HCAW 95

Chapter 95: Such a Spring to Behold

A grand palanquin made its way through the streets and alleys. The canopy was adorned with gold-lacquered bamboo filigree, and the cabin was gilded in foil, glittering brightly and drawing every passerby’s gaze.

But inside the palanquin, it was a different world. There stood a carved redwood table bearing fine porcelain dishes of rare treats—mung bean cakes, golden-thread jujube pastries, dragon-beard candy—all delicacies most people could never afford. At the center was a sunflower-lipped plate stacked with giant stuffed buns.

Seated around the table were a few people: a girl in six layers of multicolored robes and two utterly confused young men. Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang had climbed into the palanquin, carrying the unconscious boy. Inside, the elegant fragrance of camphor wood drifted through the air—but smack in the middle of it all sat Xiao Jiao, chewing greedily on a bun, cheeks bulging, looking as crude and brash as ever.

Fang Jingyu finally let out a breath and asked,

“Xiao Jiao, what’s with this look? I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Pah! You watch that mouth! In this place, you call me Divine Maiden!”

Chu Kuang immediately bowed and grinned obsequiously.

“Divine Maiden, please, have mercy—could you spare me a bit of medicine for my wounds?”

Xiao Jiao waved smugly, and the velvet curtain twitched. A servant passed in a wooden tray containing top-grade medicine made from earth beetles and bilewort—something they beggars could never have afforded before. Chu Kuang used his sword to cut open the boy’s clothes, applied the salve to the wounds, and used the rest on himself. Fang Jingyu looked at Xiao Jiao with a rare softness in his voice:

“I didn’t think… after a month apart, you’d rise to greatness in Daiyu!”

“Hmph! So you’re allowed to secretly be Emperor Bai’s son, but I’m not allowed to wear the Divine Maiden’s crown?”

Beaming, Xiao Jiao recounted the gist of her past month. When she mentioned how, with just one shout, she had subdued a pit full of “walking meat,” Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang were left speechless, exchanging stunned looks.

Fang Jingyu thought: If she had this power from the start, and we’d all washed up in Yuanqiao together, we wouldn’t have had to wrangle with those freakish forest monks for so long. Chu Kuang, meanwhile, thought: That damn loudmouth’s going to blame me again—like it’s my fault I got screwed!

What astonished them most, however, was that Xiao Jiao could command the “walking meat.” They remembered that battle on Yingzhou with the Yu Ji Guard—how Xiao Jiao had her chest torn open, her heart crushed… and yet she was walking around fine afterward, even going feral for a while like a beast.

Fang Jingyu stared at her, eyes full of concern. Xiao Jiao, annoyed, pouted and snapped:

“What are you staring at?! Is it that hard to look away from this beauty?”

Fang Jingyu asked, “One thing still confuses me. How could you control those ‘walking meat’? They called you Divine Maiden—are you their chief or something?”

“Who knows? Maybe they were overwhelmed by my beauty. Or maybe I have something glorious about me that made them surrender.” Xiao Jiao shrugged, clearly not taking it seriously.

“So what exactly is a Divine Maiden?”

Chu Kuang mused, “Probably just a title for important figures in the Da Yuan Dao. Miss Qin here showed some divine power, so the locals started worshipping her like a goddess.” Fang Jingyu, meanwhile, thought: Another one of us who’d fetch a thousand taels of silver if turned in at a Penglai yamen. Now everyone in our crew’s a wanted criminal.

The palanquin traveled slowly for who knows how long before stopping. They got out and found themselves before a large compound. Inside, pavilions and galleries were perfectly arranged. A courtyard of bamboo and water features stretched out, serene and elegant. The two men stared, dumbstruck.

Xiao Jiao placed her hands on her hips and said,

“Fatty Ji arranged this place for me. He said that someone of my status couldn’t be lodged in shabby quarters.”

Fang Jingyu couldn’t help muttering to himself: I’ve been Emperor Bai’s son for ages, and I’m still sleeping with Chu Kuang under a torn blanket… but Xiao Jiao rose in a single leap.

She ordered the servants to prepare several rooms for them, summoned a doctor for the boy’s wounds, and had medicine prescribed. By dawn the next day, sixteen men lifted the palanquin again and carried them all to Prince Ji’s estate.

It was even grander than Xiao Jiao’s residence—a nine-ridge hall with flying eaves, rooftops like mountain peaks stacked atop each other, too many rooms to count. Prince Ji sat in the hall in a smoked sable robe, but upon seeing Xiao Jiao, he hurried to rise and greet her.

Xiao Jiao had already ordered Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang into matching embroidered martial outfits—clean, sharp, and sword-bearing, like two blades standing behind her. She told Prince Ji:

“Your Highness, these are two old acquaintances of mine. They came a long way from Penglai. They might not know all the customs here and offended you the other day, but they’re skilled.”

“Ah, ah, I see,” the prince nodded, but the moment he caught sight of Chu Kuang, memories of that one-against-ten sword fight turned his face green. He nervously muttered, “If they’re acquaintances of the Divine Maiden, then they must be heroes indeed…”

Chu Kuang stepped forward and said,

“Your Highness, to speak plainly—we came here today with a request.”

Fang Jingyu and Xiao Jiao both froze in surprise—Chu Kuang hadn’t mentioned anything about this in advance. Then they heard him continue,

“We’re just crude men, rough and common, unworthy of standing beside the Divine Maiden. If Your Highness is willing, we’d be honored to serve under you—put our hands to good use.”

Fang Jingyu hadn’t expected this, and the way Chu Kuang addressed another as “Your Highness” stung sourly in his chest. But when he saw the glint of cunning in Chu Kuang’s eyes, he immediately realized this bastard was up to something again.

