HCAW 86

Chapter 86: Tossed by Wind and Waves

Chu Kuang stormed back into the cabin, bundled up his sleeping mat, and was about to head out when he ran into Fang Jingyu.

Seeing the bedding in his hands, Fang Jingyu asked, “Where are you going?”

“Going to sleep somewhere else.”

“Is it because you’re sick of me? You don’t want to share a bed with me anymore?”

Chu Kuang’s face flushed red. He snapped, “We’re both grown men—we should’ve been sleeping separately ages ago!”

Fang Jingyu replied, “Wasn’t it you who insisted on squeezing into my bed at the beginning?” Chu Kuang was left speechless and stomped off with his bedding, fuming.

Chu Kuang had been sulking for days—Fang Jingyu was used to it by now. He had a slow head and changed moods like the wind. Fang Jingyu didn’t find it bothersome; instead, he felt a kind of affection. If Chu Kuang really was his elder brother, then he ought to yield to him more. And even if he wasn’t, he was still someone who’d suffered greatly—he deserved kindness.

But Chu Kuang didn’t seem to appreciate it. Like a cat, he skulked around, avoiding Fang Jingyu at every turn.

That night, the moon shone bright, and the wind was as cool and clear as water.

Chu Kuang had stashed away a wax paper bundle of fried sandworms and sneaked up to the ship’s walkway to eat them contentedly. After rinsing his mouth with seawater, he suddenly heard the whistle of a sword slicing through the air. Rounding the mast, he saw a silhouette practicing under the moonlight, the flashes of the blade like flurries of snow in midwinter.

He watched for a while and recognized the figure as Fang Jingyu. The other man’s expression was cold and resolute, lips pressed into a tight line, eyes gleaming like stars—there was a kind of heroic grace that stirred the heart. After a while, even Chu Kuang was entranced. It had been nearly ten years, and his younger brother’s swordsmanship was now unbound by convention, no less refined than his own.

He was about to sneak away unnoticed when Fang Jingyu stumbled—tripping on a raised board on the deck—and seemed about to fall.

“Careful!”

Chu Kuang’s body moved faster than his words—he darted forward to catch him, but failed, and the two of them tumbled to the deck in a heap.

Fang Jingyu fell on top of him, then quickly pushed himself up and shifted aside. “Sorry, I knocked into you,” he said. Then, “When did you get here? Were you watching me the whole time?”

“Who was watching you!” Chu Kuang shot back instantly, shoving him away with muttered grumbling like a clucking chicken. “Move, I’m leaving!”

But Fang Jingyu suddenly grabbed his hand. “Don’t go, Laborer Chu. Stay and help me.”

“What can I help you with?”

“I’ve just had new iron bones grafted into my legs. I’m still unsteady and keep falling. I need you to keep an eye on me.”

Chu Kuang bristled. “Don’t lie with your eyes wide open! You’ve carried me on your back before and practiced swordplay just fine—now you claim your legs don’t work?”

He turned to leave, but Fang Jingyu held onto him, lifting his pant leg to show a bandage stained with blood. Chu Kuang hesitated and was finally convinced.

“Believe it or not,” Fang Jingyu said, “if I fall out here for real, I won’t be able to get up. I’ll end up spending the night here and catching a chill—and then I’ll be the one dragging all of you down.”

Chu Kuang, not the sharpest tool, was quickly bewildered by his winding explanation and grudgingly stayed.

The sea and sky were pitch-black, save for a wind lantern tied to the mast that illuminated their forms. Fang Jingyu carefully moved his legs and Chu Kuang held both his hands, guiding him step by step—forward, then back—replaying a scene from years ago: an elder brother helping his frail sibling learn to walk.

Their hands were clasped tightly together. Chu Kuang glanced at Fang Jingyu—nearly a decade had passed, and his brother was no longer the timid child of old. Now he was a handsome youth, even a bit taller than himself.

He winced suddenly—Fang Jingyu had gripped his hand too tightly. Chu Kuang scowled, “Ow! You corpse-faced bastard, don’t squeeze so hard.”

