Chapter 155

Chapter 155

After clearing a large open space, dry firewood was piled high, and thick smoke billowed, consuming everything.

After the blazing fire, the ground was a mess, with ash and dust swirling into the air. Under the glow of the evening sunset, wood ash and dust filled the atmosphere.

Inhaling it stung the nose and brought tears to the eyes.

In just two short days, a living person had been reduced to half a jar of ashes. Du Juanniang knelt on the ground, clutching her daughter, sobbing her heart out.

Another day passed, and by a stroke of luck in the midst of misfortune, Wu Youliang pulled through.

He blinked his trembling eyelids open the next morning and weakly called out, "Mother," before fainting again. After sleeping another day, he woke up again and began clamoring for food, asking for flatbread. His family wept for joy, kneeling and bowing low toward the direction of Evening Glow Village, thanking their ancestors for their blessings! He was alive! Youliang had truly survived!

"Mother will go make you some porridge, right away!" Old Lady Wu wiped her tears and stood up, flustered, laughing and crying all at once. "What flatbread? When you're injured, you should eat something good. I'll go ask Aunt Wang if you can have meat. If there are no restrictions, I'll mash some meat into your porridge for you!"

She muttered to herself, not caring who heard her: "Meat helps you heal faster. Eat plenty of it, and you'll be back on your feet soon!"

Wu Youliang's wife did the same, telling her daughter to watch over her father. With reddened eyes, she said, "I'll help tend the fire!"

No matter the illness, if someone wants to eat and can keep it down, that's a sign they're getting better. The mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, with tears streaming, gathered half a bucket of water from nearby families. Wang and the village women all said meat was fine—why wouldn't it be? When injured, you need good food to recover. So they cooked him a pot of meat porridge, and they didn't skimp on the salt. The thick, soft, and sticky porridge was rich and tasty.

Even back in the village, they wouldn't have gone to such trouble with food. It was a real splurge for them.

As Wu Youliang's condition improved, everyone said it was thanks to Old Man Zhao's herbs and hemostatic powder. With an injury that bad, who would've thought he'd make it? They figured that in three or four days, they might have to scrape together grain for another funeral feast.

It wasn't that they didn't wish him well, but it was all too common for people to die from just getting caught in the rain or running a fever. In the countryside, kids weren't considered to have a firm grip on life until they were eight or nine, and adults who nicked their foot with a hoe while farming often had it swell up and get infected the next day, followed by a fever that knocked them out.

People could be as fragile as paper or as tough as iron—some couldn't handle a gust of wind, while others thrived no matter what.

Outsiders would just say, "It's fate," and leave it at that.

Everyone said Wu Youliang was lucky, and they were genuinely happy for him, feeling a bit more confident themselves. If Wu Youliang, with his guts hanging out, could cheat death, then they, who grew up drinking from the same village well and were just as tough, could surely survive if they got hurt.

The morale that had sagged after Du Shitou's death was revived now that Wu Youliang could eat and, well, do his business.

Shaking off their earlier gloom, they started discussing how to free up a cart to carry Wu Youliang. Though he was alive, he couldn't walk and couldn't be jostled. It'd take months to recover at best, or half a year to a year at worst, depending on how he healed.

They couldn't just stay put, so they had to move him by cart.

Every household had a certain number of carts for their own grain. Helping out was one thing, but no one was about to give up their own stuff for someone else's convenience. In the end, they decided the Wu family would use their own cart to carry him, while their grain would be split up among the villagers, who'd take turns hauling it. With everyone pitching in, the Wu family could focus on taking care of Wu Youliang.

Of course, there were some private grumbles, but nothing too harsh. If anyone overheard, they just ignored it. Some things were best left alone—no need to dig up every little fault.

That's just human nature.

These past few days had been a blur. Aside from the proper meal at the funeral feast, they'd just wolfed down flatbreads without thinking much. No one had the appetite or the mood to cook. When someone you chatted with every day was suddenly gone, the Du family felt it the most, but even others couldn't help wiping away tears, their hearts heavy.

They were set to leave the next day. The cremation had been a big deal, with thick smoke filling the sky, surely drawing attention.

But after two days, no one had shown up. The villagers from Wuling Village hadn't come after them either. Everyone's hearts were in their throats, unable to settle, filled with unease.

At dusk, as they gathered for the evening meal, Wang couldn't help but ask, "How did you get away that night?" She didn't think they'd killed them all. Glancing at her husband, she doubted he had it in him. Though she hadn't lifted the bamboo curtain to look outside, she'd heard the commotion clearly—lots of people chasing the donkey cart, plus the men at the village entrance. With their numbers, they couldn't have killed them all. Even if they had, Du Shitou wouldn't have been the only casualty.

The only possibility was that they'd slipped away when no one was looking.

