Chapter 151

Chapter 151

The grinding of knives was as dull and heavy as war drums—those on their side found it reassuring, but to outsiders, it was a different story. The knife-sharpening men slipped deeper into the woods to avoid anyone with sharp ears or eyes on the other side.

The women quietly sneaked out flatbreads, while the men squatted on the ground, elbows on their knees, their stance bold and wide. Every one of them wore a grim face, just like when they'd gone to fight for water.

They wolfed down their dry rations; some had sweat on their brows, others were stone-cold calm.

Since they had to pass through the village but refused to follow those people's demands, trouble was unavoidable.

The longer they waited, the worse it got for them. The men of Wuling Village could afford to waste time, but not them. Every grain they ate was one less, wasting time here with the other side for nothing. By the time they ran out of supplies and were too weak to lift a blade, the outcome wouldn't be pretty.

Tonight was the perfect time. No one would expect them to strike without warning.

"We're really gonna kill folks?" Shi Erlang pressed close to his big brother, his face full of terror. He still hadn't wrapped his head around it, didn't know how they'd ended up here.

Weren't they just a bunch of refugees fleeing with their tails tucked? The others wanted grain—three or six dou was a bit hard to part with, but in a good year, a dou of rice only sold for a few coppers. Even if they didn't want to hand over grain, it was just a matter of a few dozen coppers. Why did it have to come to killing?

He just couldn't do it!

Thinking about what they were about to do, sweat poured off his forehead faster than he could wipe it, his legs were shaking, and even his look at Old Man Zhao carried a hint of fear. His big brother had misjudged them—this time, he really had!

This group was no joke—they weren't ordinary farmers at all!

Shi Dalang hadn't seen it coming either. He thought Old Man Zhao was going to talk about pooling money or grain from each household. Who knew he'd start talking about killing, without even blinking when he said it, as routine as grabbing a chicken from the backyard coop and slitting its throat.

"Little brother," he grabbed his younger brother's hand, which was shaking like crazy. They were the only two outsiders here. It was clear the other side had made up their minds. Nothing they said now would matter.

They sure as hell couldn't leave the group.

If they spoke up now and chose to pay up, they'd piss off this side and probably get nothing from the other. Besides, they hadn't kept him out of the loop on this, clearly tied them to the same rope. Not that he'd ever rat them out—even if he could, it wouldn't be a smart move.

What good would temporary safety do?

After the village, there was still a long way to Fengchuan Prefecture. He had sharp eyes and spotted those two burly men on the other side, hadn't seen them in the village before. Their whole bandit vibe didn't fit villagers.

His heart sank lower and lower. For the first time, he truly felt that the village at the foot of Wuling Mountain and the bandits up top might really be in cahoots.

With that, many things became clear.

Turning to banditry meant abandoning the identity of commoners. People couldn't do without daily necessities like salt, sugar, and tea. Just like hunters hiding in the mountains without household registrations, bandits dared not descend. Passing merchants mostly sold local specialties, including coarse sugar, but not enough to supply a large mountain stronghold.

Unless they had people on the outside.

This group could supply what the bandits needed up in the mountains.

At the same time, the people below dared to fleece travelers without fear of retaliation because they had backing.

The two sides complemented each other, committing evil together with impunity.

Shi Dalang understood now, and his face grew even paler. He knew there was no escape tonight. He could only grip his hoe and kitchen knife, pulling his brother to stand silently.

"What are you doing?" Shi Erlang stumbled as he was dragged.

"Sharpening the knife," Shi Dalang said gloomily.

"…We're really killing?!" Shi Erlang groaned in anguish, his voice low. He just couldn't do it!

Zhao Sandi watched their retreating figures, then took a bite of his flatbread. He wasn't too worried about his own villagers, but he kept an eye on these two brothers. Throughout the journey, their character had been decent, and they had followed orders. Their womenfolk didn't cause trouble either, staying well-behaved.

But now that it came to real fighting, he had no confidence. He wasn't afraid they would run, but that they would hold everyone back. When lives were on the line, there was no room for error. If someone faltered at a critical moment, it could doom everyone.

Shi Erlang was a coward, plain and simple.

Shi Dalang could handle things and keep his brother in line. If he had a good head on his shoulders, he would know what to do and what not to do.

After finishing their flatbreads, their stomachs full, they regained their strength.

They planned to set out at midnight. There was still some time, and without needing to be told, the men lay down on the spot to catch some sleep.

The women and children didn't dare sleep, even as their eyelids drooped. They kept their ears pricked for any sounds, standing guard voluntarily.

No matter what happened, Zhao Xiaobao always got sleepy at the same time. She lay on her mat, sprawled out in sleep.

The family sat on the ground. Old Man Zhao no longer hid anything. He and his sons each held a large blade. Except for Zhao Dashan, who kept his knife by his leg, Zhao Ertian and Zhao Sandi both looked at theirs with great fondness, wiping them back and forth with cloths.

Qing Xuan noticed and his eyes flickered.

There were differences between blades. The curved knives of the two burly men from Wuling Village were clearly not as wide or sharp as those of Old Uncle and his brothers.

