HCAW 84

Chapter 84: Sharing Joy and Bitterness

Two sharp slaps landed on his face. Fang Jingyu winced in pain and abruptly opened his eyes to see the soft silver moonlight, and Chu Kuang sitting beside him, fierce as a demon, interrogating him:

“You slept with me?!”

Fang Jingyu was dead tired and used to his sudden outbursts. He closed his eyes again and muttered, “Mm.”

Chu Kuang roared, “Damn your ancestors! You pervert, why the hell would you sleep with me?!”

“What are you yelling for? It’s not even the first time.”

Fang Jingyu turned over and went back to sleep. Chu Kuang sat there stunned for a while before realizing Fang Jingyu was referring to that time. But he wasn’t ready to let it go. He yanked Fang Jingyu up viciously. “Then why are my clothes gone?!”

“You drank too much last night and puked all over yourself… It was late and I had no time to borrow clothes for you, so I had to let you sleep naked.” Fang Jingyu, nearly driven to madness, pointed outside. “Look, I cleaned your dirty clothes and hung them out to dry.”

Chu Kuang wrapped himself in a blanket and peeked out of the cabin. Sure enough, his embroidered bamboo-patterned robe was hanging outside, swaying gently in the breeze. Only then did he believe Fang Jingyu’s explanation. He patted himself—no soreness—so he’d managed to keep his chastity intact.

Returning to bed, Fang Jingyu mumbled sleepily, “I didn’t do anything to you. Let me sleep, Chu Laborer.”

“I don’t believe you for a second!” Chu Kuang cursed. “You little bald pervert, drinking was one thing, but how dare you steal a kiss!”

Fang Jingyu blushed and turned away. “I was drunk,” he mumbled. “But you—when I kissed you just a little, you twisted around like a snake, nagging and squirming and practically begging me to take you.”

“Shut up! Shut up!”

Furious, Chu Kuang threw a pillow at him. Fang Jingyu replied, “You’re the little pervert.”

Chu Kuang shot back, “Pah! I’m a great lord!” Fang Jingyu said, “Then this little wife of yours has suffered too many grievances.”

Chu Kuang hadn’t expected him to talk like that. Yet even as he spoke nonsense, his face was as expressionless and cold as ever—like a corpse. Chu Kuang’s heart stirred: This little brother of mine needs discipline! Now he’s learned to cuss, to sulk, and every decent trait is turning rotten.

But remembering that Fang Jingyu had picked up all these bad habits from him made him uneasy. Only then did he realize Fang Jingyu was his karmic retribution—his debt, his fate. He would never escape it.

With nowhere else to go, still naked, he could only lie back down beside Fang Jingyu. But the two of them kept a strict distance between them, as if separated by a chasm.

The next morning, Chu Kuang got up, dressed, still fuming. Ling’er came to fetch them, brimming with excitement.

“Your Highness, Ah Chu—are you getting ready to leave Yingzhou?”

They had recovered over the past days thanks to careful care. Fang Jingyu, not wanting to overstay and trouble the locals, had quietly told the “Mule” their plan to depart. But news in Yingzhou traveled like crows on wings—it was everywhere in an instant.

Now Ling’er excitedly said, “We’ll hold a feast soon with the ‘Four Delicacies of Shark Fin’—guaranteed to stuff you both to bursting!”

Fang Jingyu didn’t want them to go to such lengths and politely refused, but he couldn’t withstand their persistence. In the end, he agreed, saying only, “No need for meat dishes—we’ll have vegetarian fare.”

Ling’er laughed. “Your Highness must not know the people’s hardships—Yingzhou is full of fish and crab, but vegetables are the real luxury here!”

As they stepped off the Lei Ze ship, they were met by a sea of heads. A crowd of heavily made-up women in red and green swarmed Fang Jingyu, chirping like birds:

“Your Highness!” “Your Highness!”

Fang Jingyu was startled. Ling’er hurriedly explained, “These are the ladies of Yingzhou. They heard Your Highness led us to defeat the Yu Ji Guard and all came rushing to see you. We tried to stop them but couldn’t.”

As she spoke, the women surrounded Fang Jingyu, pressing him into the center. The overwhelming scent of cosmetics made his head spin. He had never dealt with so many women at once and instantly lost his composure. One asked, “Your Highness is so handsome—are you married?”

Fang Jingyu shook his head. Another laughed, “You might be, after tonight!”

