HCAW 89

Chapter 89: Joined by Mouth and Breath

Fang Jingyu felt as if struck by lightning on a clear day.

He had prepared himself for punishment, expecting to suffer the pain of whipping. Who would have thought the monks had prepared this bizarre form of retribution instead?

Yet upon reflection, the punishment wasn’t entirely without reason. The monks had flown into a rage over their attempted escape. Likely, they had also recalled Fang Jingyu’s earlier refusal to accept the medicine, and had noticed how dearly he treasured Chu Kuang. Rather than punishing him directly, they chose to force a bowl of medicine down Chu Kuang’s throat—knowing it would hurt him more that way. Their thinking was sharp and malicious.

But one thing still puzzled him. He asked Chu Kuang, “Why can you understand what they’re saying?”

Chu Kuang trembled and admitted frankly, “I’ve eaten too many meat slices lately, and somehow I’ve gradually come to understand their language.”

Fang Jingyu looked at him with concern. These monks resembled the National Preceptor of Penglai almost exactly. It was likely they shared a common origin with the ‘Immortal Meat’ and the meat slices. What Chu Kuang said made sense. Still, the ability to understand their language might be a sign of a deeper affliction. Fang Jingyu frowned. “This medicine is far too suspicious. You’d best not take it.”

Chu Kuang replied, “If we resist here, they might just tear us to pieces.”

Sure enough, the monks seemed to have sensed their dissent. They began writhing and shouted, “芣厛話!”

Suddenly, jet-black tentacles extended and clamped down hard on Fang Jingyu’s wrists. The force of them was so great it felt like his bones might be crushed. Cold sweat poured down his face—if these monks truly intended to kill them, they could do it at any moment. Their situation was perilous beyond measure.

Chu Kuang hurried to smooth things over. “Masters, please don’t take offense. My lord isn’t good with words. Whatever you ask of us, we’ll do it.”

The monks finally grumbled in satisfaction and released Fang Jingyu.

Still shaken, he looked down at his wrist—where a dark purple bruise had already begun to form. Had they used any more force, his hand might’ve been torn clean off. He asked in a low voice, “Feeding the medicine is one thing, but why… why with the mouth?”

“Perhaps because for them,” Chu Kuang said, “the mouth is the most important of the senses—it’s how they speak, absorb, and connect.”

It did make sense. These monks had seven or eight eyes but no ears or noses. When they greeted each other, they often pressed mouths together or even crawled into each other’s mouths, merging with one another in what they called 鉸瀜—‘fusion.’ Kissing might be their most intimate form of etiquette. Still, that didn’t explain why they were using this as a punishment. Fang Jingyu stammered:

“Then why do I have to… kiss you…”

Chu Kuang glanced warily at the monks and whispered, “Your Highness, haven’t you noticed? These monks treat you and me very differently.”

Fang Jingyu nodded. From the beginning, it had been clear—the monks were meticulous in bringing medicine to Chu Kuang, but treated him with indifference. When they were dragged back, Chu Kuang was cradled like a precious treasure while he was yanked along like a sack. One wrong word from him always triggered their fury, and only Chu Kuang could calm them.

Chu Kuang said, “Perhaps because I’ve eaten so much meat slice—since that stuff shares its origin with the ‘Immortal Elixir’ and these monks, they may see me as one of their own. They might think you’re harming me by taking me away. Having you feed me the medicine is a test to prove your goodwill. And using the mouth—well, that’s just their custom. If you’re willing to kiss me, they’ll believe you mean no harm.”

Fang Jingyu grimaced. “What harm could I possibly do to you! And look at how clearly you understand their thinking—more so than I do. Laborer Chu, you’re not secretly one of them, are you? Always scheming over my mouth—never seem to get enough of it.”

“Your Highness,” Chu Kuang said, exasperated, “don’t be absurd. This is just feeding medicine, not some lewd affair. If you keep dithering, they’ll really come for us.”

He tried to stay calm, though his fingers trembled. He pushed the bowl toward Fang Jingyu and shut his eyes. “Come on then.”

Fang Jingyu looked up. The monks surrounded them tightly like a solid wall. Some had porcelain bowls fused to their faces; others had six or seven eyes blinking at them.

In such circumstances, even Fang Jingyu flushed with embarrassment. Fine—he would think of it as merely practical. Kissing Chu Kuang wasn’t new anyway. Gritting his teeth, he raised the bowl and took a sip.

The liquid was bitter and salty, thick like seawater. Knowing it came from the mouths of these monks only made him feel worse. But strangely, as soon as it touched his tongue, the aches on his body faded.