He wondered where they had gotten such weapons. Swords, spears, and halberds were strictly controlled by the court. If an ordinary person was found to be hiding them, they could face beheading at the least, or even implicate their entire family.

Where were they hiding them? Qing Xuan couldn't help but wonder. The Zhao family's cart was piled high with grain sacks, and their cotton quilts and clothes were stuffed in baskets. The baskets held hoes, axes, and kitchen knives—farm tools.

Could they be hiding them under the donkey cart every day?

He couldn't help but glance under the cart. No, that didn't work either. He was the one feeding the donkey, and he had unloaded the cart before. He couldn't see where they could hide such large blades.

No one was constantly watching the Zhao family except the Zhaos themselves.

Qing Xuan was puzzled, unable to figure it out. He listened with half an ear, hearing Old Uncle Zhao speaking to him, and quickly snapped back to attention.

"Qing Xuan, you drive the donkey cart. Make sure to protect your aunt and Xiaobao. Anyone in our family can get hurt, but not those mother and daughter."

Old Man Zhao gave orders one by one, his voice low and firm.

"The cart is small and can't hold too many people. Eldest daughter-in-law, you and the other sisters-in-law stay close to the cart. Be quick on your feet. If things go wrong and you can't run, drop your baskets and such. Remember, your lives are the most important."

"Xiao Wu, you brothers guard the cart. Protect your mother, grandmother, and aunt well."

"I know you've grown up and can handle an axe steadily. If anyone you don't know gets near the cart, don't be afraid. Strike to kill if you must. A young wolf doesn't grow up without tasting blood." He patted his eldest grandson's shoulder. "You're the big brother, the little pillar of this family. We can't do without you. When your grandfather and father aren't around, your grandmother and the others can only rely on you brothers. Can you hold the family together for me?"

Zhao Xiaowu was entrusted with a heavy responsibility for the first time. He felt a boulder pressing down on him, but it didn't crush him. Instead, it sparked courage and strength within him. He nodded firmly: "Grandfather, rest assured. I'll guard the cart and keep outsiders away. I'll protect Grandmother and the others!"

Old Man Zhao smiled and nodded, then looked at his other grandsons. Even the youngest, Xi'er, patted his chest loudly in assurance.

His family's boys, though young, were all sturdy and strong. They didn't show it usually, but now, with their chubby hands gripping axes, they exuded an aura that said they were not to be trifled with.

He truly believed that even the youngest, Xi'er, could strike ruthlessly.

Boys should be raised this way. They wouldn't grow up without facing trials. Wolves that eat raw meat versus sheep that graze on grass—his grandsons would not be the latter. Even if they bled, felt pain, and cried, they would grow into men who could stand tall and shield their families from the wind and rain.

After arranging for his family, he went around to the other households and even tossed a large blade to Li Dahe.

They had seized three blades from Scarface and Hei Ban back then, and later, after sending Jin Yu back to his aunt's home and encountering another ambush, they had seized two more. Now, his family had five large blades. He, his three sons, and one each—the remaining blade, after much thought, he gave to Li Dahe.

After all, they had killed bandits together back then. Old Man Zhao was reluctant to part with the blades, and the others probably feared getting involved, so they had never brought it up.

"Protect the women and children," he said to Li Dahe, glancing at the families' women and children.

Out in public, they said the whole village was treated the same, with no favoritism, but everyone knew the families who had fought the bandits together were different. Even if there was no obvious bias along the way, when it came to things like arranging positions, other families begged and begged without getting any arrangement, while those families sat back without a care.

"Alright." Li Dahe took it, finding it heavy in his hands for a sec.

Zhao Sanwang looked envious: "Next time we run into refugees, I'll grab one too. The axe just doesn't swing right; a big blade's way handier."

"Never mind refugees, aren't there two curved knives over there? Not as good as our big knives, but not bad either, still better than farm tools." Zhao Quan joked, but his eyes flickered darkly, dead serious, eyeing the other guy's gear.

"Alright, I'll snatch them for you." Old Man Zhao agreed right off, not even thinking about whether they could win.

Other folks might hesitate, scared of losing their lives and not daring to charge, but he wasn't worried one bit. As long as he had a breath left, his daughter could carve him a peach from that immortal land. Immortal peaches, worth more than a thousand gold in magic pills, grew right back as soon as you picked one. He'd not just snatch those curved knives but wipe out Wuling Village clean and empty every family's cellar if he had to.

But there was no need; if he did that, he'd be no different from a bandit.

He couldn't control what came after. Even if he knew Wuling Village was tied to bandits, if the son played bandit and the father farmed, he'd only kill the bandit son, leave the father be.

If he wanted the easy way out with these mountain bandits, a single fire would be the simplest. But no, the weather was dry, and even lighting a cooking fire required stamping out every spark, scared of starting a wildfire that'd spread everywhere.

In the mountains, besides bandits, there were trees, wild boars, wolves, and countless wild creatures. He had hunted plenty, but he could catch one to eat, not torch a whole nest and wipe out generations.

Besides, with mountains all around, the bandits wouldn't do so well, and they might not escape either. Doing something that hurt others and didn't help himself—he couldn't do it, and wouldn't.

