HCAW 81

Chapter 81: His Name Is Tianfu

Heaven did not show mercy. After one clear night, the next day came again with violent wind and sudden rain.

But this suited Chu Kuang’s taste just fine. Since last night, he had been staying with Fang Jingyu inside the cabin of the Lei Ze ship, curled together under the bedding, whispering sweet nothings. Fang Jingyu spoke of the strange tales he’d heard while working in Penglai; Chu Kuang, on the other hand, recounted stories from his days as a lawless rogue.

They began with idle chatter, ranging far and wide, but the more they listened to each other, the worse they both felt. In the end, Chu Kuang couldn’t resist flipping over and scratching at Fang Jingyu, shouting:

“Fine, you damn dogs of the court—how could you set such treacherous traps again and again? If I’d slipped up and been caught by you lot to be tortured, what then?!”

Fang Jingyu held down his flailing hands and said with disdain, “You’re the one who had no regard for law and order, acting wildly and recklessly. If I hadn’t heard your full confession, I wouldn’t have known you committed so many noble ‘deeds’! If we were in Penglai right now, I’d really want to turn you in to the authorities for a reward.”

They scuffled on the bed for a while until Fang Jingyu pinned Chu Kuang down. “Enough playing around. You need to rest and recover. If your wounds tear open from this nonsense, then what?”

Chu Kuang bared his teeth. “I don’t want to fool around with you either. I’m a decent man now. Fooling at night is one thing, but once morning comes, I’m going to study and learn to read properly.”

With that, he turned over and got up, fetched ink and brush, placed a wooden plank across his knees, spread a piece of hemp paper over it, and began writing in earnest. But no matter how he wrote, it was just the same four characters: “一二三亖.” (1,2,3,4) Fang Jingyu had no idea what had gotten into him—Chu Kuang had been insisting on practicing characters since last night and kept pestering him to teach him strokes.

Fang Jingyu said coldly, “Chu Laborer, even my handwriting looks like spider trails. How could I possibly teach you to write with strength and elegance?”

Chu Kuang grinned wickedly. “Your Highness, my weak arrow awaits your strong bow. I’m not asking to become a calligraphy master overnight. Just teach me how to write the character ‘five,’ that’s all.”

So Fang Jingyu guided his hand, stroke by stroke, the two callused hands overlapping, warm like holding a furnace, making both their hearts race wildly.

The brush slipped slightly, and Chu Kuang blurted, “This damn thing’s hard as hell to write.”

Fang Jingyu said, “No swearing.”

Chu Kuang’s tongue immediately tied itself in knots. After that, he obediently lowered his head and focused on copying strokes.

After writing for a long while, sweat beading on his forehead, Chu Kuang still couldn’t finish a proper character. Fang Jingyu sighed. “Chu Laborer, I recall it’s because of the injury to your head that you forgot how to write. If that’s the case, don’t force it. Even if you draw pictures, I’ll understand.”

Chu Kuang didn’t respond. He just bit the tip of the brush and stubbornly leaned over the board. Suddenly, a bout of pain struck his head, and he clutched it, groaning.

Fang Jingyu quickly wiped his sweat and brought him water. This time, the headache passed quickly. After resting a while, Chu Kuang suddenly exclaimed with excitement, “I can write now! I can write the word ‘five’!”

Fang Jingyu looked at him strangely, only to see him brimming with enthusiasm as he flourished his brush and wrote a huge “五” (5) on the paper. Fang Jingyu was dumbstruck—the strokes burst with force, sharp and tense.

Chu Kuang, riding the momentum, continued writing below it: “五侯擁軒蓋” (Five Marquises Escort the Canopy or 5,6,7,8). Every stroke was smooth and elegant, leaving Fang Jingyu utterly shocked. “What the hell’s gotten into you? How did you suddenly know how to write?”

Chu Kuang shook his head. “Just now, during the headache, it felt like someone was guiding me by the ear—suddenly, I could write.”

