Chapter 122: She is the Sinner of the Zhou Village

Chapter 122: She is the Sinner of the Zhou Village

That one yell was so piercing that it momentarily deafened everyone around.

Not only did the villagers hear it, but even the two bandits on horseback caught wind of it. They laughed maniacally as they galloped into the village. The silent followers scattered, and it seemed like they were well-acquainted with the layout of Zhou Village, promptly blocking off several entrances. The rest charged in.

These people were ragged and wore nothing more than thin clothes to cover their bodies in the cold winter. Their faces were sallow and sunken, their cheekbones protruding, and their eyes glinted viciously as they gazed at the tightly shut doors of Zhou Village, resembling ravenous wolves eyeing an infant.

The first to be targeted was Old Man Lin's home. Four or five men kicked open the half-closed door. They wielded all sorts of weapons – sickles, axes, and one who appeared to be a minor leader held a dagger.

Rushing into the courtyard, two menacing-looking men circled the rooms, jabbing sickles into corners, going back and forth multiple times but finding no one. Two others ransacked the kitchen, smashing pots and pans, overturning the empty rice jar, yet couldn't find a single grain of rice.

The person who went to the chicken coop in the backyard returned empty-handed.

They gathered in the courtyard, and the minor leader kicked over a crippled stool in frustration before striding out. "We're too late; this family has escaped! Move on, let's try another house!"

As they searched Old Man Li's home, the swarm invaded other houses, smashing doors, shoving people aside, stuffing rice into their bags, and stripping clothes off anyone they encountered.

For a moment, the sounds of smashing, angry curses, and the wails of children and women filled this corner of the world.

With the precedent of Li Ziba's misfortune, after the incident, the village chiefs from the surrounding areas gathered to discuss strategies. The head of the village went to report to the county officials, but not only did he fail in his mission, he also lost two men. Upon his return, he was met with the villagers' reproach, especially from the two families who had lost their sons. They would come crying to his door every day. Having aged and endured such hardship on his journey, including the fright of fleeing for his life, he now lay in bed, looking quite unwell.

Thus, led by several village chiefs, they eventually concluded that the gang might return, and they needed to devise a plan to deal with them.

None of them were fools. Following the incident at Li Ziba and the near-fatal trip of the village head to the county seat, these seasoned individuals immediately sensed something amiss. Upon returning to their villages, they called for heightened vigilance among the villagers.

Except for the cowardly and disunited lot in Dahan Village, the other villages stood united. Zhoujiazhuang Village, where decisions were made by the Zhou clan elders, devised a straightforward strategy: young men of the village would take turns keeping watch day and night, ready to sound the alarm at any sign of trouble.

According to Li Ziba's people, the bandits targeted grain, winter clothes, livestock, and money – anything that could be consumed or worn. As for murder, those killed in their village were those who attempted to resist or fought back fiercely. Those who stayed quiet and out of the way were left alone as the bandits took what they wanted and left. Unless one was extremely unlucky to encounter a bloodthirsty brute, one's life could be spared.

Knowing what the enemy wanted simplified matters. The Zhou clan elders summoned the heads of each household for half a day of discussion. Running was not an option; how could they flee with their entire families? Even if they wanted to run, there was nowhere to go. But simply handing over their belongings to the bandits was unacceptable.

To save their lives, they came up with a plan. Since they couldn't escape, they would hide their belongings instead. Hiding things at home was out of the question, as the bandits would find them. With the vastness of the mountains, they could dig a hole and bury their valuables, temporarily appeasing the bandits and retrieving their items later. If their village was unfortunately targeted, no one was to resist. They would let the bandits take what they wanted, knowing that the bandits didn't kill unless provoked, and they would hand over whatever was demanded.

As fate would have it, the bandits did arrive, not under the cover of night but in broad daylight, boldly marching in. Though everyone was tense and afraid, their nails digging into their palms, they managed to keep their composure.

"Just don't resist," echoed in everyone's mind.

Thus, when the bandits stormed into their homes, they offered no resistance, watching as the bandits found half-bags of grain in the kitchens and storehouses, searched the empty chicken coops in vain, saw no pigs in the pigsties that still reeked of manure, and threatened them with their children. Immediately, they produced all the copper coins they had in their homes...

Every household was the same; after a frenzied commotion, the entire village yielded less than a quarter of what Li Ziban had taken last time.

A dozen bags of grain were piled at the village entrance, along with only four or five chickens and ducks caught, not a single fat pig, and scattered copper coins and silver fragments.

"Is this all?" The burly man on horseback looked menacing.

"Reporting to the Chief, we've searched high and low, and there's only this much!" The one answering was the minor leader who had barged into Old Lin's house.

