Chapter 39: Who is the Real Bandit? A Nationwide Manhunt

Chapter 39: Who's the Real Bandit? Hunted Down

As soon as the bandit finished speaking, a cold glint flashed before his eyes. Something warm and coppery sprayed across his face, and he perished silently. The familiar scenery of Wolong Mountain reflected in his eyes, yet he never understood what had happened before death overtook him.

In an instant, Bing Wengu seized the broadsword and cut down three men.

The bandits hadn’t even seen Bing Wengu’s movements—everything happened faster than thought, leaving them stunned.

"Brothers, he’s killing us! Get him!" someone shouted, rousing the bandits as they charged forward.

Bing Wengu moved like water itself, swift and fluid, twisting, leaping, and dodging with such speed that afterimages trailed behind him.

Within moments, several burly men lay lifeless on the ground. Bing Wengu pressed the broadsword against the neck of the last remaining bandit—the one with the scar running across his brow.

Trembling in terror, the scarred bandit stammered, "W-who are you? Did the government send you to wipe us out?"

Bing Wengu’s gaze was colder than the moon. "Crime begets ruin. Lead the way up the mountain. No tricks, no warnings to your comrades—or your life is forfeit."

The scarred man grew even more convinced that Bing Wengu was no common mercenary—he must be an official enforcer. Such skill could only belong to a trained soldier.

Moreover, the scholarly air around Bing Wengu had vanished entirely. Now, he carried himself like a bandit leader—no, even more ruthless than one.

Not daring to argue, the scarred man led the way, though his mind raced for an escape.

Wolong Mountain’s terrain was treacherous, fortified with traps and ambush points. Several times, the scarred man tried steering Bing Wengu into hidden pitfalls, but each attempt was effortlessly evaded.

When they reached the bandit stronghold’s entrance, sentries stood watch in the distance. Bing Wengu forced the scarred man to take a detour up a hidden path.

Seeing how flawlessly Bing Wengu avoided every trap and lookout, the scarred man paled. "You really are with the authorities! How long have you been watching us? You even know our hideout’s layout!"

"Where’s your water source?" Bing Wengu pressed the blade slightly deeper.

Terrified, the scarred man begged, "Spare me, officer! I’ll talk!"

His eyes darted, clearly plotting treachery.

But Bing Wengu wasn’t worried. His spiritual perception could encompass the entire stronghold—every guard post, every ambush point—as if vividly marked within his mind.

This was due to the unique nature of his abilities. When Bing Wengu cast his senses outward, it first detected living beings before registering dangerous terrain.

It was like an aerial photograph from a helicopter—everything scaled down uniformly, with only the most perilous landscapes standing out. To scrutinize finer details required careful concentration.

The key difference was that his mental *map* automatically outlined living entities in his mind, though it didn’t distinguish between humans and animals.

Separating the two required additional time and effort.

Still, there were basic distinctions. By observing clusters of lifeforms and their strategic positioning, human presence could be inferred.

Thus, a rough layout of Wolong Stronghold formed in Bing Wengu’s mind. Locating the water source unaided was possible, but time-consuming—requiring meticulous mental reconnaissance.

Precision demanded even more time. But Bing Wengu had none to spare—he was eager to return to his young husband. Besides, he trusted his own martial skill.

Slipping past patrols, they reached the kitchen, where a massive water vat stood filled to the brim.

The scarred man pointed. "This is where we get our water."

Bing Wengu scanned the well-used kitchen—the covered vat, the well-used ladle—and saw the truth in his words. Only then did he pull out the sleeper's powder he'd prepared.

"Pour all this powder into the water vat," Bing Wengu applied slight pressure with the blade against the scarred man's neck, a thin line of blood snaking down the blade.

The scarred man, terrified, hastily dumped the knockout powder into the water.

"Give it a couple of stirs," Bing Wengu commanded to avoid leaving traces.

The scarred man obeyed.

Noticing the wine jars piled on the ground, Bing Wengu tossed him another packet of the powder. "Go, shake in some hefty doses into every jar."