Could this black liquid actually have healing properties? He leaned in. Chu Kuang’s lips parted slightly, ready to receive. Slowly, Fang Jingyu passed the black water into his mouth. Their tongues met—soft and vivid amidst the bitterness. Chu Kuang gave a faint sigh and swallowed. The watching monks cheered joyfully:

“鉸瀜!”

Fang Jingyu burned with shame. The monks, thrilled, began pressing their slimy faces together, mouths locking, bodies merging into puddles of mud. The sight was so grotesque that he dared not look long. He took another sip and fed it to Chu Kuang.

Chu Kuang accepted each kiss obediently, like a baby bird waiting to be fed. After dozens of times, Fang Jingyu felt his lips were burning and his mind was on fire. He thought: married couples might go their whole lives without swapping as much saliva as we have today.

When the bowl was finally empty, he heaved a sigh and said, “It’s done. Surely that’s enough now?”

The monks all cried out joyfully, “鉸瀜, 鉸瀜!” One of them slithered over and spoke a string of odd words to Chu Kuang. Fang Jingyu asked, “What did he say?”

Chu Kuang wiped his mouth—his face now redder than before, much less shameless than usual—and replied,

“He said we should give up any thoughts of escaping and just stay here obediently.”

Fang Jingyu thought, like I’m going to be caged by these sludge spirits. But seeing how weak Chu Kuang still was, burning with fever, he didn’t dare push him too hard. So, under the monks’ watchful eyes, he carried Chu Kuang back to the room for now.

In the days that followed, the monks continued delivering the medicine—this time not even asking for bones in return—and watched them take it. Poor Fang Jingyu had to kiss Chu Kuang again and again. Eventually, it became routine. Chu Kuang grew dazed, barely reacting, always gazing off behind Fang Jingyu, as if watching something he couldn’t see.

But after some time on the medicine, Chu Kuang’s condition did improve. When they had time to rest, they would spy on the monks through holes in the window paper, hoping to find a chance to escape.

They observed that every so often, the monks would hold a great vegetarian feast, where a sermon was given. A sandalwood dais would be set on the grand altar, and the old nun with the porcelain bowl mask would preside. A chant leader stood nearby, singing scriptures in a strange and eerie tone.

Fang Jingyu had once sneaked into the scripture hall and leafed through the Tripitaka (scriptures of Buddhism) stored within. The writings were all incomprehensible to him, shaped somewhat like the ancient characters of Yingzhou. If Zheng Deli were here, he might be able to decipher their meaning. At the thought of his scattered companions, Fang Jingyu felt a pang of unease: he wondered whether Xiao Jiao, Zheng Deli, “Mule,” and the Yingzhou boatmen were still safe and sound.

When the hall was empty, Fang Jingyu had snuck in a few times. The statues of Vaiśravaṇa and Skanda (guardian deities in Buddhism) there were not much different from those in Penglai. He quietly took the Sword of Wisdom and the Vajra pestle from the Buddha statues’ hands to use as weapons.

There was one statue, however, that was particularly strange—depicting male and female figures entangled, holding phallic ritual implements. Fang Jingyu took one of those as well.

When Chu Kuang saw it, he said, “This is Vināyaka, the joyful deity who unites with Shakyamuni’s believers in pleasure. The whole statue symbolizes the ‘Heaven of Desire,’ commonly called the Joyful Buddha. Those who follow this teaching believe that carnal union allows divine and vital energies to blend, harmonizing with the cosmos.”

He added, “If Your Highness had grown up in Penglai’s palace, by this age there’d be maids using that statue to guide you, step by step, in how to use your small dick to rule others…”

Fang Jingyu couldn’t take it anymore, his face blazing red. Whenever it came to lewd matters, Chu Kuang was always disturbingly fluent, and he seemed to enjoy Fang Jingyu’s embarrassment. Fang Jingyu picked up the Joyful Buddha’s implement, hoping to change the subject, and asked:

“What is this?”

It was about five or six inches long, shaped like a spiky gourd. Chu Kuang gave him a look full of meaning, then said after a pause:

“It’s used before the act—for plugging the rear.”

That day happened to be the temple’s scripture-lecture gathering. Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang snuck to the outer hall, poked holes in the window paper, and peeked in. Inside, monks had gathered en masse. The old nun acted as Dharma master,¹someone who has deep knowledge of the Dharma (the Buddha’s teachings). seated on a lacquered, silver-inlaid Dharma throne, mumbling nonsense.

Fang Jingyu whispered, “I don’t know if the Dharma is too profound or if I’m just ignorant, but I can’t understand a thing.”

Chu Kuang, however, said, “‘Forget not the past. Always remember the deaths of the lords and people before us.’”

Fang Jingyu was startled—this brute actually uttered something so refined and literary!