"It seems the people in this village aren't very honest." The man called the Chief dismounted from his horse and chose a nearby house, grinning wickedly as he walked in, looking at the family of seven huddled in a corner. He strode over, grabbed the old man by his collar, lifted him up with one hand, and threw him to the ground.

"Dad!" The eldest son's expression changed, and seeing this, he was about to rush over, but the old man lying on the ground subtly shook his head at him.

A foot suddenly stomped on his chest, causing the old man's face to turn pale with pain, and cold sweat to stream down his face. He wore a thin single-layered robe, not as if it had been torn off, but rather because he was dressed lightly to begin with. However, the Chief didn't look at the old man underfoot; instead, he bared his teeth in a grimace at the ashen-faced family, and in front of them, plunged the knife in his hand straight down.

"Pfff." A mouthful of blood spewed from the old man's mouth, his cloudy eyes losing focus, and he fell silent in an instant.

This unexpected scene left the family's eyes bloodshot. The old man's son, his eyes blazing red, let out a scream and lunged forward, fear and rage filling his heart. Sobbing, trembling, and furious, he stumbled as he picked up his lifeless father, whose mouth still dripped with blood, and wailed: "Why did you kill my father, why did you kill him? Didn't we give you the grain? Didn't we give you the money from our home? We gave it all to you, so why did you still have to kill my father!! Ah!! I'm going to kill you to avenge my father!!"

His nose and eyes streaming, he got up and lunged at the bandit chief. Before he could get close, however, he felt a sharp pain in his belly. Taking one more step forward, the pain intensified. He froze, opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, what came out was a gush of fresh blood.

Looking down, he saw a long blade piercing through his stomach.

He parted his lips, and just before he fell, with blood filling his mouth, he managed to stammer, "Wh-why... kill... my fa-fa..." Hadn't he followed the elders' instructions to the letter? Why this fate?

But there was no answer for him.

The long knife, now stained with the blood of father and son, was pulled from his belly. The bandit chief kicked him aside and, grinning menacingly, turned his gaze to the rest of the family, who were trembling in fear. As he took a step toward them, his foot was suddenly seized. Without bothering to look down, he kicked hard, sending the man flying. "I hate it when people take me for a fool, treating me like some tea-drinking guest, putting on a show right in front of me! Now tell me, where's your grain hidden!"

"Just... just that much, all of it is yours..." The old woman clutched her grandson tightly. Having witnessed the deaths of her husband and son right before her eyes, she was petrified, yet dared not rush forward as her son had. Gazing at the still-dripping sword, she held her grandson even closer, only to fail as the child was snatched up by the bandit chief.

"You stubborn old woman, I said I don't enjoy plays!" As the words left his mouth, the blade was already pressed against the child's throat, who, too terrified to cry, stared blankly.

"It's in the mountains! In the mountains! I'll take you there, please spare my son!" Faster than the old woman could react, the boy's mother crawled forward, her head striking the ground repeatedly in frantic bows. The sound of her head hitting the ground was loud and heavy, her forehead bleeding, the blood trickling into her eyes. With eyes blurred by blood and tears, she threw herself at the bandit's legs. "I'll take you there. All our grain and livestock are hidden in the mountains. They all hide their grain in the mountains. I don't know the exact locations, but I know they're all in the mountains! Please, I beg of you, spare my son. He's so young, please..." Her pleas were endless as she released his leg and bowed again, her body bent low.

The bandit released his grip, and the terrified child fell to the ground.

Before the woman could feel any relief, she was kicked. Hurriedly getting up from the ground, she gripped her son's small hand tightly, then closed her eyes, pushing the child into her mother-in-law's arms. Bent over, she led them toward the mountains, determined to protect her family.

No sooner had they departed for half an incense's time than the tranquil village was rent with wails and shrieks—children's cries of terror, adults' desperate pleas. With each step she took, the woman's heart sank deeper. Tears streamed down her face; she knew her end was nigh.

Even if the bandits spared her, the village would never accept her again.

But she could not remain silent. Her father-in-law was dead, as was her husband. All that remained of their family was her son.

He was her son, and she would gladly trade her life for his.

Clamping her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs, she dared not look back. She had lived among these neighbors for so many years that she could identify each voice in the cacophony of suffering: Old Wang, Little Zhou, the Li family's daughter-in-law, Second Liu...

In days past, they bickered and quarreled. She'd fought with the Li family's daughter-in-law, Second Liu had struck her son, Old Wang had cursed her behind her back, and Little Zhou and her husband had once come to blows over a waterway dispute. Their families had since refused to speak or interact.

All gone now. Gone.

"Ugh." She bit down hard on her lips, her vision blurred by tears, unable to see the path before her feet.

She led a troupe of bandits up the mountain, leaving the village—a place now shrouded in death—behind.

She was the sinner of Zhou Village.