Grunting, he dumped generous amounts into each jar while Bing Wengu watched, the blade keeping him honest.

Once finished, Bing Wengu led the scarred man back down the mountain, looping around to approach the main gate from afar. They stopped hundreds of meters away, partly shielded by foliage, their silhouettes barely visible to the guards.

As Bing Wengu withdrew the blade, the scarred man had no time to savor relief before a sharp pain pierced his waist—a blade sinking three fingers deep.

Bing Wengu's icy voice whispered in his ear, "Order them to get a feast going now. You know the drill—no coded talk. If I could slip in undetected, I know everything about your stronghold."

In truth, Bing Wengu had gathered intel through rumors and his psychic senses, but the scarred man didn’t need to know that.

"Try anything, and think about my blade," Bing Wengu threatened. "Slicing you open and vanishing would be child’s play. Toe the line if you want to keep breathing."

Though the scarred man had never cared for others' lives, his own was precious to him. Trembling, he nodded like a woodpecker, fearing Bing Wengu might kill him on a whim.

Just then, a guard noticed movement and nocked an arrow, shouting, "Who's there? Show yourself!"

Feeling the blade dig deeper, the scarred man called out, "It's me, Old Six!"

Old Six craned his neck. "Scarface? Weren't you with the boss robbing some pretty boy down the mountain?"

The scarred man forced a laugh. "Turns out that 'pretty boy' was laden with silver notes! The boss was so pleased, he sent me back to arrange a feast for tonight’s celebration."

Old Six grinned. "Hell yeah! I’ll rouse the women to fix a spread."

As Old Six hurried off, Bing Wengu led the scarred man away, holing up in a nearby dip.

When the time came, they returned to the entrance.

Bing Wengu murmured, "Tell them the boss dragged the boys to the pleasure houses and won’t be back tonight. Let the others enjoy themselves without waiting."

Old Six relayed the message to the guards.

In the dim light, the guards barely noticed the figure beside the scarred man, assuming it was another bandit.

"Why are you standing so far away?" a guard asked.

"I’m in a hurry," the scarred man replied. "The boss and the others are waiting. If I don’t hurry, the city gates will close, and we’ll miss the pleasure houses!"

The guards cackled lewdly, bitching about pulling guard duty.

Bing Wengu led the scarred man further away before doubling back under cover.

Realizing Bing Wengu’s intent, the scarred man parted his lips to plead—only to feel white-hot agony in his belly. Looking down, he saw the blade buried to the hilt. His fading gaze met Bing Wengu’s cold eyes.

Having seen Bing Wengu’s face, the man could never be allowed to live—a witness best silenced.

Bing Wengu's entire face was covered with a black cloth, revealing only a pair of eyes—eyes colder and more piercing than the moonlight at that moment.

Scarface fell straight backward, stirring up clouds of yellow dust.

Bing Wengu expressionlessly pulled out the broadsword, his heart utterly unmoved. Killing had numbed him, though he did not enjoy it.

Violence would surge into his veins, and ruthlessness would overtake his eyes.

If not for the one person he held in his heart—his little husband—Bing Wengu might have sunk into madness.

At this moment, Bing Wengu seemed less like a human and more like a puppet of carnage. Without hesitation, he wiped the bloodied blade on Scarface’s clothes until the blood ceased. Then, gripping the sword, he stalked back up the mountain.

This time, Bing Wengu did not avoid the guards. Instead, he stealthily infiltrated, cutting them down one by one when they were isolated. Silently, he dispatched the sentries on the outskirts of Wolong Stronghold until no living soul remained. Only then did he conceal himself once more.

Hiding within the stronghold, Bing Wengu extended his awareness again, quietly observing the distribution of life forms inside, checking if any bandits had come to relieve the guards.

To his disappointment, no one had. These bandits’ discipline was laughably sloppy.

Before long, sensing the time was right, Bing Wengu slipped into the main hall of the stronghold.

Nearly all the off-duty bandits had gathered there. Whether from drunkenness or drugged wine, they lay sprawled across the hall, unconscious.

A few who remained upright were too intoxicated to react immediately when a masked figure suddenly appeared in the hall.

