The tavern, once a cacophony of lively chatter and clinking glasses, fell into an unexpected, heavy silence. All that filled the sudden void was the raw, trembling voice of Guozhao Zhaohui, each word a stark echo against the thudding beat of their own hearts, laying bare a hidden pain.
Li Bingqing listened, her brow furrowed in a pained frown, her usual cheer replaced by a somber understanding. "Many people feared and praised the Black Hunter," she murmured, her voice hushed with reverence, "but those who told the story did not mention his pain and suffering. They only saw the strength, not the scars."
A collective sigh seemed to ripple through the group, a shared acknowledgment of the profound sadness. Cao Yufei's voice, soft with empathy, followed, "This explains why he always looks so sad. He went through so much hardship, so much more than we could ever imagine."
Guozhao Zhaohui's gaze drifted, lost in distant, painful memories, his eyes unfocused. "Not exactly," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking secrets to the wind. "The reason why he doesn't speak anymore, why so many think he looks sad or mean – you can interpret it as you wish, but the truth is deeper – stems from thirteen years ago. Senior Lim asked Senior Brother to bring Junjie and Junjie's mother's ashes back to Waterfall City. Senior Brother, just seventeen and leaving Cloud City for the first time alone, made a choice to take a long, arduous journey home. It was on that journey he met Brother Deming. We don't know the full story, the intricate details, but two months later, he returned to us with a heart utterly shattered, beyond repair." A profound sigh escaped him, heavy with the weight of years. "I was young then, barely a child, but I remember. I could hear him crying every night, a desperate, broken sound that tore at my own heart, as I sat outside his door, helpless. I knew, with absolute certainty, that he must have loved this person with every fiber of his being, with a passion that consumed him. He had faced beatings so severe they would break others, without shedding a single tear. Yet, for this one person, for Brother Deming, he wept himself to sleep, night after night. Then, when Senior Brother and the masters rescued you all from Tam Village, Second Senior Brother told me... the red-haired man was there."
Zheng Yaozu cut in, his voice sharp with frustration and a dawning, bitter realization. "The red-haired man you mentioned is Hu Dingxiang, Zhaohui, not Brother Deming. They look so alike."
Guozhao Zhaohui confirmed, the pain clear in his voice, a raw wound. "After Hu Dingxiang refused to come back to Cloud City with Senior Brother, after that final rejection, his heart was completely broken, shattered into a million pieces."
"That two-faced bastard!" Zheng Yaozu's fist clenched, knuckles white, slamming softly on the table. "In Waterfall City, his bastard servant killed Brother Deming! He's responsible!"
The truth, stark and devastating, hung in the air, a heavy shroud over their celebratory meal. Ho Jinhai, a little puzzled by the layers of Guozhao Zhiqiang's sorrow, finally asked, his voice hesitant and embarrassed, a flush rising to his cheeks, "So, if I heard correctly, your Senior Brother likes men? He loved a man?"
Deming gnashed his teeth, a fresh wave of agony washing over him, twisting the knife in his own heart. "He doesn't like any man! He only liked Hu Dingxiang! He still does!" he spat; the words laced with bitterness and his own unresolved pain.
Guozhao Zhaohui quickly corrected him, his voice firm with a deep, unwavering understanding. "Student Dong, listen carefully. My Senior Brother only loves one person, and that person has always been Brother Deming. Hu Dingxiang was a cruel imitation, a painful misunderstanding."
Zheng Tingfeng's gaze swept over the faces at the table, his own eyes mirroring their shared grief, a profound sadness settling upon them all. "After Brother Deming died, Senior Brother held him for four days, refusing to let go. When I entered the tent, Brother Deming had already started to rot, the smell unbearable, but Senior Brother wouldn't move." He sighed, the memory clearly agonizing, etched forever in his mind. "Senior Brother loves Brother Deming so much, no matter how... damaged Brother Deming was, Senior Brother was reluctant to let him go. He clung to him."
Yang Chuntao took a slow sip of wine, her voice barely a murmur, filled with a quiet awe. "So, his name is Deming. The one he loves so deeply."
Cao Yufei looked at Ho Jinhai, her eyes earnest, glistening with unshed tears. "Brother Ho, I believe the only man he truly loves, the one who holds his heart, is that Deming. No one else."
Tam Liang nodded, confirming the painful truth, his voice soft. "Lady Cao is right. The reason Senior Brother got confused between Brother Deming and Hu Dingxiang is because they look very similar, almost identical. It was a cruel trick of fate."
