb your peace… it is my failure. I’m ashamed.”

Yu Ji laughed heartily.

“Think nothing of it. Just a bit of sport—rather entertaining, actually.”

Yu Yin raised her blade and sliced the door latch. The madam of Zui Chun, still trembling outside, was called in.

“Drag that assassin back here. I intend to question him thoroughly.”

“No need,” Yu Ji said calmly.

“He’s nothing more than a buzzing little gnat. Let the madam handle him however she sees fit.”

Yu Yin looked as if she wanted to argue, but at the sight of Yu Ji’s resolute expression, she said nothing.

What Yu Ji decided—even the Emperor could not undo.

The madam prostrated herself in fear.

“To let a thief disturb your banquet is a crime punishable by death! I shall flay him alive, draw out his tendons, and offer his hide to soothe your wrath!”

Yu Ji chuckled.

“No need. I’ve already taken a dance from you tonight—that’s cost you enough silver. If I take a life as well, the bloodshed would be too heavy. Just give him a good beating, then let him go.”

He took a sip of wine.

“Lately I’ve been eating vegetarian and chanting scripture. I’m trying to avoid unnecessary killing.”

The madam didn’t dare speak—she only kowtowed furiously.

Yu Yin sighed. “Since Lord Yu Ji has spoken, then so be it.”

But she added coldly to the madam,

“If anything like this happens again…”

Her eyes snapped open, gaze as cold as falling snow.

“Everyone in Zui Chun—will lose their heads.”

____

In the courtyard, the willows hung limp.

Chu Kuang, bloodied and broken, crawled across the ground.

Yu Ji’s flick had shattered his bones and torn his muscles. His newly healed wounds had split open again.

He dragged himself to the lakeside, smashed through the frozen surface, and sank the bone bow beneath the ice.

He had to protect it.

As long as Fan Ruo still existed, he could always come back.

In his haze, he saw his master’s face again. He was still struggling here in the wasteland of Penglai.

When would he fulfill his master’s final wish?

When would he escape this prison?

He still hadn’t taken revenge on Yu Ji.

There was still so much left to do.

His master’s dying words echoed in his ears:

“Find someone for me… bring him out of Penglai…”

But the name had never been spoken.

Before his master could finish, he had died.

In life, the old man had said: the one he sought would be extraordinary—unmistakable at first glance.

But Chu Kuang had wandered Penglai in a haze for years, unable to find that person.

And all he had earned was a body full of wounds.

He was still far from his goal.

Chu Kuang closed his eyes—and lost consciousness.

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  惊愚 (Jīngyú), which can literally be read as “startled fool”