HCAW 80

Chapter 80: Living for You

A few sparse stars dotted the sky like silent eyes gazing down at the world. Beneath that starry canopy, two figures leaned against each other by the water’s edge.

Chu Kuang had just cried hard, his eyes rimmed with red. His grief had been bottled up too long, and tonight he had finally let it pour out. Fang Jingyu didn’t understand all of what was in his heart, but he could feel the real weight of it—and held him without a word, gently patting his back. When Chu Kuang cried himself to exhaustion, he slumped against Fang Jingyu, motionless like a marionette with its strings cut.

The night wind grew damp and cold. Fang Jingyu draped his cloak over him, feeling his limbs—cold as ice. He said softly:

“Let’s go sit by the fire for a bit.”

He called several times before Chu Kuang gave a shake of the head, shrinking in like a turtle. Fang Jingyu placed his coat over him and began to shiver himself. The pain from his newly forged iron bones and unhealed wounds gnawed unbearably. At last he murmured:

“If this keeps up, we’ll both catch cold before our wounds have healed, and everyone will laugh at us.”

He rambled a while, but Chu Kuang didn’t move, silent as stone. Fang Jingyu knew—if someone’s body bore this many scars, their heart must be just as torn.

He wanted to ask so many things: Yu Ji Guard was defeated, the Lei Ze soldiers were rejoicing—so why had Chu Kuang tried to take his own life? Why had he wept so suddenly, so painfully? They’d shared a bed, skin to skin, yet their souls still felt oceans apart. He didn’t truly understand this man. And Chu Kuang didn’t understand him.

Chu Kuang remained silent. Rain slicked his body until he glistened. His lashes drooped, star reflections flickering in his eyes. After a long while, he sniffled and said softly:

“Let them laugh, then.”

Hearing him speak, Fang Jingyu felt a flicker of relief—at least he wasn’t completely lost in silence. So he said:

“If we get sick, we’ll be stuck indoors, two turtles staring at each other like green beans.”

“Isn’t that better?” Chu Kuang murmured. “Nothing to think about. Just you and me, nesting in bed like spoons, one quiet day after another.”

Fang Jingyu wiped his tears with his sleeve. Chu Kuang let out a soft hum. Fang Jingyu suddenly thought—what is Chu Kuang like? When he fought Yu Ji Guard and threw himself between them, he was like a loyal guard dog. But now, sulky and stubborn, he seemed more like a fierce little cat.

Fang Jingyu sighed. “I’ll get you some hot soup to warm you up.”

But Chu Kuang tugged at his sleeve and whispered, “Don’t go.”

Fang Jingyu froze. Just a moment ago this man said he didn’t need me, he thought, but said nothing, only kept rubbing his back. After a while, the wind picked up again. The cold bit deeper. The wounds over his iron bones stabbed like needles. Fang Jingyu finally said, “It’s just a few steps to somewhere warm. I won’t leave. I’ll talk with you the whole way.”

“I can’t walk anymore,” Chu Kuang replied.

Fang Jingyu looked down and saw that his clothes were a mess, the lining soaked with blood. It dawned on him—Chu Kuang was covered in wounds.

His heart clenched. “Where did these come from? Didn’t those meat slices heal your injuries during the fight with Yu Ji Guard?”

“These wounds were always there,” Chu Kuang said, closing his eyes. “I didn’t treat them. I didn’t know what the meat slices would turn me into. Now that I’ve eaten a few, my nature’s already started to change. If I keep going, maybe I won’t be me anymore. Better to let them heal slowly.”

Only now did Fang Jingyu realize why Chu Kuang hadn’t budged—every tiny movement must have hurt terribly.

Fang Jingyu dared not move, afraid to cause pain. “You should be happy. You’ve avenged your great hatred. Isn’t that something?”

After a pause, Chu Kuang said, “Not as happy as I imagined.”

“But still better than having no justice at all, right?”

“Before I took revenge, at least I had something to hold on to. Now that the old bastard is dead, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Fang Jingyu looked out over the dark sea. “There’s still a long life ahead. You can do anything. Wander the Xian Mountains, live in peace here in Yingzhou, or go back to Penglai and live like a carefree cloud. Whatever you want, it’s all possible.”

“I can’t imagine it. I can’t see what lies ahead,” Chu Kuang whispered. “I’m not like you. I crawled out of the River of Blood. Now that my revenge is done, I should return to the underworld. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.”

His gloom pulled everything down—the distant laughter faded, the stars dimmed, and even the wind felt colder, sharper.

Fang Jingyu flicked his forehead. “Nonsense. Ghost or man, I’m your penny-pinching master, then. If you don’t know what to do later, just live well for now. What can I do to cheer you up?”

“I don’t know,” Chu Kuang said dully.