Prince Ji was caught off guard too—he stammered,

“S-since you’re guests recommended by the Divine Maiden, I trust you fully.” Then, regaining his usual arrogance, he snorted,

“But I demand discipline and excellence. If you truly wish to serve me, you’ll need real skill!”

Chu Kuang grinned slickly,

“We’ll show you what we’re capable of soon enough—guaranteed to satisfy you.”

Prince Ji had witnessed his swordplay before—effortless and deadly—but he didn’t understand why this man would suddenly offer himself as a subordinate. Chu Kuang then spun a whole story, claiming that he and Fang Jingyu were brothers, shouldering burdens alone, with elderly parents now gravely ill and in need of costly treatment. Xiao Jiao, as Divine Maiden, didn’t touch money, and thus couldn’t help them much.

Prince Ji believed about seventy to eighty percent of it. Fang Jingyu, listening from the side, found it amusing. No wonder he’s called King Yama—such expert lies. Then he thought, Now he admits we’re brothers, huh?

After hearing the whole pitch, Prince Ji summoned a centurion and, after giving brief instructions, had the two of them assigned as palace guards.

Daiyu’s royal guards were highly organized: five divisions—left, right, front, rear, and center—totaling over ten thousand soldiers rotating on shifts day and night. The two were each given plain blue uniforms and, that night, stayed at the Divine Maiden’s estate, finally settling down for the time being.

The next day dawned bright and clear, the grass lush and green. Before their assigned shift, they climbed a small hill near the royal city wall. No one else was around—only the chirping of birds. Fang Jingyu took the chance to ask:

“Why did you volunteer us to be palace guards yesterday?”

Chu Kuang gazed into the distance.

“Come with me, and you’ll see.”

At the hilltop, they looked out across Daiyu, which stretched below like a game board, rooftops and stalls dotting the landscape like stars. In the distance, mountains surged like waves, the ropeways linking the Three Xian Mountains like threads. It was a beautiful, grand scene. The city gate loomed tall, sealing off the snowcapped peaks beyond. Chu Kuang pointed toward it and said:

“You probably know—beyond that gate lies a perilous land only Emperor Bai has ever entered.”

Fang Jingyu’s heart skipped.

“You mean… beyond there is Guixu?”

Chu Kuang nodded. The two stood in silence. Thinking back on their journey—it hadn’t been short, nor long—but they’d crossed mountains of fire and seas of blades. Now the fabled place lay just beyond reach, yet it still felt dreamlike. Fang Jingyu swallowed and said softly:

“I never imagined… it’d be so close.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Your Highness. The true danger starts now. Back on Yingzhou, we barely survived against just the Yu Ji Guard. But to get past Daiyu’s gates and reach Guixu—do you know who stands in our way now?”

“Let me guess. More of those Xian Mountain Guards?”

Chu Kuang smirked.

“Exactly. This time we’ve got three: Bi Bao Guard of Yuanqiao, Bai Huan Guard of Fanghu, and Yu Ji Guard of Daiyu—ranked third, fourth, and fifth among all the Xian Mountain Guards. The three of them together may be even more terrifying than the Yu Ji Guard alone. And beyond that, this city has over ten thousand soldiers.”

He gestured to the gates again.

“From here you can’t see it, but the gate to Guixu is sealed tight. It hasn’t opened since the Emperor Bai’s campaign. They say eleven blood-bait locks hang on that gate—unlocking it requires the blood of the Emperor Bai’s line and that of the Xian Mountain Guards. We’ll have to not only break through their forces but also fight those three head-on before we can even reach Guixu. It’s harder than hard.”

Fang Jingyu fell silent, knowing they were truly facing a formidable obstacle. A breeze passed, rustling thick clusters of red arrow flowers across the slope. They swayed and spread down to the very stalls and rooftops of Daiyu, like a sea of fire stretching to the horizon.

He turned his head and saw Chu Kuang’s profile in the flowerlight—his pale skin almost glowing like snow. His calm, thoughtful expression radiated confidence, steadying Fang Jingyu’s nerves.

For a moment, it felt like ten years ago—when he limped on weak legs, holding his brother’s hand, running up a slope also blanketed in red arrow flowers, gazing toward Penglai’s passes. That younger self had once boasted with fiery ambition. Time had passed, things had changed, and now beside him stood not his brother, but Chu Kuang. He suddenly chuckled.

“What?” Chu Kuang narrowed his eyes. “You’re not scared—you’re actually excited to fight the Xian Mountain Guards?”

Fang Jingyu sighed.

“It’s not that. I was just remembering something else. Long ago, I made a wish: no matter how high the mountains or how dangerous the waters, I would one day cross the gates, reach the highest peaks, and look down upon all the world—traveling it with someone by my side. Now, Guixu is just beyond that gate. I think… I’m very close to that wish.”

He turned and looked at Chu Kuang. Chu Kuang’s eyes widened, then he murmured:

“Yes… very close.”

“But not quite. Guixu is within reach, but I have no old friend to journey with me.”

Chu Kuang smiled softly and turned away. The arrow flowers rustled like whispers. Fang Jingyu was suddenly struck by a deep familiarity—every movement, every expression of Chu Kuang’s felt like something he’d seen ten years ago. That smile melted like spring ice, warming the heart.

The two stood amidst the blazing field of red. The wind rose, scattering countless flower threads through the air like gentle rain, soaking them in fragrance. Suddenly, Fang Jingyu felt warmth on his hand—Chu Kuang had quietly hooked his fingers around his, just like his elder brother had once held the frail him long ago.

“You fool,” Chu Kuang said with a faint smile, gazing toward the sky.

“The one who walks the world with you is right here.”

“Your wish… was already fulfilled.”