They had to fight it out.

...

The forest went quiet, with faint snoring, sounds like they're asleep.

A few men had been keeping watch, their eyes drooping, but eventually they couldn't hold out, dozing off, their rough, grimy fingernails scratching at their ankles now and then. Hearing a mosquito buzz, they'd slap a hand over the spot.

Mosquito guts mixed with blood stuck to the skin, and the guy, not even noticing, yawned, breathing in the stinky smoke from burning wormwood, and drifted off again.

So many outsiders had come to the village, though they were just a bunch of peasants, not like wealthy families with guards and weapons, but they still had to watch out for trouble. Earlier, some fool tried to set a fire while they slept, barely got caught in time.

They weren't scared of the refugees fighting back; a brawl was fine, but arson wasn't.

Back in the day, setting a mountain fire was a serious crime, and commoners wouldn't dare, not even bandits. Anyone who set a fire would have to answer to the officials.

But now, with everyone fleeing, who gave a damn about breaking the law? They might not dare to pick up a knife and kill, but they could still light a fire starter?

It all came down to personal morals. The folks in Wuling Village couldn't bet on other people's morals; if a fire started, they'd be the ones taking the hit. So, when collecting tolls, they didn't push too hard. Three bushels of grain, six of rice—this year's harvest had just come in, so everyone could afford it. It stung, but not enough to make anyone fight to the death.

These days, the fat sheep they'd fleeced hadn't hit a hundred, but they were in the double digits. They were experienced and sure the group would pay up and move on tomorrow.

Why make a fuss? On the road, it's best to avoid trouble. If money could solve it, no one would stir up more trouble.

That's how their ancestors taught them, how they learned, how they made their money, and how they lived good.

So, when the wooden fence got slammed, chaotic footsteps got close, cold blades raised and gleaming, they stood there defenseless, staring blankly at the surging crowd closing in.

Confused, helpless, and terrified.

"You..."

Old Man Zhao gave the fence a hard kick, and the men behind him raised hoes and axes, scythes cutting through thorns and spikes, while the women slammed their bodies against the tightly shut main gate.

The donkey stomped, and Qing Xuan sat on the cart shaft, his dark eyes watching the suddenly toppled fence. The crowd poured in like floodwaters through an open gate, and as the front cleared, he cracked his whip.

The donkey bolted forward. In the cart, Wang Shi held her sleeping daughter tight, her fingers tense. She wanted to lift the bamboo curtain but remembered the old man's warning: stay put in the cart, don't look out.

The sounds of shouting and killing pierced her eardrums. The dull thud of knives thrusting and pulling sounded like the butcher killing a pig at New Year's—screams, roars, pleas, wails...

The cart raced ahead. Hearing the commotion, villagers burst out of their homes, grabbing hoes and axes from under the eaves and rushing out.

"Stop them!"

Someone shouted, and the chaos grew.

The crowd was in turmoil—fighting behind, blocked ahead. Wang Shi heard someone approach the cart, and Xiao Wu let out a roar, followed by the clatter of farm tools clashing.

The men of Wanxia Village roared, the women gritted their teeth and charged forward, surrounded by those protecting their escape. Children wailed in terror, while the braver ones, like Dagouzi and Zhou Datou, stayed alert for any outsiders suddenly appearing. They had to carry their belongings and still find a hand to strike at blocking villagers.

No one dared look back, remembering Old Man Zhao's words: run forward, follow the cart, don't stray.

Straying now would mean stepping onto the road to the underworld.

The cart led the way, with Qing Xuan knowing the path. He no longer spared the donkey, lashing it again and again.

When someone blocked the way, he pulled out small stones from his pocket and shot them. Wherever he passed, the Wuling villagers nearby either dropped their axes or fell, their knees aching uncontrollably.

In the dark night, blind, they saw nothing, only felt a sharp pain somewhere, numbing their limbs.

"Stop fighting! Let them go!"

"Stop! We don't want your money or grain anymore! Let you go, we won't block you—"

"Second son, second son, waaah—"

A sharp wail tore through the night. An old woman stumbled to the village entrance. In the torchlight, the two sides were locked in a brutal fight, blood spilled everywhere, and limbs could be seen.

"Clang—"

A kitchen knife hit the ground.

More people ran up behind the old woman, unable to stay home, unable to stop the outsiders. They could only watch as the massive crowd trampled over the village, crossing walls and paths like locusts.

Earlier that evening, the sentry at the village entrance had come back, saying a group of refugees had arrived, and they'd make a big profit this time.

After sending dinner, only a few returned to sleep, the rest stayed at the entrance, saying there were too many people to watch, to keep them from causing trouble.

They also said there wouldn't be much trouble—just a bunch of peasants with patched crotches.

"Aren't they just a bunch of peasants? How dare they..."

Staring at the blood-soaked ground, limbs limp like cloth strips, bodies trampled underfoot. They were from their village—even with blood-smeared faces, they recognized them. The second son of the Hei family, with a long-haired mole on his chin, so obvious the blood couldn't hide it.

How could this happen? How?

The woman's lips trembled, and she collapsed to the ground.