“Should I sing for you?” Fang Jingyu offered. He’d never comforted anyone before. Xiao Jiao was easy to please—she only needed a big bun with stuffing. He recalled the flirty tricks he’d learned from the courtesans and cleared his throat awkwardly, beginning to sing “Hanging on the Branch”—a tune often heard on pleasure boats, playful and light:

“What breaks the heart most is parting like ginseng / Only because licorice sweet-talked me until now / Bitter like coptis, I moan for you still…”

His singing was clumsy, off-pitch, and jumpy.

Chu Kuang finally let out a small laugh, but his expression was still heavy. Fang Jingyu continued, “I’ll do that water-sleeve dance I learned from the girls.”

He tried to dance—but his limbs tangled, and the metal inside his bones scraped painfully with every move.

Chu Kuang watched his silly performance, and his expression softened a bit. Fang Jingyu stayed with him for a long time, until the crease between Chu Kuang’s brows began to ease, little by little.

“Feeling better now?” he asked.

“With Your Highness humbling yourself to cheer me up,” Chu Kuang said dryly, “how could I not be?”

Fang Jingyu thought to himself, This man’s got a stiff mouth—he says he’s fine, but he clearly isn’t. So they sat there together, talking about this and that, from the heavens to the seas, nonsense and private thoughts alike. Fang Jingyu could feel Chu Kuang’s mind slowly opening, his body relaxing. But still, he stayed pressed close, like a fragile blade of wild grass.

The rain began to ease, and the clouds thinned, revealing a magnificent river of stars in the sky—like a slab of silver shattered by a hammer, scattering into countless glowing shards. Sensing the moment had come, Fang Jingyu cautiously glanced at Chu Kuang and asked, “I have something I want to ask you.”

Chu Kuang looked back at him, his tears already dry, expression calm. Fang Jingyu chose his words with care, then steeled himself and asked, “Why do you use the Fang family sword technique?”

As if expecting this, Chu Kuang replied, “I’m a genius. I watched your father perform it once at Zhenhai Pass and picked it up.” But in truth, he thought to himself, I practiced that sword technique day and night from childhood. How could I not know it?

Fang Jingyu gave up beating around the bush. “You look a lot like my brother.”

Chu Kuang replied slowly, “There must be plenty of people in Yingzhou who do.”

Fang Jingyu said nothing. He felt Chu Kuang was deliberately dodging the question—and at the same time, he blamed himself. He had long known Chu Kuang couldn’t be his brother, and yet he kept holding on to that faint, futile hope. Yu Ji Guard had once raised many catamites, altering their appearance to resemble Fang Minsheng. Chu Kuang had likely been one of his victims. And still, he kept ripping open old scars, forcing Chu Kuang to give him a lie that matched his own selfish longing.

Just as he was about to apologize, Chu Kuang suddenly said, “Whoever you want me to be, I’ll be.”

Fang Jingyu stared at him, dazed. Chu Kuang smiled back—not cold, but faint and hollow.

“Whether I’m Fang Minsheng or someone else entirely, I’ll follow Your Highness’s orders and be the person you want. But I don’t know poetry or propriety. I’ve slept with a lot of people. I’m filthy. And now I’m injured—injuries that likely won’t heal in this life. I’m a cripple. Hire someone like me as your servant, and you’re bound for disappointment.”

There was a kind of quiet despair in his tone. Fang Jingyu suddenly burst out:

“I want you to be Chu Kuang.”

Chu Kuang’s eyes widened slightly. He froze.

“I don’t care what you are. I want you to be you. Chu Kuang is Chu Kuang—not anyone else.” Fang Jingyu lowered his gaze. “I used to hate myself too—a useless cripple who couldn’t even walk. But someone didn’t look down on me. He taught me to channel qi into my bones, to read and write, and gave me the courage to live. Now I want you to do the same. Even if the road ahead is full of wind, snow, and thorns—I’ll walk it with you.”

He gripped Chu Kuang’s hand tightly, their fingers interlacing like tangled vines, inseparable. Chu Kuang trembled. He saw the scars on Fang Jingyu’s hand, two battered hands layered together, their pulses beating as one. Fang Jingyu’s eyes were like shining obsidian—sharp and sincere, and it made Chu Kuang’s heart race. Then he heard Fang Jingyu say:

“Come with me. Let’s go beyond Yingzhou—there’s Fanghu, Yuanqiao, Daiyu… I hear the scenery there is breathtaking. It’d be a shame not to see it once in this life.”

Chu Kuang remembered he’d once said the same thing to himself as a child. He smiled faintly. “I’m afraid you once promised someone else the same. The one you truly wanted to ask… wasn’t me.”

Fang Jingyu replied, “If he could come, that would be wonderful. But right now, the only one who’s willing to be with me—is you. Please. I’m afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of the cold. I’m a coward, and I’m a fool. If you don’t come with me, I’ll die—tricked by some scheme or crushed by loneliness.”

He spoke with calm detachment, but the plea in his words made Chu Kuang laugh through his tears.

Just then, a commotion rose around them. People rushed over, shouting in delight: “The rain’s stopped! Your Highness, the rain’s stopped!”

Everyone looked up. Though the sky was still dark, the rain had ceased. Yingzhou had suffered floods for years, endless rain without a single clear day—but now, for the first time in decades, the sky was clearing, revealing a brilliant white moon.