Thinking back to how he’d explained the Joyful Buddha earlier, Fang Jingyu suddenly sensed something was off. His laborer was getting more scholarly by the day. He reached out to feel Chu Kuang’s forehead, but Chu Kuang swatted him away angrily, snapping, “What’re you groping me for, you little pervert?”

“Checking if you’re still feverish—spouting nonsense like that,” Fang Jingyu said.

Chu Kuang replied, “Fuck off. I was quoting what that old hag in there just said. She said, ‘Forget not the past. Always remember the deaths of the lords and people before us.’”

So this wasn’t a lecture on the Dharma—it was a history sermon. Fang Jingyu egged Chu Kuang on to listen for more. Chu Kuang said, “After that, it’s mostly scriptures again. Their doctrine’s quite in line with the Joyful Buddha—basically all about ‘鉸瀜.’”

“鉸瀜?” Fang Jingyu repeated. That was the word he’d heard most often from the monks lately. Whenever they squirmed like sludge into each other’s mouths and bodies, they always cried it out. Chu Kuang nodded. “These monks believe ‘鉸瀜’ means ‘you in me, me in you’—everyone shares the same flesh, no divisions. In a way, it’s their version of a utopia.”

Fang Jingyu listened with great interest and encouraged him to eavesdrop more, but Chu Kuang grew impatient.

“Your Highness, I’m not some spy from their sect. That one line took all the strength I had to decipher. If you really want to know what they’re saying, let me eat a few more slices of meat.”

Fang Jingyu’s face darkened. “No more meat! If you keep eating, you’ll end up shaved bald and living here as a monk.”

After a few more days of medicine, Chu Kuang regained strength to draw a bow. His wounds were healing, he could run freely again, and he returned to his usual brash, foul-mouthed, and vulgar self. But that was precisely what Fang Jingyu had been waiting for. Chu Kuang joked with him:

“I’m pretty much better now. Surely Your Highness doesn’t want to linger here. Let’s look for a chance to escape.”

“Easier said than done. Have you forgotten the last time? These monks don’t look like they were born of humans—they’re quick, strong, and could mash us into pulp with one squeeze. And they’re patrolling day and night. Where would we even run to?”

“Are you giving up?” Chu Kuang squinted at him.

Fang Jingyu remained stone-faced. “Not giving up. I’m just tired of having to tongue-kiss you every day since we got dragged back here.”

Chu Kuang grinned confidently. “I’ve observed them closely. They clearly see me as one of their own. Maybe if I speak nicely, they’ll let me walk right out with you.”

The idea was reckless and would likely alert their captors. Fang Jingyu tried to stop him, but Chu Kuang was too eager to try. In the end, Fang Jingyu thought—if not direct confrontation, what else could work? Maybe Chu Kuang’s insane idea was their only shot.

But as it turned out, Chu Kuang made a huge mess.

One day, they went to the mountain gate and were immediately blocked by a group of monks. It was as if they’d sensed their intent to escape. The monks roared, black shadows whipping through the air. Sludge-like bodies gathered rapidly, forming a wall of darkness.

Chu Kuang stepped up and babbled a few phrases to them in their strange tongue. When he turned back, his face was ghostly pale.

“Your Highness, it’s over!”

Fang Jingyu hadn’t expected much from the attempt and had already gripped the Vajra pestle tightly. “What happened?”

“They agreed to let me go… but said you have to stay.”

“Why?”

Chu Kuang’s gaze darted. “They think you’re an outsider—a foreign element. If left unchecked, you’ll go out and cause trouble.”

“Utter nonsense,” Fang Jingyu said coldly. “Which of us looks more like a menace? Look at my face—I look very well behaved.”

Despite his words, he understood the truth: because Chu Kuang had consumed so many meat slices, the monks treated him like kin. He, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He quickly calculated—let Chu Kuang go first, then fight his own way out. But could he really escape from these monsters?

As he wrestled with his thoughts, Chu Kuang hesitated and said,

“Your Highness, don’t panic. They said… it’s not that there’s no way to let you go.”

Fang Jingyu narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“They said… since you’re not one of them, it’s because you haven’t spiritually and physically fused with them. If you fuse with them, then you’ll be accepted.”

Fang Jingyu was stunned.

fusion? How?

He thought of those monks crawling into each other’s mouths and out of each other’s robes. Then he saw Chu Kuang’s ashen face and understood—did they expect him to get swallowed through someone’s mouth and come out the other end!?

Just then, the shadows crowded closer. The monks’ sludge-like bodies writhed and extended tentacles toward his mouth.

Fang Jingyu’s expression twisted with horror. He finally lost all composure and roared,

“Laborer Chu! Just look at the mess you’ve gotten me into!”

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  someone who has deep knowledge of the Dharma (the Buddha’s teachings).