Fang Jingyu looked at him with worry. Chu Kuang had once said that those who ate the meat slices would sometimes hear things, catching sounds that didn’t belong in this world. But even so, being able to write was a good thing. Though uneasy, he kept his concerns to himself.

At that moment, he glanced out the window and saw the daylight growing brighter. He remembered something and got off the bed, saying to Chu Kuang, “I have an appointment with Ruyi Guard today—I need to go to the Fenglin ship. You stay here and rest. I’ll be back soon.”

But Chu Kuang grabbed his wrist. “I’m going too.”

Fang Jingyu nodded and agreed.

The two dressed properly and left the Fenglin ship together. Chu Kuang clung tightly to Fang Jingyu’s hand and wouldn’t let go. Fang Jingyu couldn’t shake him off and had no choice but to grip back in defiance. People on the street looked at them strangely, thinking they didn’t look like lovers but rather like a bailiff dragging along a prisoner.

As they walked, Chu Kuang grew increasingly uneasy.

Since eating the meat slices, he had frequently heard whispers by his ears. The more he ate, the clearer the voice became—like buzzing flies, lingering endlessly. The most bizarre part was that one of the voices was strangely familiar. During his headache earlier, a voice had kept whispering, “Chu Kuang… Chu Kuang.” It was his master’s voice.

Chu Kuang was confused. Why could he hear his master’s whispers? And ever since that voice appeared, words he previously couldn’t recall suddenly floated back into his mind, as if illuminated.

But this puzzle didn’t linger long in his thoughts, as another anxiety soon arose. Though he had cried hard last night and washed away much of the pain in his heart, there was still a knot he couldn’t untie.

Even now, he still didn’t dare reveal his real name to Fang Jingyu. Fang Jingyu surely didn’t want to hear it, either. They weren’t blood relatives, but they were supposed to be like elder and younger brothers. Yet now they’d kissed and slept together—what face would he have if the truth came out? If they returned to Penglai and ran into the Langgan Guard again, what then?

Chu Kuang’s face flushed red with shame. He wished he could find a crack in the ground and crawl into it. Thankfully, Fang Jingyu didn’t notice his embarrassment. As they crossed the floating bridge, they saw a solid wall of people gathered near the railing, all wearing hemp cords and coarse clothing. The expressions of those at the front were mournful, as they placed small earthen jars into the reed boats. The boats were adorned with dew-covered night-blooming flowers and water plants—it was a memorial for the soldiers who had died in the battle against the Yu Ji Guard.

The two of them stopped to silently offer a prayer, but they were noticed by others. Once the mourning ceremony ended, people surged toward them all at once, a clamorous and chaotic crowd. Everyone vied to stuff gifts and flowers into their arms, many kneeling in deep bows, offering heartfelt thanks. The two tried again and again to decline and finally managed to slip away.

They arrived at the Fenglin ship and stepped into the cabin, where they found Zheng Deli already present.

Zheng Deli gave an embarrassed smile. “Jingyu, Brother Chu—what brings you two here as well?”

It turned out that ever since he had borrowed books from Ruyi Guard comparing ancient script from Yingzhou, he had been visiting regularly to ask for her guidance. At that moment, Zheng Deli held the taoyuan stone bracelet in one hand and was pinching ash in the other, fiddling with it.

Fang Jingyu said, “Thanks to Ruyi Guard, I’ve had more iron bones sewn into me. The wounds still ache, though, so I came today to trouble her for more medical salve.” He then asked Zheng Deli, “And you? You’ve been studying that bracelet day in and day out—have you figured anything out?”

Zheng Deli scratched his head. “Not exactly a breakthrough, but there’s one thing that’s really strange.”

He opened his palm and showed them the ashes passed through the bracelet. “I burned jujube wood and scattered its ashes through the bracelet, then reached through with two fingers to pinch up some scraps—same way Ruyi Guard demonstrated before, right?”