“Come with us, Your Highness—we promise to serve you well tonight!”

A chorus of women pulled him toward the pleasure boats, ignoring his struggles entirely.

Along the floating bridge were dozens of ornate flower boats, decked with rockeries and blossoms. The women, mostly courtesans, each hoped to host Emperor Bai’s son in their own boat, to build prestige. Every boat was prepared with feasts, waiting for the guest of honor.

As Fang Jingyu was swept away by the crowd, Chu Kuang was left behind. Ling’er smiled awkwardly, seeing the sour jealousy on his face.

“Ah Chu, shall we go too? Keep Your Highness company for drinks?”

“I’m not going.” Chu Kuang turned away, cursing, “Let that dead-faced prince drown in a sea of women!”

He slipped away like a retreating soldier, lonely and disheartened, retreating to the Fenglin ship.

The path they used to walk together now seemed endless when walked alone. His leg was still injured, and he limped. Yingzhou’s drizzle veiled the land in fog, making his solitary figure all the more desolate.

Back on the Fenglin ship, Chu Kuang greeted the Yu Yin Guard and silently descended into the storage hold. He picked up the newly reforged bone bow, Fan Ruo, slipped on the jade thumb ring, nocked an arrow, and drew.

With a few thunderous cracks, the arrows pierced the bullseye in a tight cluster.

He was clearly only testing Fan Ruo, yet every arrow struck dead center. And because he drew the bow as swiftly as lightning, the shots seemed to be released all at once.

Just then, a few crisp claps echoed through the silent storeroom. Chu Kuang put down Fan Ruo and looked up—it was the Ruyi Guard, who had come down into the cabin.

She gazed at the cluster of arrows and clicked her tongue in admiration. “You little mule, with archery this good, I doubt any teacher could ever match you.”

“You flatter me, my lady,” Chu Kuang said indifferently. “If I can’t hit the target I want, then what’s the use of hitting any target?”

She stood with her hands on her hips. “What is it you want to hit? His Highness’s heart?”

Pierced to the core, Chu Kuang masked his embarrassment with irritation and angrily plucked at the bowstring. The Ruyi Guard giggled. “No need to get flustered, I’ve brought you a gift.”

She held out a bow—an elegant recurved bow made of fine yew, the Daqu Bow, adorned with gold and silver, with limbs the color of day-warmed horn. It was the Ruyi Guard’s pride and symbol. She smiled:

“I heard you’re setting off soon, and I’ve no local goods to offer. I also heard you don’t like fish, so I’m giving you this bow instead. May your journey ahead be bright and may you bend the very heavens to your will.”

A warm wave suddenly welled up in Chu Kuang’s chest, yet it left his heart heavy. To the Ruyi Guard, Daqu was as Fan Ruo was to him. He shook his head. “Fan Ruo is enough.”

She laughed. “The Daqu bow is a heavy bow—different from Fan Ruo. It’s not for rapid fire, but its arrows are weighty and long-ranged. Just keep it for now. Consider it a gift from your teacher. You’ll find use for it someday.”

“A heavy bow like this… is it meant for breaking through encirclements?” Chu Kuang took the bow, his brow easing. “My lady, don’t jinx it. I’d rather not have another battle like the one in Yingzhou.”

“It’ll serve for that—or to break an ice wall.” She smiled mysteriously. “Your master instructed me to keep this for you.”

Ice wall? Chu Kuang was puzzled, but she said no more. He realized suddenly that he had never once called her “master.” She had taught him archery and so much else. Just as he was about to thank her, he looked up—and she had already vanished, the rope ladder above still swaying.

He carefully stored the Daqu bow and sat cross-legged in the storeroom for a long time, recalling how, long ago, he’d once gripped the hand of a dying man in a dusty ship cabin. Perhaps his heart had died in that moment—and only now was it beginning to stir again.

His gaze drifted until it fell on a knife lying on a redwood shelf. The blade was forged from Heavenly Moutain gold and now lay dulled by dust.

A sudden wave of grief crashed through his chest as he picked up the knife with trembling hands. Long ago, he had used it to skin and carve bone, crafting Fan Ruo. He returned to the upper deck, fetched boiling water and liquor, cleaned the blade, and carried it back down.

Then a bold idea struck him.

He cut open his palm and let the blood drip onto Fan Ruo. Since the bow was made from his teacher’s bone, it should respond to the “bone-drip method.” Beads of blood rolled down his hand and onto the bow.