At his words, Fang Jingyu loosened his grip slightly—only to grasp tighter a second later, as if afraid Chu Kuang might bolt again. Chu Kuang turned his face away in silence. The lantern flickered, and in the night, the two walked step by step, a thousand thoughts swirling silently between them.

They walked for who knows how long. Fang Jingyu kept stumbling—every time landing in Chu Kuang’s arms. Once or twice was fine, but by the third or fourth time, Chu Kuang grew suspicious.

“You clumsy bastard! You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

Fang Jingyu replied calmly, “I’m just clumsy.”

Chu Kuang gritted his teeth. “Fine, fall if you want—but do you have to grab me every time?” Fang Jingyu said, “You’re standing there like a great walking stick. Who else should I grab?”

Chu Kuang growled, “Just don’t grab me, you little lecher.”

They walked until they were both out of breath and finally collapsed onto the deck. Looking up, the night sky was vast and clean, like a sheet of black satin scattered with stars. The constellations stretched endlessly, making them feel tiny and insignificant. Thousands of years had passed, generation after generation changing on Earth, but the stars above remained the same.

Lying side by side, the cool sea breeze swept over their bodies. Gazing at the sky, Fang Jingyu murmured,

“This sky is beautiful.”

“Mm,” Chu Kuang replied beside him, his breath soft as he gazed at the Milky Way, lost in thought.

“When I was young, I used to lie on a summer mat in the courtyard with my older brother and watch the stars. It was my favorite thing in the world.”

“Me too.”

Fang Jingyu suddenly turned to him, brows raised, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You too?”

Chu Kuang realized too late that he had spoken carelessly, his words spilling out unguarded. He tensed and turned his eyes away. “I had a mat too… in my own courtyard… I watched stars.”

Fang Jingyu rolled over suddenly, pinning Chu Kuang beneath him, grabbing his wrists like a constable catching a criminal. His face was calm, but his tone left no room for doubt:

“Maybe,” Fang Jingyu murmured, “we were lying on the same summer mat, watching the same stars?”

He lowered himself and whispered softly into Chu Kuang’s ear:

“Brother.”

Chu Kuang’s pulse suddenly quickened—Fang Jingyu was pressing down on his wrist and felt it clearly. Chu Kuang suddenly struggled and shoved him away. “You’ve got the wrong person,” he said.

Seeing his panic, Fang Jingyu’s wavering heart steadied. “I didn’t get it wrong.”

Chu Kuang turned away. “Calling someone by the wrong name is awfully rude—don’t you know that?”

“And calling someone by a false name all along isn’t even ruder?” Fang Jingyu stared fixedly at him. “Brother Minsheng.”

Chu Kuang’s heart seemed to skip a beat. Fang Jingyu leaned over him, staring closely. Chu Kuang didn’t dare meet his eyes. He looked away, but even the stars overhead seemed like thousands of watchful eyes glaring down at him. Beneath that sky, he had nowhere to hide.

Still, he put on a cold front. “I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

Fang Jingyu studied his expression—suspicious as it was, there was no definitive proof. Chu Kuang said again, “The Yu Ji Guard raised a whole batch of slaves, gave us new faces, even gave us all the same name. I don’t like it. Don’t call me that again.”

Fang Jingyu said nothing, only stared at him silently.

Truth be told, if they really were brothers, everything would become unbearably complicated. He thought of that night—Chu Kuang’s every move had been seductive, mesmerizing. He’d fallen headfirst into the heat of it all, and what they’d done… it had been a mistake. And so, a knot formed in his heart: he both hoped and feared that Chu Kuang was his brother. If he was, then it would be a miracle—someone dead brought back to life. But if they had already touched one another that way—how could they be both brothers and lovers?

He was lost in thought when suddenly Chu Kuang cupped his face and kissed him deeply.

It was a long, sultry kiss—tongues twining, breath hot and wet, making their bodies flush with heat. When Chu Kuang finally pulled away, a strand of silver connected their lips. His eyes were bright and glossy as he smiled faintly.