Fang Jingyu nodded. “That’s right.”

“But I found that what I retrieved wasn’t jujube wood—it was fir wood.” Zheng Deli raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you retrieve through the taoyuan stone bracelet is no longer what it originally was.”

At those words, everyone present suddenly broke out in goosebumps.

They had seen Ruyi Guard’s demonstration before and believed that passing through the taoyuan stone could return one to the past. Emperor Bai had been convinced of this too, which was why he had erected a taoyuan stone gate between Xian Moutains. But if Zheng Deli’s observation was correct, then the stone gate didn’t lead to the past—it might go to a completely different version of it!

Just as everyone was shuddering over this possibility, they heard the slow, steady sound of footsteps—Ruyi Guard had entered.

The girl stood with hands on hips, smiling. “That taoyuan stone is a marvelous thing. Even I haven’t figured out its full secrets yet. Now that the old Yu Ji Guard is gone and no pursuers are on your tail, you might as well rest and recover here in Yingzhou for a while. If young Brother Zheng is interested, let him keep that bracelet to play with.”

Zheng Deli hurried to express his thanks and cheerfully continued rubbing and turning the bracelet. Ruyi Guard beckoned Fang Jingyu over to the couch, had him remove his outer robe, and examined how well the wounds around his iron bones were healing. She also had a ship’s physician come over to apply salves and medicine.

While wrapping him up, Ruyi Guard chuckled. “Your Highness can relax now and just enjoy yourself here for a while. But before you leave, I’ve got something to give you.”

She took a few gold-embellished small bottles from an enamel box and handed them to Fang Jingyu. He frowned. “What is this—‘Immortal Elixir’? I don’t want it.”

Ruyi Guard burst out laughing. “How could it be? This is the blood of mine, the Yu Ji Guard, the Mohe Guard, the Yu Jue Guard, and the Yu Yin Guard. It’s for opening the Blood Bait Locks.”

Fang Jingyu said coldly, “Why would I need to open those? I have no interest in your relics, and besides, you already gave me most of your Jin Pugu arrows.”

“Take them anyway—you might need them someday. The Xian Mountain Guards are stationed all over the border. If you ever come across one of their treasure chests but can’t unlock it, and try to come find me again, it’ll be too late.” Ruyi Guard smiled, but then her face turned solemn. “But opening treasure chests is secondary. What’s more important is the taoyuan gate that leads to Guixi.”

Her tone suddenly turned serious, and Fang Jingyu instinctively straightened his posture. Ruyi Guard continued:

“You little gourd, I’m giving you this blood for your own sake! Back when Emperor Bai marched to Guixi, he suffered a crushing defeat and set a taoyuan stone gate just outside. Together with ten Xian Mountain Guards, he hung eleven Blood Bait Locks on that stone gate. The bones of Xian Mountain Guards have been tempered by ‘Immortal Elixir’ and are impervious to weapons—unlocking them is a huge pain. The simplest method is to obtain blood from them or their blood kin.”

Fang Jingyu was at a loss for words. After a moment, he said, “You call that simple?”

The girl crossed her arms and scoffed. “If you can’t take on the guards directly, can’t you get blood from their cowardly kin? Plenty of those are spineless.”

Her tone softened slightly. “In the past, Xian Mountain Guards would leave each other samples of blood as proof of trust. These are blood samples I collected long ago from a few of them. I never leave Yingzhou, so they’re of no use to me. I’ll entrust them to you.”

Fang Jingyu held the little bottles and felt their weight. These vials of blood were keys to the gates of Guixi—and there were still many he had yet to find. His heart sank, feeling the road ahead was long indeed.

Chu Kuang had remained silent behind him until now, but suddenly he spoke: “Elder, those Blood Bait Locks are made of human bone, right? You all have four limbs—where’d the extra bones come from?”