Their foggy minds couldn’t distinguish friend from foe. One even wobbled forward with a wine jar, slurring,

“Who’re ya, buddy? Never noticed before, but you’ve got a damn sturdy build. But why wear a mask in our own stronghold? C’mon, take it off, let’s drink…”

As he reached for Bing Wengu’s hood, a sharp pain lanced through his chest. He looked down to see a cold blade plunged into his heart, the candlelight flickering on the steel like spectral flickers.

Bing Wengu emotionlessly withdrew the sword. The man collapsed heavily, his wine jar shattering on the ground, liquor splashing and shards flying.

Only then did the remaining bandits, dulled by drink, begin to react. One pointed at Bing Wengu, stammering, “You—!”

Who are you?

But the rest of his question died unspoken. He didn’t even see how the ghostly figure moved before he choked on his last breath—perhaps never understanding how he died.

Every conscious man in the hall was slain by Bing Wengu. The women who had been entertaining them were spared but knocked out.

These bandits made up most of their fighters. Years of ease made them careless.

When their leader ordered a celebration, they had all gathered here to revel, forgetting to post guards.

Men, women, and children alike, Bing Wengu bound them tightly, ensuring they couldn’t free themselves quickly even if they woke.

The Wolong Mountain bandits had entrenched themselves for decades, some even raising families. Women and children not present in the hall were asleep in their homes.

Bing Wengu infiltrated these dwellings as well, drugging and knocking them out. With his skills, slipping in unnoticed and subduing them was effortless.

Taking Bing Wengu hours, the bandits and their families numbered over a hundred.

While searching the homes, he stumbled upon the stables, where the bandits’ stolen horses were kept.

The horses were skinny from neglect.

As Bing Wengu approached, the horses grew agitated, letting out frantic whinnies that might have sounded like abuse to outsiders.

His icy gaze swept over them, and an overwhelming pressure radiated from him. The horses trembled, heads bowed, as if facing a predator.

Bing Wengu then harnessed the horses to the carriages and loaded everyone from Wolong Stronghold—men, women, and children alike—for transport down the mountain. With Bing Wengu overseeing them, the horses were exceptionally docile, putting up no fight, keeping pace as ordered and adjusting their speed as commanded.

When they were about a few hundred meters from the city gates, Bing Wengu ordered the horses to stop. He dragged the bound bandits out of the carriages and dumped them silently by the city gates without alerting the guards.

This way, when the city gates opened the next morning, the soldiers would discover them. Officials would sort out who was guilty and who were innocent victims taken up the mountain.

This was also why Bing Wengu hadn’t killed them all. Those bandits who had attacked him were undoubtedly hardened criminals, and killing them would have been justified. As for the others in the stronghold, Bing Wengu left them unharmed, fearing he might mistakenly kill innocents.

Bing Wengu returned to the mountain and found the bandits' stash. The wealth in Wolong Stronghold wasn’t as abundant as he had imagined, but it was still substantial. Gold, silver, jewels, and fine silks were all present, though clearly, none of it was honestly earned—it was all looted.

Bing Wengu left the jewelry, silks, antiques, and paintings untouched. These items undoubtedly had previous owners, and taking them downhill could’ve gotten him recognized by victims or their associates, which would invite unnecessary trouble. He skipped the banknotes altogether, as those were traceable through the banks.

He only took the gold and silver from the stronghold. Fortunately, the Wolong Mountain bandits had mostly robbed ordinary villagers, not officials, so the gold and silver were untraceable and could be spent freely.

With the entire stronghold empty, Bing Wengu thoroughly searched every household, leaving no coin behind. In the end, he collected five hundred twenty taels of gold, one thousand two hundred thirty taels of silver, and thirty strings plus seven hundred fifty copper coins.

He packed the money into two chests, tossed them into the carriage, and drove away.

As for the remaining horses, Bing Wengu didn’t return them to the stable but set them free.

The next morning, when the city guards opened the gates, they were shocked to find over a hundred bound people at the entrance, choking off their yawns mid-breath.

"Trouble!"