In the dim cabin, Chu Kuang stared in shock.

The blood soaked into the bone—and vanished without a trace.

Only blood kin’s blood could fuse into bone. He and his teacher were… of the same bloodline.

Chu Kuang trembled all over. A more terrifying thought surfaced.

Perhaps… they weren’t merely of the same family.

Perhaps they were the same person.

_______

When Chu Kuang emerged from the Fenglin ship, rain was pouring down in sheets. He hastily wrapped his wounded hand and carried both the Daqu and Fan Ruo on his back, every step feeling unbearably heavy.

By now, his thoughts were a tangled mess. His teacher was the Tianfu Guard, named Fang Minsheng, and he himself bore blood ties to him. These absurd events in Yingzhou kept piling on, numbing his heart.

I can’t really be his bastard son, right? he thought bitterly.

But deep down, he knew better. His teacher had been a man of peerless skill and elegance, like what Fang Minsheng might have become if he had never suffered misfortune and grown up peacefully. And even so, his flawless teacher had died miserably—meaning that Chu Kuang’s own future could only be darker still.

He raised his eyes to the brightly lit pleasure boats lining both sides of the floating bridge, their music and laughter illuminating Yingzhou like broad daylight. Only he stood alone in the shadows. Fang Jingyu must be enjoying himself in one of those boats by now.

Just as he was steeped in despair, he spotted a faint glow ahead. In the pitch-dark storm, that speck of light shone steady and bright—like a full moon.

He trudged toward it through wind and rain—and found a figure clutching a rain hat in one hand and a lantern in the other, soaked to the bone, trembling in the cold. As he approached, he gasped:

“Fang Jingyu?!”

It really was Fang Jingyu, standing in the downpour with a wind lantern, pale from the cold.

Chu Kuang frowned. “Why are you here? Weren’t you off enjoying yourself with those women?”

Fang Jingyu’s teeth chattered. “Without you, I couldn’t enjoy the food. The fish and shrimp bones always get stuck in my teeth.”

“You didn’t eat with them? When did you come here?”

“From the beginning.”

Chu Kuang was silent for a moment. “Fool. Holding a bamboo hat like that but not even using it to keep dry.”

“If I did, what I’m carrying in my arms would get soaked.”

Fang Jingyu lifted the rain hat. Inside was a bundle of sweet potatoes, still steaming.

Chu Kuang stared. “Where did you find those?”

“I went to Qingyu Gao Mountain and begged the old man who sells them.”

He said it lightly, but Chu Kuang knew it couldn’t have been so easy. That old man was elusive, and to find him in this storm must’ve taken great effort. Chu Kuang accepted the sweet potatoes—they were hot as fire in his hands. Fang Jingyu’s face was pale, but his arms were reddened from the heat.

In the torrential rain, they stood silently. Chu Kuang’s temper slowly faded. His rain-soaked hair hung tamely over his eyes. He murmured,

“Would’ve been nicer to eat delicacies with others.”

Suddenly, his heart ached. He was used to being hated, to having no one care for his desires. Now that someone had fulfilled one, he didn’t know what to do.

Fang Jingyu took his hand—it was cold, but warmth was gathering in the center. “You’ve got roasted sweet potatoes. Why bother with delicacies? Come, let’s find a place to get out of the rain.”

Chu Kuang tried to shake him off, but couldn’t. At last he snapped, “I’m not moving. My leg’s not healed. If you’re so capable, carry me.”

He had said the same thing when they’d first met—and Fang Jingyu had dragged him off in chains. Chu Kuang braced for a scolding, but instead, Fang Jingyu crouched in front of him and said quietly:

“If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you.”

Chu Kuang had nothing left to say. In the pouring rain, he finally climbed onto Fang Jingyu’s back in silence.

And so Fang Jingyu carried him, step by step, back toward the Lei Ze ship. The man on his back said nothing. In a daze, Fang Jingyu remembered how years ago, his brother had carried his weak body through the Fang estate, chasing butterflies and wandering through Penglai’s streets.

Fang Jingyu sighed softly, the white breath vanishing into the rain. The two of them leaned into one another, inseparable.

If the one on his back truly was his brother, then all of this felt like some kind of destined return.

But even if he wasn’t—Chu Kuang was gradually becoming a prison he could never escape from. His karmic debt. His retribution.