But days had passed. If they'd escaped, the others should have caught up by now. Knowing her husband, he wasn't one to take a loss. If his side had suffered death and injury, the other side would have fared worse.

In turbulent times, those who dared to set up tolls weren't good-natured people. Ruthless scoundrels wouldn't swallow such a loss. Besides, from what she'd heard earlier, the villagers had ties to the mountain bandits, making it even less likely they'd let this slide.

A hint of worry crept onto her face. Bandits were nothing but villains who abandoned their commoner status to become outlaws in the mountains. She wasn't one to judge others' good and evil lightly, but she'd suffered at their hands before. The rows of graves behind the village were proof enough.

These bloodthirsty types were hard to deal with. If they crossed paths, who knew how many more would end up in the funeral shed, how many children would weep.

"Listen to you—how did we get away? We walked out openly, right in front of them!" With no outsiders around, Old Man Zhao couldn't resist boasting. He puffed out his chest, smug. "Our whole group, under the watch of hundreds of eyes from the entire village, walked down their roads, past their houses. Every one of us stiff-necked, eyes wide, nostrils flaring—but they all held back. Not a single one dared to shout for us to stop, and no one chased us."

"Know why?" He shoveled a mouthful of rice, chewed, and swallowed, then waved his chopsticks like a sword. "Because I scared the wits out of them!"

He struck a theatrical pose, like an actor playing to an audience, savoring the moment as his family stared at him. "Want to know how?"

Glancing at his daughter, who was holding a small bowl and looking up at him with admiration, he cleared his throat. The details were too bloody to share. With a flourish, he said, "In the dead of night, they saw me and started yelling 'ghost!' I told them to get out of the way, and they obeyed."

Zhao Xiaobao's expression was flat, as if to say, "That's it?"

The three Zhao Dashan brothers buried their faces in their bowls, struggling not to laugh.

It wasn't as glorious as their father made it sound. The other side had backed down because their group seemed utterly reckless, as if they'd kill anyone who stood in their way. Faced with such a desperate, no-holds-barred attitude, the villagers had swallowed their rage and reluctantly let them go.

Why hadn't they fought harder to stop them? He understood, just like when the bandits had raided their village—their first instinct had been to flee into the mountains.

The villagers had ancestral homes, graves, fields, and families hiding inside. His group, on the other hand, had nothing to lose. Their belongings and loved ones had already fled ahead. With no worries left, they were just a bunch of desperate souls ready to fight. Win, and the road ahead was clear; lose, and it was just death.

The people of Wuling Village were different. They had too many concerns to risk a bloody, mutual destruction.

Old Man Zhao had counted on that. He'd given them a choice: let them pass, or die together.

The village chief, though furious and wanting them dead, hadn't let anger cloud his judgment. In the end, he waved for the villagers to step aside and let them leave.

Of course, this bitter pill was only temporarily swallowed. With so many dead, revenge was inevitable.

As long as this group stayed in Wuling Mountain, they were like rabbits in a trap—no matter how they struggled, they couldn't escape.

Thinking about this, Old Man Zhao said, "I was worried about running into bandits. Sure, we have knives, but we're farmers at heart. We don't have the guts of those outlaws who live for today. They've got strongholds, plenty of confidence, and probably weapons just as good as ours. If we clashed, we'd be at a disadvantage."

"After this, I'm not worried anymore." He smiled. The reaction of the Wuling villagers had taught him a lot. When people have attachments and weaknesses, they're less fierce in a fight. "That old man was too worried about his village to push us to the brink. He swallowed a huge loss because everyone there values their lives—young and old, none of them want to die."

No one wanted to die, and neither did they. But the key difference was that his group couldn't survive without fleeing, while the Wuling villagers could stay put.

Their entire wealth was a cart, a few baskets, and some backpacks. Their food and clothes were on their backs. If they didn't find a place to settle before their grain ran out, they'd die anyway.

The Wuling villagers, on the other hand, were well-fed, plump, and rosy-lipped from robbing passersby. They had cellars, money, and even a water source in the mountains. As long as they stayed put and didn't court disaster, they could survive, even if the outside world fell into chaos. Even the Qingzhou prefecture's conscription of able-bodied men, separated by the dead New Peace County, might not reach their village.

This place was too comfortable. Comfortable enough that if not for the bandits on the mountain, he'd consider settling down here.

He handed his empty bowl to his wife. Wang glared at him, filled it, and listened as he said slowly, "If the villagers down the mountain are this comfortable, the ones up there must be even better off. With plenty of water and food, and the occasional raid to fill their pockets, would the bandits let their lifeline be destroyed?"

"You want to burn the mountain?!" Having shared a bed for most of their lives, Wang understood immediately. She was shocked. "Zhao Dagen, I'm telling you, don't you dare do something so heartless!"

