HCAW 90

Chapter 90: Pure Fragrance and Perfect Clarity

One by one, the black tentacles slid forward—slick, slimy, and wet—and in a flash, they pried open Fang Jingyu’s jaw, forcing their way toward his stomach. The strength was terrifying. No matter how hard he clenched his teeth, he couldn’t close his mouth.

He was about to be skewered through by these sludge-like monks. Cold sweat drenched his back. Chu Kuang quickly cried out:

“Masters, please wait!”

The monks all halted. Dozens of tiny eyes turned toward him. Chu Kuang truly was treated as kin by them; whenever he spoke, they always listened. He, too, was sweating profusely and said, “My master is shy. There’s no need to trouble the masters—if you trust me, let me be the one to ‘fusion’ with him.”

Fang Jingyu was completely in the dark. They weren’t puddles of mud, after all—how could they fuse like the monks did? Still, anything was better than being pierced through by a swarm of sludge demons. With no better option, he followed Chu Kuang’s lead and nodded awkwardly. The monks glanced at one another with their sixteen eyes and muttered softly, “鉸瀜…” Then, seemingly persuaded by Chu Kuang, they stepped aside, allowing the two of them to return to their quarters. Still, they followed behind, whispering incessantly, “鉸瀜… 鉸瀜…”

They walked back under the close watch of the monks. Along the way, Fang Jingyu grumbled, “Look what mess you’ve gotten us into! We might have had a chance to escape, but now everything’s ruined!”

Chu Kuang replied, “What if they had caught you mid-escape and punished you more severely? I was negotiating fair and square.”

“They want me to ‘fuse’ with you—how’s that supposed to work?” Fang Jingyu snapped. “Am I supposed to swallow you whole?”

“I have no idea either. We’ll have to make it up as we go. For now, let’s get back to our room and figure it out.”

Back in their room, they shut the door, but the monks didn’t leave. They crowded around the windows, tapping on the lattice with the bottoms of their bowls. Chu Kuang draped a blanket over the window to block them, but the monks climbed onto the roof, peering down through holes in the tiles. One by one, they whispered “鉸瀜,” as though this cell had become a sacred altar.

The two were on the verge of madness. Since that day, whether they went out hunting, looked for food, or even relieved themselves, monks followed them relentlessly, muttering, “鉸瀜, 鉸瀜…” as though they wouldn’t stop until the “merging” was performed.

That night, the two lay on the bed. Fang Jingyu looked up and breathed out, “I’ve been restless lately. At least the stars above haven’t changed.”

Chu Kuang, lying beside him, said, “What stars? Those are the monks’ eyes peering through the rafters.”

Fang Jingyu shut his eyes. “Fine. If I can’t look at the stars, I’ll listen to the chirping insects instead. The rustling of crickets at night helps calm the mind.”

“That’s no cricket,” Chu Kuang said. “That’s the monks chanting scripture, urging us to fuse already.”

Fang Jingyu could stand it no longer. He opened his eyes and saw monks crammed across the rafters and roof. Outside the windows too, they were packed together like a wall of flesh, their mud heads dotted with glittering, rainbow-colored eyes, all staring at them. If this kept up, they were bound to go insane. Fang Jingyu shoved Chu Kuang.

“Laborer Chu, since you started this mess, it’s your job to fix it. Do you really want to spend the rest of your days here playing house with a bunch of mud monks?”

Chu Kuang said nothing.

Fang Jingyu went on: “So how exactly are we going to ‘fusion’? Are you crawling into my mouth, or am I crawling into yours?”

“Still thinking,” Chu Kuang replied. “Still thinking.”

“Are you going to keep thinking until the end of time?”

Chu Kuang got out of bed in a huff, went to the wood shed, and boiled a large bucket of water, then brought it back into the room to wash his hands and face. Fang Jingyu had no idea what he was up to, until Chu Kuang suddenly said:

“Your Highness, I was thinking. The monks talk about ‘fusion’—about becoming one with each other, right?”

“Right.”

“We’re made of flesh and blood, not mud. We can’t flow into each other like they do. But there’s still one thing we can do.” Chu Kuang said this as he slowly loosened his robe, revealing his scarred but still luminously pale back under the moonlight. Fang Jingyu’s heart skipped. “What thing?”

Chu Kuang turned, climbed onto the bed, and pressed Fang Jingyu down, his expression unreadable. He said calmly:

“If Your Highness enters me, wouldn’t that count as ‘fusion’?”

Fang Jingyu’s breath caught. That one line struck straight at his core. In that moment, the sound of insects and flowing water vanished. All he could hear was the frantic thudding of his heart.

Darkness fell over his vision—Chu Kuang had tied a cloth over his eyes. Then came the rustle of clothing, and a cool breeze brushing over his bare skin.

Suddenly, he felt as if he were enveloped by a soft and supple embrace, a delight unlike the monks’ touch. Fang Jingyu couldn’t help but shiver, the cloth covering his eyes loosened, and he vaguely saw Chu Kuang between his thigh, bobbing his head with tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, as if they were filled with sorrow. Fang Jingyu’s mind went blank, as if he had ascended to heaven.

At that moment, he looked up and suddenly saw the monks’ multicoloured eyes flashing through the tile holes and window paper. The monks were carefully gazing at them, occasionally whispering in delight, “鉸瀜, 鉸瀜!”

This is an extremely bizarre scene: a group of monks in robes are lying on the windowsill, beams, and tiles, watching the two people inside the room. Chu Kuang gently and meticulously teased him, like an elder brother mending clothes for his younger brother.

Fang Jingyu’s face turned beet red, and he hurriedly pushed Chu Kuang, saying, “Don’t swallow it, so many people are watching!”