Guozhao Zhaohui elaborated, the story pouring out of him like a dam breaking, a torrent of long-held pain and truth. "Yes, Senior Brother always thought that Hu Dingxiang was Brother Deming, a desperate hope. And when Hu Dingxiang refused to return to Cloud City with him, when that final illusion shattered, he retreated, locking himself away in Cloud City for nine long years, barely speaking to us, barely living. It wasn't until three years ago that he knew the true Deming, that he found him again. Those eight days... those were Senior Brother's happiest moments. We finally saw his smile again, a genuine, joyful light that illuminated his entire being. But that smile did not last long. It was fleeting."
Tam Liang continued, his voice filled with reverence, "The first time we saw Senior Brother truly smile, truly happy, was on that training ground. He protected Brother Deming like his most precious jade, like a priceless treasure."
Zheng Tingfeng, his voice soft, added, "Brother Deming could make Senior Brother smile without saying a word. His presence alone was enough. He has always blamed himself for the death of Brother Deming, carrying that guilt like a heavy shroud."
Deming, who had been listening in a trance, his mind reeling from the revelations, felt a jolt, a sharp, agonizing realization. "He has been blaming himself?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, shattered by the truth.
"Mm," Zheng Tingfeng affirmed, his gaze sympathetic.
Tian Xian sighed, the weight of the revelation heavy in the air, a profound sorrow. "To answer your question, Lady Li. Senior Brother distances himself from those around him, building rock-solid walls around his heart, impenetrable. He relives his short, happy days with Brother Deming inside those walls he built to protect his heart, to keep the memories safe from further pain."
Yang Chuntao offered a soft chuckle, a sound of bitter irony, followed by a deep, sorrowful sigh. "That Deming... he is the luckiest person. Even after death, there are still people who love him so much, who carry his memory so fiercely. Did you know?" She looked at Li Bingqing, her voice hushed with reverence, as if speaking of a sacred relic. "He wears Deming's ashes around his neck, always close to his heart, and the red tassels on his sword are Deming's hair, a constant reminder."
Cao Yufei's eyes welled with tears, glistening in the dim tavern light, her face a mask of profound empathy. "I really hope there is such a person who loves me like Brother Guozhao loves Brother Deming. Even after death, he will still think of me, still cherish me."
Zheng Yaozu, attempting a lighter note amidst the overwhelming sorrow, his voice a little strained, said, "Did you know that he scatters Brother Deming's ashes around his house, so that Brother Deming's ashes can be fused with the grass and flowers around him? So he's always part of the home."
Cao Yufei, overwhelmed by the sheer depth of Zhiqiang's devotion, burst into quiet sobs, burying her face in her hands. "I can't take it anymore. I've never seen a person who can endure so much sadness for so long, and he is still unbreakable. He's a living monument to grief."
Guozhao Zhaohui's voice cracked, thick with emotion, tears streaming down his own face. "The hero... who carries everyone's sadness and worries on his shoulders, but no one helps him carry his own... he is the saddest person walking on this world. He suffers in silence."
Deming's heart, already a fractured landscape of anger and confusion, shattered completely, the pieces falling into place with a devastating clarity. Guozhao Zhiqiang had told him to be Dong Enlai, to forget he was Deming, to live a happy life. Now, listening to Guozhao Zhiqiang's story through the lips of others, hearing the raw, agonizing truth, Deming finally understood the crushing weight of guilt that had driven Guozhao Zhiqiang to blame himself for Deming's death. Deming's death was an unhealed wound, a gaping chasm in Guozhao Zhiqiang's heart, a burden he carried alone. He hadn't wanted to bring harm to Deming again, hadn't wanted to risk his happiness, so he had driven Deming away, sacrificing his own happiness for Deming's perceived safety and joy. A sudden, fierce, desperate resolve surged through Deming, cutting through his pain.
"Brother Fu," Deming said quickly, his voice urgent, trembling with newfound purpose, "I'm sorry to bother you. Help me bring Bingqing back to her uncle's house. I need to go." Without waiting for a reply, Deming, a man reborn with a singular mission, ran towards the door, his heart pounding with a fierce determination.
Fu Yongrui shouted after Deming, his voice filled with confusion, "Where are you going, Brother Dong?! What's wrong?!"
Deming's reply echoed through the tavern, a desperate vow, a promise to himself and to the man who loved him so fiercely. "I'm going to bring a smile to someone's face! The one who deserves it most!"