Heavenly Lord, setting a forest fire was a sin against all living things, big or small. It was one thing to set traps for a few animals when food was scarce—no one would complain. Even butchers, who lived by the trade, observed spring bans on hunting and acted as forest guardians the rest of the time. Burning the mountain was strictly forbidden by imperial law, and villagers policed each other. Anyone caught doing it would likely be beaten to death by the community before they could be executed.

Evening Glow Village lived off the mountain. She couldn't believe her husband didn't know how much they valued it!

He had lost his mind!

Wang Shi wished she could slap some sense into him—how could he have such a wicked thought!

Old Man Zhao ignored her fierce glare and, amid the disapproving looks of the whole family, croaked, "Do you think I don’t know this can’t be done? Earlier, someone came up with a stupid idea to burn down the village, so we could make a run for it while they put it out. I even said that once the fire starts, no one can predict the outcome."

"I just..." He paused, letting out a deep sigh. "I don’t want anyone else in the village to lose their lives just for 'passing through' this place."

In the end, he felt it wasn’t worth it, a heavy frustration weighing on him, and he was deeply disgusted by these villagers and bandits who were profiting from the misery of the disaster.

In this world, he didn’t expect them to lend a hand, but to trip others up—they had zero basic human decency.

He didn’t believe for a second that the people of Wuling Village didn’t know that refugees fleeing famine, lacking food and supplies, could barely survive. They knew damn well, yet they still did this, abandoning their humanity just to satisfy their own selfish desires.

They were driving the refugees to their deaths.

To put it more bluntly, many refugees who knew nothing about Wuling Mountain had no idea that the villagers would rob them of their grain, and later, the bandits would snatch their children. The talk of three or six dou, fifteen or thirty wen—it was all just to make them willingly hand over money without hitting a nerve that would spark a desperate fight, disrupting the village's peace.

Old Man Zhao saw right through them, knowing these people were both greedy and unwilling to face the consequences.

"We only managed to escape this time with one loss because the enemy was caught off guard. But after the big stir we caused, the villagers must have notified the mountain. The bandits are surely on alert now, and they might even be setting traps ahead, waiting to catch us all in one net."

Zhao Dashan frowned. This was entirely possible—did that mean they’d be caught like rats in a trap?

He urged, "Dad, what do we do? Keep moving forward?"

"What else can we do? Turn back?" Old Man Zhao shot him a glare. Of his sons, the second son is the dumbest, and the eldest is the second dumbest. "Not only do we have to go, but we have to go loudly, raising a ruckus, to lure the bandits out if possible."

Zhao Ertian, unaware that his father had just mocked him, asked in confusion, "Why? If they’re digging a trap for us, shouldn’t we avoid them? Why call them over? Dad, a lot of the men are wounded this time—countless cuts and scrapes, all bleeding pretty badly. They can still walk and run, but they can’t handle any more trouble for a while; they need to recover." Not to mention Wu Youliang, who's barely holding on with half a life—they really needed to steer clear of the bandits.

"That’s why I said set a fire!" Old Man Zhao jabbed at his sons' heads in frustration, frustrated at how slow-witted they all were, not a sharp one among them.

Meanwhile, Zhao Xiaobao, who had been resting her chin in her hands and listening for a while, suddenly figured it out. She clapped her left hand against her right, her face lighting up with realization. "Xiaobao gets it! Dad wants to scare the bad guys!"

Her eyes sparkled, her chubby face full of mischief. "The bad guys are mean, but they care about their home, just like Xiaobao loves snacks. When Mom threatens that if I don’t sleep, I won’t get snacks, I go to bed obediently."

She let out a "Wow!" and looked at her dad with admiration. "Dad, you’re so smart!"

Dad's a good dad—he wouldn't actually set a fire. But if the bandits were afraid he’d burn down their home, and he threatened them, they’d surely be scared!

She felt so clever that she couldn’t help puffing up with pride, tilting her head and snorting at her eldest and second brothers. Two dumb brothers!

Qing Xuan, holding the tiger cub, thoughtfully added, "This plan is feasible, and the advantage is ours."

If other refugees had threatened to set a fire, they’d probably have been surrounded and killed by the bandits before they could even pull out a fire starter.

But they were armed, and at the very least, they had time to start a fire.

If they didn’t want to fight, then it came down to who was tougher, who was more willing to go all out.

As long as they weren’t afraid to die, it would be the bandits’ turn to be scared.

If the bandits wouldn’t let them leave Wuling Mountain unscathed, then they’d all die together.

Whether the bandits were afraid or not, he didn’t know, but Old Uncle Zhao...

He couldn’t help glancing at the old man, feeling more and more that he didn’t fit the mold of a simple country farmer. If you push him too far, he just might do it.