HCAW 83
by LiliumChapter 83: Drunken Pleasures
The fisherman’s drum thumped loudly, gongs clamored and surged like the Milky Way. A white gauze veil covered the stage, where the performer moved fingers and twirled sticks, making the donkey-hide shadow puppets sit, lie down, tumble, and fight.
Tonight’s performance was a newly arrived shadow play from beyond Yingzhou’s borders. It told of a group of imperial soldiers sent to distant seas by the Emperor to seek the elixir of immortality. The puppeteer sang:
“The Emperor seeks eternal glow,
Sends me to find where life may grow.
Ten thousand miles the sails may soar,
The crocodile waves with thunder roar—”
The shadow-puppets danced behind the gauze, showing the soldiers thrown into chaos by a raging storm. Their ships were shattered, and they washed ashore, only to meet immortals robed in crane-feather cloaks.
These soldiers had landed on an immortal mountain unknown to any map. The immortals there planted their own divine fruits and hoarded them greedily. A flute sounded, and the soldiers raised their spears and blades, stabbing holes of light into the immortals’ forms, seizing the fruits for themselves. Behind the fish-oil-soaked cloth, the puppeteer sang:
“Blades cleave through flesh and bone,
Blood mists rise and fill the dome.
Immortal fruit now packed and won,
They strut up palace stairs as one—”
The tale ended with the soldiers bringing the fruits back, claiming credit before the Emperor, each rewarded with gold and silk, and everyone rejoicing.
In the audience sat a crowd of rough men and military fellows. As the play ended, they began to comment and argue. With the defeat of the Yu Ji Guard, peace had returned to Yingzhou, and every day was filled with drinking and theater. A Lei Ze soldier slapped his thigh and exclaimed:
“Damn, that was satisfying! Those ‘immortal fruits’—aren’t they just like our ‘Immortal Elixir’? Those ‘immortals’ are just like the National Preceptors hoarding all the good stuff! While they sit in their palaces sipping tea, we’re out here fighting for our lives!”
But another disagreed. “A life’s a life, even an immortal’s. Robbing someone’s treasure for riches—it’s ill-gotten gain. Cursed money.”
The debate flared on. Off to one side of the stage, a girl in a peony-pink robe blinked quietly, her gaze fixed on the dancing shadows. It was Xiao Jiao.
Watching the play left her feeling uneasy. She placed a hand on her chest—still hollow and silent. As the donkey-hide shadows flitted behind the screen, she couldn’t help but think of the dark figures from her dreams. Lately, she’d been haunted by nightmares—torrents and storms that left her deeply unsettled.
Suddenly, noise erupted from the distance—it was Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang being caught by the Lei Ze sailors and dragged back toward the banquet tent.
Several times, Fang Jingyu was shoved into Chu Kuang. Chu Kuang’s face twisted with displeasure, his features practically knotting together in protest. Fang Jingyu, in contrast, wore the icy, elegant air of someone untouched by worldly dust. He neither accepted nor refused.
At last, Chu Kuang snapped, “I’m not eating with you people. As long as His Highness is around, I can’t stomach Yingzhou food.”
The soldiers burst out laughing.
“Ah Chu, you’ve forgotten your roots! You didn’t say that eight years ago! Just yesterday you said the big yellow croaker was tasty and asked us to save you a few!”
Another chimed in, “What are you so uptight about? You’ve been glued to His Highness like an iron hoop on a bucket. It’s just dinner—what’s so scary about that?”
Chu Kuang gritted his teeth. “I’m a servant. I’m not worthy to sit at the same table as my master.”
Fang Jingyu frowned, clearly puzzled by Chu Kuang’s evasive behavior. Then, expression cooling, he said, “How are you unworthy? You’re practically the ancestor worshipped in my family shrine. You should sit at the head.”
But Chu Kuang shouted, “No! I’m not eating! Fishbones and shrimp spines get stuck in my teeth—I want baked sweet potatoes!”
He was unreasonable and loud, throwing such a tantrum that the Yingzhou soldiers were left dumbfounded. When he’d first arrived in Yingzhou, he had acted like the most loyal hound, clinging to Fang Jingyu like a leech. But now the two seemed to be pulling apart.
Then again, they remembered Chu Kuang was a notorious lunatic—his moods flipped like a coin. So they let it slide.
But sweet potatoes were rare in Yingzhou, unlike in Penglai. His demand was near impossible.
The soldiers glanced at each other. One said, “There’s an old man who sells them at the base of Qingyu Gao Mountain, but he appears at random hours and is probably not out this late.”
Fang Jingyu grabbed Chu Kuang’s sleeve. “Stop obsessing over sweet potatoes. There’s a banquet waiting with all the delicacies of land and sea—why cling to that peasant food?”
Chu Kuang threw a tantrum and turned to leave. The soldiers quickly blocked his path, laughing as they pushed the two back into the tent. Left with no choice, Chu Kuang sulkily sat down and buried his face in a bowl of braised eel, refusing to speak.
Someone chuckled, “Brother Chu, what’s with the mood? These days are worth celebrating! You’re the main force behind Yu Ji Guard’s defeat. How about we issue you a golden decree and seal, and make you the new Yu Ji Guard?”
Chu Kuang rolled his eyes. “No thanks. That title’s foul and disgusting—just hearing it dirties my ears.” Then he added, “I wouldn’t stoop to be a Xian Mountain Guard. Besides, His Highness has bigger ambitions—he wants to be Emperor.”
“Then I’ll be Emperor and name you Tianfu Guard.”
Fang Jingyu looked at him and said it. Chu Kuang suddenly froze and turned his face away—those words, “Tianfu Guard,” struck a nerve.