With that cry, Yaocheng welcomed an unusual day.

The prefect of Yaocheng, dressed in an official robe embroidered with a soaring crane, stood with his hands behind his back, his expression grim.

"Have we identified who these people are?"

A subordinate saluted and replied, "Your Honor, we’ve confirmed they are bandits and their families from Wolong Stronghold on the mountain, along with some innocent women who were abducted."

Wiping out the Wolong Mountain bandits should have been cause for celebration, but the prefect showed no joy, his expression grim. "Have we determined who did this?"

"No," the subordinate shook his head. "The bandits didn’t see who attacked them. They’d probably been slipped a mickey, which made them easy to capture."

After a pause, the subordinate hesitantly added, "A few women and children who hadn’t drunk did encounter the assailants, but it was dark, and the attackers didn’t light candles. They seemed to be masked and cold-cocked the women and kids immediately, so they couldn’t see their faces either. Based on faint silhouettes, they guessed it was a burly man."

Though the women and children hadn’t seen how many attackers there were, they figured it couldn’t have been done by one person and believed it was a group operation.

"Have we verified the situation at Wolong Stronghold? What’s the report?"

At Wolong Stronghold, lieutenant He Shi was leading a team to inspect the site. A soldier reported, "Sir, the jewelry and antiques in the stronghold were still there. The gold, silver, and copper coins were all taken."

He Shi’s hazel eyes flickered as he gazed at the endless mountain range, lost in thought.

"Sir?" The soldier, thinking his leader hadn’t heard, called softly again. "The gold and copper coins must have been taken by those people. Should we send men to pursue them?"

He Shi withdrew his gaze, looking at the soldier. "Let’s go. We’ll report to the prefect for further instructions."

He Shi returned to the city with his men and the remaining treasures to report. "Your Honor, the attackers only killed a few leaders in the stronghold and left everyone else unharmed. As for the treasures, they only took gold and silver—items difficult to trace—and left behind all distinctive antiques and paintings."

The prefect said sternly, "Send riders at once to neighboring cities. We must capture those people and ensure they don’t escape."

"Yes!" He Shi saluted in acknowledgment.

As he strode out of the government office, a soldier hurried over and asked, "Sir, what did the prefect say? Will there be rewards for the brothers? Those people really had the skill—why bolt? The prefect had already put up bounties for anyone who could wipe out Wolong Stronghold. Sir, why’d they skip the reward?"

"Collect the reward? Judging by the prefect's wording, it's clearly about apprehending a wanted criminal. If they came forward to collect the reward, wouldn't that be walking right into a trap?"

He Shi smirked inwardly.

"Have a few men deliver the prefect's letters to the neighboring towns. No need to hurry—tell the men to look after themselves," He Shi instructed calmly.

"Understood." The soldier accepted the order and left, scratching his head, puzzled.

At the same time, news of the unknown heroes who had wiped out the Wolong Mountain bandits spread like wildfire all over town.

"You hear about those folks at the city gates...?"

"Yeah." A companion replied. "One of my fellow villagers was among the soldiers escorting those bandits to the prefecture. According to him, the bandits were drugged before they were captured."

"Any idea who did it?"

"No clue. Even the bandits have no leads. Some women supposedly saw them, but it was dark, and the intruders didn’t light any candles—just knocked them out in the dark and drugged them. No one got a good look at their faces. They could only guess they were burly men, but no one knows exactly who they were."

"Whoever did it, the authorities even offered a reward—hundreds of taels of silver. But those people didn’t claim it. They just tied the bandits up and left them at the gates."

"They took the gold and silver, though. When the officials searched the stronghold, they found plenty of stolen goods, but not a single coin of gold, silver, or copper cash—must’ve all been taken by those people."

"Damn, how much money are we talking?"

"Must’ve been a fortune. But no one knows the exact amount. The bandits didn’t know how much treasure was hidden in the vault—only their leader and a few lieutenants knew the exact figures, and they were all killed."

"Maybe it was a setup?"

"Who knows? Anyway, I heard the prefect has already reported it to the court and put neighboring towns on high alert."