At this, Ruyi Guard smiled mysteriously. Her eyes gleamed with a cryptic light as she looked at Chu Kuang, almost as if the two of them had once been acquaintances. “Immortal Elixir can bring back the dead. Even severed limbs can be restored. So, before consuming the elixir, each of us Xian Mountain Guards would first take out a few of our own bones to use. That’s why the locks are so precious.”

Fang Jingyu asked, “Doesn’t that hurt? As someone born without bones, I must say I envy you lot.” He is born with bones, they are just soft.

“To become a Xian Mountain Guard, we’ve endured all kinds of suffering along the way. The pain of extracting a few bones? Hardly worth mentioning.” Ruyi Guard sighed lightly.

Then she waved at Chu Kuang, motioning for him to follow her.

Though puzzled, Chu Kuang obeyed. The two of them climbed down a rope ladder into the lower cargo hold. A stale, dusty air hung in the space—it seemed wind had not passed through here in a long time. Once they stood still, Ruyi Guard said calmly:

“Ah Chu, your bone bow broke, didn’t it? Though it’s been barely mended with fish glue, it’s not reliable. Pick a bone from here, and I’ll have one of my people refit it for you.”

Chu Kuang was taken aback—it had been five years since they last spoke. Ruyi Guard had once taught him archery, but after his master’s death, he had fallen into despair and withdrawn from the world, never seeing her again. What surprised him more was that Ruyi Guard somehow knew his bow, Fan Ruo, had been fractured by Yu Ji Guard. Later, he figured Fang Jingyu must have told her. Besides, Ruyi Guard was famed for her omniscience and skill at divination—perhaps nothing in Yingzhou escaped her eyes.

By the light of the lanterns, he could now see the contents of the storeroom clearly. What he saw gave him a fright—the entire hold was full of bones. They hung from the walls, piled on the floor—vertebrae, ribs, sacrum—white and gleaming, laid out in dazzling variety. Chu Kuang was speechless. After a moment of silence, he asked:

“What is all this?”

“These are bones your master left behind. He consumed a great deal of ‘Immortal Elixir.’ Every time he did, he’d set aside some bones to make ‘Blood Bait Locks.’ He left behind more bones than anyone—I never knew what to do with them all. If I can’t find a use, I may as well toss them into the sea as ballast!”

Chu Kuang had no words.

All those nights he had clutched Fan Ruo and wept in secret, thinking he had deeply failed his master and deserved divine punishment—and to think his master had prepared for this long ago, even leaving bones for him to use. Chu Kuang sighed and gave a helpless laugh. Then, as if remembering something, he turned and asked Ruyi Guard:

“Come to think of it—who was my master, really?”

This had been a question weighing on him for a long time. His master had always laughed and never answered. He had once given Chu Kuang a jade ring and said that once he could read the inscription, he would know who he was.

Chu Kuang took out the fake yellow jade ring and handed it to Ruyi Guard. She smiled knowingly. “Take a look yourself.”

Chu Kuang shook his head. “I can’t read. And my head’s no good—no matter how hard I try, I can’t learn.”

Ruyi Guard chuckled. “You’ve eaten quite a few meat slices, haven’t you? Their effect is similar to ‘Immortal Elixir,’ though they’re not some miraculous panacea. I heard from your master that you were critically injured and on the brink of death. Saving you was already a miracle. Though the wound to your head mostly healed, your mind was still damaged. And those meat slices—while they heal the body, they harm the brain, making people lose control.”

Chu Kuang nodded, showing that he already knew. Ruyi Guard continued, “But think on the bright side—their effect may temporarily allow your mind to heal. While it lasts, take a look at that ring.”

Chu Kuang looked at the jade ring. Sure enough, the characters etched into it seemed to shimmer before his eyes, gradually taking shape.

But they were ancient Yingzhou script—he still couldn’t read them. So he clambered back up to the cabin and borrowed the comparison volume of old characters from Zheng Deli. Zheng was stunned that he, of all people, was asking for such scholarly material. Chu Kuang boasted, “I’ve turned over a new leaf! From now on I’m going to study hard—maybe even become a scholar in the emperor’s court!”