Chu Kuang raised his eyes to look at him, but couldn’t bear to let go, his mouth full of candy, he mumbled indistinctly, “What’s there to be ashamed of? Don’t treat them like people, treat them like ghosts.”

Fang Jingyu said, “Wouldn’t that be even more terrifying?” At that moment, he felt it might be better if he simply fainted then and there. Perhaps those monks weren’t human, and what Chu Kuang was doing wasn’t something a human could do, either. With all eyes on them, Chu Kuang finally stopped, but only a thin sleeping quilt covered the lower half of their bodies. Beneath that flimsy bedding, the two of them leaned closely together. Chu Kuang suddenly grinned slyly and said, “What are you thinking about, Your Highness?”

Fang Jingyu turned his face away, already flushed bright red like burning coal. In the end, he stammered incoherently:

“I was just… thinking my older brother would never do something like this with me.”

Chu Kuang gave a slight smile. “I’m not your brother. I’m just Chu Kuang.”

He steadied Fang Jingyu by the hips and slowly sat down. In that instant, Fang Jingyu felt as if something smooth and coiling like a serpent wrapped around him in layers. His mind nearly went blank, vision flooding white, starbursts falling like rain. When he looked up, he saw moonlight like molten silver coating Chu Kuang’s body. Chu Kuang rose and fell, his expression calm, as if offering himself to save a devotee of Vinayaka—a living image of a buddha of joy.

In the stillness of the night, Fang Jingyu tasted something entirely new—though clearly surrounded by countless others, which filled him with deep shame, it felt as if he were sipping heavenly nectar, the purest of elixirs.

No one knew when it ended. Eventually, it was Chu Kuang—still recovering from a serious illness—who ran out of strength to tease Fang Jingyu. After being driven a few rounds to exhaustion, he cried and shouted, even bit Fang Jingyu’s shoulder. The monks, seeing the two pressed close and whispering, cheered loudly, writhing together like clumps of black mud. When Fang Jingyu finally filled Chu Kuang’s lower eyes, they erupted with cries of “鉸瀜!”

The dark figures rustled off contentedly, though some still lingered, leaning on the window lattice to watch. Chu Kuang, spent, scratched at Fang Jingyu’s back and whispered, “Don’t move—they’re still watching.” Just as Fang Jingyu was about to get up, he froze, burying himself again.

Chu Kuang said, “Your Highness, pass me the implement of the joyful buddha.” Fang Jingyu reached for it beside him. The object resembled a male ape and was extremely conspicuous, making him flush with embarrassment. Chu Kuang added, “Your Highness is our honored guest—don’t rush off and hurt your back.” That he still had the energy to joke made Fang Jingyu want to slap him.

As Fang Jingyu slowly withdrew, Chu Kuang, as if well-practiced, brought the instrument to his lower mouth. It already contained some of Fang Jingyu’s leftover traces. As it stirred, it made a soft, wet sound. The handle of the tool dangled with glimmering beads, swaying slightly, making Fang Jingyu’s face burn red.

“What are you doing?”

Chu Kuang replied quietly, “I’m afraid Your Highness might spill… and then it wouldn’t count as us having truly ‘fused.’”

They gathered their clothes and slipped into the temple’s fortune-blessing pool to soak in water. Neither said a word. Their eyes darted away from each other, as if everything that had just happened was an illusion, as if they’d committed a terrible mistake. The crescent moon hung overhead like a sharp guillotine, casting a cold, unnerving light. In the distance, monks drifted through the halls, their shadows stretching long across the green brick floor.

The water was cool—just right to wash away the heat of their bodies. A few small golden-red carp swam past, brushing against their skin with tiny mouths. Fang Jingyu said coldly:

“Laborer Chu, you’ve plucked my flower again.”

Chu Kuang replied, “Your Highness’s lovely flower is already planted on my pile of dog dung. You’d best come to terms with that. If we hadn’t done this, we’d be stuck here eating vegetarian meals for life. You think I like being on the receiving end? You’ve gotten the better end of the deal!”

Fang Jingyu snapped, “I’d rather face them with swords drawn and storm out swinging a vajra( ritual tool in Buddhism) than use such a low, despicable trick to buy myself an exit! And to think I kept suspecting you were my brother—clearly, I was blind. My brother had a noble heart and refined spirit. He’d never do something like this with me!”

Chu Kuang said, “This world doesn’t raise pure-hearted, flawless saints anymore. For all you know, your brother might’ve been filthier than you ever imagined. You’re the one who put him on a pedestal.”

At those words, Fang Jingyu grew angry and splashed him with a handful of cold water. Chu Kuang retaliated in kind. The two wrestled in the pool like children, kicking and swinging at each other.

In the end, Chu Kuang broke into laughter—a clear, unguarded laugh that under the moonlight seemed blurred and distant. His wet black hair fanned out over the water’s surface, rippling gently. Fang Jingyu froze. He felt as though he’d seen this moment before, ten years ago—himself, gaunt and bony, splashing playfully in a wooden tub with someone else. That person would always carefully wipe down his body with a silk cloth, and his smile had been just like Chu Kuang’s that night—spotless, pure, as radiant as moonlight.

But the illusion shattered in the next instant, when Chu Kuang’s vulgar voice broke in: “Stop dreaming. The rice is cooked and burned. So what if I really am your brother? If I penetrate you twice, it will be regarded as filial piety to your elders.”

That was the last straw. Fang Jingyu could endure no more. This vulgar, shameless thing was worlds apart from Fang Minsheng! He scooped up another handful of water and flung it hard into Chu Kuang’s face.