“Your brother wouldn’t do this to you, would he?”

It wasn’t their first kiss, but every time their mouths met, Fang Jingyu’s brain short-circuited. He burned with shame, thoughts scattered, mind blank.

Chu Kuang kissed him again, slowly, deliberately, his tongue playful and teasing like a small, thirsty beast. His eyes stayed open—seductive by nature—and Fang Jingyu’s heart tumbled in chaos. Then Chu Kuang nipped his earlobe and whispered low:

“Would your brother do that with you?”

Fang Jingyu was stunned. In his memories, his older brother was chaste and noble—how could he ever do something so shameful? But then memories surfaced of how shameless Chu Kuang was—always pestering him, spouting lewd jokes, far too practiced when it came to doing such things.

As his thoughts spiraled, Chu Kuang patted him on the shoulder and said with a chuckle, “It’s fine to lie to yourself, but don’t try to fool others too. You’re the young master, the heir—I’m just a servant, a slave. We have no other connection. If I tried to claim kinship with you, I’d be mocked for generations.”

Fang Jingyu sat dumbfounded, then finally clenched his teeth and asked, “Then why… why did you do this with me?”

Now that Chu Kuang had taken control of the situation, he looked a bit more relaxed and teased, “It was a mistake. A slip. Don’t worry, there won’t be a second time.”

With that, he stood and turned his back, walking away coldly.

Fang Jingyu watched his retreating figure, his heart a tangled mess. Whether Chu Kuang was or wasn’t his brother—by now, it had become an unbearable riddle in his mind.

He stood frozen on the deck, when suddenly everything around him darkened. Looking up, he saw a massive black cloud rolling in.

The moment it arrived, the sky changed color. The stars vanished. Wind howled from all sides, and the mirror-like sea churned violently. Soon, a torrential storm fell—thunder like a dragon’s roar, waves rising stories high, the ship shuddering uncontrollably.

Fang Jingyu turned pale and gripped the ship’s rail, but a great tremor nearly flung him into the water. Ahead, another colossal wave surged—like a monstrous maw, about to swallow the entire ship.

The sailors shouted in a frenzy:

“Drop the sails!”

But it was already too late. The wave came down like a massive hand, smashing the ship to pieces. Fang Jingyu plunged into the sea, choking on salt water. He tried to swim, but was struck again and again by wave after wave. Once, he broke the surface and saw distant mountains—Fanghu still far away.

Then his strength gave out. His body sank, heavy with iron bones, falling ever deeper.

He didn’t know how much water he had swallowed. His mind grew fuzzy. The sea was dark, bottomless. Was he going to be swallowed by it all? He couldn’t accept that—not yet. He still had so much left undone. He hadn’t reached Fanghu, hadn’t seen Guixi, hadn’t gone back to Penglai to see his father one last time… hadn’t even figured out whether Chu Kuang was his brother.

The wind shrieked. The waves roared. The world filled with rain and thunder.

And then—he saw a shadow diving in, cutting through the water, swimming desperately toward him. By the faintest light, he saw it was Chu Kuang—face filled with urgency, so much like the brother from years ago.

Fang Jingyu’s thoughts blurred. His lips moved soundlessly, like a fish blowing bubbles beneath the waves:

Brother.

He choked again, on another mouthful of sea. His vision dimmed—he was on the verge of passing out—but he feared more than anything that Chu Kuang might turn away.

Every time he called him brother, Chu Kuang would always grow angry, always walk away.

But this time, Chu Kuang didn’t leave.

In the roiling sea, he reached out and grabbed Fang Jingyu’s wrist, gripping tightly. That hand was like iron and bronze—once it closed, it refused to let go.

Fang Jingyu saw his lips move too—Jingyu.

And suddenly, something inside him broke open. Like a heavy shackle falling away.

The waves surged. The sea was a storming, boiling beast.

But deep below, in that dark, endless water, two tiny silhouettes sank together.

Even as they lost consciousness, their hands stayed locked—tight and unyielding.