On the way back to the Lei Ze ship, a light rain began to fall. Chu Kuang clutched the jade ring tightly and thought of his master’s kindness. As he walked through the streets of Yingzhou, it felt like his master’s presence lingered everywhere: leading him through festivals and parades, helping him shoot a bow, carrying him back to the ship through wind and rain when he was hurt.

His master once told him beneath Guxie Mountain that he must be as wild and unbound as a beast, to tear out an enemy’s throat—and also that everything was predestined, but he hoped Chu Kuang would never yield to fate.

He had done both. He crushed Yu Ji Guard with savage ferocity, and he had given up thoughts of ending his life—choosing instead to follow Emperor Bai’s son to Guixi. That was defying fate.

In the fine rain, Chu Kuang bowed his head and murmured softly:

“I’ve fulfilled your wishes, Master.”

He climbed alone to the top of the Lei Ze ship. The sky was vast, the sea black and deep as ink. His master had once stood here, bow drawn like a full moon, felling enemy masts in a single shot. Back then, he had his master beside him. Now he could no longer see that familiar figure—but he was no longer alone.

The drizzle came down like mist and silk. He carefully took out the character book, shielding it from the rain. The clarity in his head brought by the meat slices still lingered. He gradually recognized the characters on the jade ring: three on the left, three on the right, and in the middle, a carving of a swan goose.

He remembered his master’s words—how he had taken off the ring and smiled, saying: “This bears my title. When you can read, you’ll know who I am.”

He found the corresponding characters in the book. Suddenly, the clouds in his heart parted.

It was the name of a legendary figure. Emperor Bai’s emblem was a dragon; this man’s was a swan goose. The histories described him as a blazing star in the heavens—radiant, fierce in battle, a figure likened to King Yama himself. They said, “The earth bore his spirit, heaven indulged his arrogance.”

Chu Kuang stared at the ring for a long time.

He should have realized who this was.

By the dim sky light, he saw the characters carved before the swan goose emblem:

“Tianfu Guard.”

Then he understood—why his master’s martial arts were unmatched in the world, why Ruyi Guard respected him so deeply, and why Yu Ji Guard had been so gravely wounded by him. His master had been the true apex, the foremost of all Xian Mountain Guards.

But more than that distant, exalted title, he cherished the silver-masked man who had tended his wounds and looked at him with warmth. His master was no saint, but a man of flesh and blood—who had known death. Without him, Chu Kuang would never have survived this long.

Chu Kuang closed his eyes and smiled faintly. The rain kissed his cheeks like his master’s hand.

Then he remembered—there was writing on the other side of the ring too. He hurriedly turned it over. Surely that must be his master’s real name.

The Tianfu Guard was mysterious as the moon on water—no one knew his true name. Chu Kuang bent his head over the book, comparing characters one by one.

Then he froze.

He remembered eight years ago, his master had sat by the fire, smiling gently but sorrowfully, and said:

“I hope that after you learn everything, you will still refuse to bow to fate.”

The three characters after “Tianfu Guard” stunned him.

Etched into the jade ring was—

“Fang Minsheng.”

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—End of Volume Two: Yingzhou Fire—

Author’s Note:

That’s the end of Volume Two—thank you all for your support!

By now, I’m sure everyone can tell where the fantasy elements lie (´▽｀) After all, the story takes place among Xian Mountains—it was never meant to be a strictly realistic wuxia tale.

This volume was harder to write since I’ve been swamped in real life, working by day and squeezing in writing late at night. I’m going to take a few days to rest and revise the outline, and resume updates this Friday!

Next volume will get into the dramatic identity reveals and angsty emotional arcs I’ve been looking forward to—hope you’ll stick with me. Love you all!

Next Volume: The Peach Source Dream