Under its radiant glow, a faint moonbow shimmered on the horizon. Cheers erupted like thunder. Lei Ze soldiers tore off their jackets and threw them skyward in celebration.

Flagpole, a slave from Penglai, shouted, “Fire the fireworks!” He’d always loved watching fireworks and had secretly crafted water fireworks for children—but the endless damp had left them unused. Now, rushing into the hold, he pulled out his firecrackers and passed them around.

In moments, fireworks lit up the sea, bursting into dazzling blossoms, as brilliant as stars falling from the heavens. Amid their glow, Chu Kuang stared at Fang Jingyu. He could no longer find that eloquent, unstoppable version of himself—Fang Minsheng. But just the same, the timid boy who used to cling to his coat hem was gone. His younger brother had grown into someone worthy of total trust.

And just then, a thought bloomed in his mind: So long as I follow this person, no matter how hard the road ahead, we’ll overcome everything.

“Feeling better now? What else must I do to please you?” Fang Jingyu asked.

Chu Kuang smiled faintly. “Your Highness has gone above and beyond. If I still sulk, I’d be terribly ungrateful.”

Fang Jingyu smirked. “You’ve never been one to show gratitude. If you were too good at reading people, you wouldn’t be yourself.”

Chu Kuang grinned. “Then let me speak honestly. I’m very hard to please. Even if you’ve made me smile now, I’ll still have nightmares tonight. I’ll probably cling to Your Highness crying, sniffling and sobbing. I hope you’ll bear with me.”

Fang Jingyu took a deep breath. “Then I’ll just have to keep trying.”

Suddenly, he blushed, glanced away, and after much hesitation, hugged Chu Kuang tightly.

At that moment, a massive firework bloomed overhead—thousands of petals like pear blossoms, apricots, peach flowers bursting open, like the arrival of spring. Chu Kuang felt a warm press on his lips—Fang Jingyu, kissing him in full view.

It was soft and long, as if to soothe all wounds. All rules and rituals fell away. The world quieted. Even the wind lost its chill. As if everything else crumbled away, only this warmth remained. Back at the Lei Ze camp, Fang Jingyu had once lost to Chu Kuang in a pitch pot match and Chu Kuang had kissed him playfully, though Fang Jingyu hated it. But now, that proud man kissed him willingly.

For a heartbeat, the crowd went silent—then burst into cheers.

“Again! One more kiss!”

“Grow old together! A hundred years of happiness!”

Flustered, Fang Jingyu glared at them. “Anyone who keeps gawking gets demoted!”

Amid the laughter, Chu Kuang smiled. “Your Highness really went all in, daring to kiss me in front of everyone?”

Fang Jingyu’s ears turned scarlet. He clung tightly, shrinking like a turtle. Seeing his embarrassment, Chu Kuang’s mischief stirred. “It’s fine. It’s just a kiss. Besides—didn’t we already do worse? Your Highness’s virtue has long since been defiled by me.”

Fang Jingyu buried his head into Chu Kuang’s neck like an ostrich. The soldiers eventually dispersed, but the warmth remained—gongs, cheers, dancing and flags like a festival.

Fireworks burst overhead in endless succession, stringing stars and silver across the sky. Then, Fang Jingyu felt warmth on his brow—Chu Kuang had pressed his forehead to his.

Beneath the fireworks, their gazes met. Chu Kuang’s face was still streaked with tears, but his smile was as warm as spring wind. The rain in Yingzhou had stopped—and the rain in his heart was finally easing.

He said, “So long as you don’t cast me aside, I’ll go anywhere with you. I’ll hold your stirrup and lead your horse.”

“Even if I did scorn you,” Fang Jingyu murmured, “would it change who you are? You’re already acting like yourself. I suppose… I’ve finally cheered you up?”

Chu Kuang smiled. “I’m better. But now Your Highness is the one getting shy. I guess it’s my turn to cheer you up.”

Fang Jingyu didn’t respond. Then he felt a hand gently lift his chin, and a kiss landed at the corner of his mouth—warm, and lasting.

Startled, he looked up—only to be hugged tightly. He saw the red tips of Chu Kuang’s ears, and realized he wasn’t the only one embarrassed.

The fireworks continued, gold and silver streaking the sky. In that mingling of light and shadow, Chu Kuang whispered:

“Your Highness, I’ll walk with you. To Fanghu, Daiyu, and Yuanqiao. All the way to Guixu. We’ll go together, side by side, and never part.”

“For all these years, I wanted to die. If it were only for myself, I would have gladly died. But now that I’ve met you—even in this harsh world—I have the courage to live.”

Fang Jingyu said nothing, only hugged him tighter. The whisper at his ear was soft as a feather—but weighed like the world.

It was a vow. Fang Minsheng had once made it ten years ago. Ten years later, it had not changed.

“Your Highness,” Chu Kuang said softly,

“Before, I lived to die. But from now on—I’ll live for you.”