Fang Jingyu thought, What’s this brat pretending again for? He shifted a bit closer, and Chu Kuang immediately moved further away. The two advanced and retreated in sync, like playing a silent game.
Fang Jingyu had seen Chu Kuang’s eccentric behavior plenty of times, but tonight he had another aim. When the soldiers jokingly urged the two to spar again, he promptly agreed.
Chu Kuang was reluctant, but under the crowd’s jeers, he picked up a sword. The two squared off just like last time and began their mock duel.
Fang Jingyu had once seen Chu Kuang wield the refined Fang family sword style and now attacked with deliberate feints, testing him. But Chu Kuang’s performance was completely off—his moves were clumsy and awkward. After just a few exchanges, he dropped his sword, covered his head, and shouted:
“His Highness is too strong—I give up, I give up!”
Fang Jingyu didn’t buy it. He grabbed Chu Kuang’s wrist, locked his arms, and swept him off his feet. At the moment of contact, Chu Kuang’s body went rigid.
The soldiers laughed uproariously. “Ah Chu was fearless against Yu Ji Guard, and now he’s a coward before His Highness?”
“One thing conquers another—they say His Highness is Ah Chu’s natural nemesis!”
Chu Kuang angrily pulled away from Fang Jingyu’s arms and returned to the feast, drinking silently. Fang Jingyu could tell he was hiding something and invited him to drink again. “Why such a sour mood all of a sudden? Did I offend you?”
“No.”
“Then something’s bothering you. Tell me—I’m not an outsider.”
Chu Kuang said irritably, “Yes, you’re not an outsider—you’re my insider.”1內人 (nèi rén) “inner person,” but it’s a traditional, often affectionate way to refer to one’s wife or close partner
As soon as the words left his mouth, both of them froze.
Fang Jingyu stared at Chu Kuang. His eyes shimmered, gleaming like moonlight on water, hiding emotions both new and old. Fang Jingyu wanted to speak but held back. At last he said, “If you don’t want to say it, that’s fine. Tonight, let’s just drink. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
The two drank together, playing the drinking game “Passing the Hook.” Though Fang Jingyu said so aloud, doubt lingered in his heart. He wanted Chu Kuang to simply be Chu Kuang—but a part of him also hoped he was someone else. Someone who resembled his elder brother, who played the bili, who knew the Fang family sword style—someone no second man in the world could be.
So he aimed to get Chu Kuang drunk and draw out the truth. Chu Kuang, for his part, had the same idea—get Fang Jingyu drunk so he could escape further questioning.
After three rounds of drinks, both their faces were flushed. The people of Yingzhou liked to drink shaojiu2燒酒” (shāojiǔ) “burned liquor” —harsh and heavy with fumes, it was unpleasant in excess.
After a while, Chu Kuang covered his mouth. “No good—I’m gonna throw up.”
He looked up and saw Fang Jingyu already slumped over. Chu Kuang kicked him a few times—no reaction. In a panic, he dashed outside and vomited his guts out.
Rain and wind swept the darkness; the world blurred into shadow. Out of the corner of his eye, Chu Kuang suddenly spotted a figure. He looked up—his master stood quietly in the rain, silver mask gleaming.
“Master?”
He hesitated and called out, but the figure gave no answer.
Chu Kuang beat his head with his fists. Was this another drunken illusion?
But he knew the truth—his hallucinations had worsened. The shadowy figure that once only appeared in nightmares now loomed before him in waking hours. A chill crawled up his spine. Would his madness one day harm others?
Another wave of nausea surged. He bent over again, vomiting violently on the dock. As he went to wash his face, he saw his reflection wavering in the water—his features blurred and overlaid with his master’s.
He looked down at his hands—his ten fingers had turned black as if corroded by “Immortal Elixir,” stinging with pain. But in the blink of an eye, the illusion vanished.
Stars dimmed above as the sky began to lighten. Chu Kuang slipped back into the tent, bitterly thinking: I can’t stay close to Fang Jingyu anymore.
As the Ruyi Guard had said, he couldn’t become Fang Jingyu’s weakness. If Fang Jingyu hated him—if he became insignificant—then he could fulfill his duty, spill his blood on the blade, and never worry about dragging Fang Jingyu down.
His thoughts churned. The alcohol faded slightly, but his mind was still foggy. He helped Fang Jingyu back to the cabin, laying him on the bed. But suddenly, two arms wrapped around his neck. Chu Kuang went limp and collapsed onto the bed.
Eyes wide, he saw Fang Jingyu draw close and seize his lips. The prince’s kiss breached his defenses, overwhelming him.
“…Mmph!”
He tried to resist, but his strength failed. Fang Jingyu, iron-boned and fierce, locked him in an embrace like a prison—there was no escape.
It must’ve been the alcohol. Fang Jingyu, usually so cold and proud, now kissed him like a madman, relentless and wild. The kisses fell like rain, and Chu Kuang’s mind spun. Their bodies burned together, hearts seared like kindling. Chu Kuang suddenly thought: Fang Jingyu is like a magnet, and I’m the compass needle. I know I shouldn’t come close, but I still can’t help but follow.
The strength drained from his hands. Then darkness swept over him.
When he awoke, the sea roared outside, waves swelling and crashing. Chu Kuang’s head was heavy as lead. He opened his eyes and found himself curled in Fang Jingyu’s arms.
Their limbs were tangled in intimate embrace. Fang Jingyu held him around the waist, and in the moonlight, Chu Kuang saw with a jolt—he was completely naked.
Chu Kuang bolted upright, pale as a ghost. One frantic thought echoed in his mind:
It’s over—I slept with Fang Jingyu again!
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