Chapter 159

Chapter 159

Behind the gentle slope, a thin, short man slowly placed his hand on his quiver.

Qing Xuan, standing at a high vantage point, saw it clearly. The arrow that had been shot toward the carriage earlier was the work of this man.

He looked down at Old Uncle Zhao, who was holding the fire starter, and understood that the opponent’s target this time was him.

He didn’t say a word but turned to glance at Zhao Xiaowu and his brothers, who had silently moved over and formed an airtight circle around the carriage. In a voice only they could hear, he said, “Xiao Wu, do you still have fire starters on you? Give me one.”

“I do.” Zhao Xiaowu nodded without asking why, directly pulling out a fire starter from his pocket and tossing it upward.

Qing Xuan caught it, twisted off the bamboo lid, puffed out his cheeks and blew, then raised the glowing red spark like Old Uncle Zhao. He didn’t look at the crowd below but fixed his gaze on the thin man on the gentle slope, who had drawn his bow halfway.

The arrow was on the string, ready to be released.

“If you won’t let us live, then let’s all die together!” he shouted, then, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, turned to the old and young of Wanxia Village, who were caught between two forces. “Anyone with a fire starter, pull it out now!”

“The bandits dug traps on the road, lined with sharp wooden stakes at the bottom, waiting for us to fall in without a care, to wipe us out in one fell swoop!” His face showed indignation, every word and every sentence stirring everyone’s emotions and igniting their inner fury. "The bandits are not good people, and the villagers of Wuling Village are not good people either. One robs openly, the other in secret, doing every heinous deed imaginable. We just wanted to pass through peacefully, but they wouldn’t allow it. They killed Uncle Stone and seriously injured Uncle Youliang, who now can’t go a single day without medicine. They made Dujuan lose her father and made Aunt Wu, with her graying hair, have to care for someone younger. We cannot let them off!"

He raised his arm, the fire starter in his hand only half a palm’s width away from the drooping leaves. The withered yellow leaves curled at the edges, teased by the faint smoke, almost ready to catch fire.

"The bandits are ruthless. We can’t outfight or outlast them. Every one of them carries a blade, just waiting to slit our throats and drink our blood. They even have archers hidden behind the gentle slope, ready to shoot us full of holes!"

Hearing this, the crowd stirred in panic, suddenly turning their gazes toward the gentle slope.

Good heavens, these damnable wretches! They had been silent for so long, making everyone think they had cowered in fear, but in truth, they were hiding their dirty tricks, ready to launch a sneak attack with arrows!

An unseen enemy is far more terrifying than one you can see. The crowd, which had been loosely scattered, suddenly pressed together tightly, back to chest, chest to back, their eyes all fixed on the gentle slope.

Du Juanniang, clutching the urn containing her husband’s ashes, burst into tears at Qing Xuan’s words. Her poor little Dujuan was so young and had already lost her father. It was all the fault of the Wuling villagers!

And the bandits too—they were all in cahoots, all bad people!

"My son is dead! What’s the point of me living anymore?" Du Shitou’s mother suddenly let out a wail. Bending down, she pulled a fire starter from her second son’s basket, flipped open the lid, and blew hard on it twice. Her rough hand raised high, tears and snot streaming down her face, she roared hoarsely, "Either way, I’m going to die—dried up, parched, starved, or slaughtered by bandits! I can’t live, so I’m taking a few with me before I go! I want revenge for my son!"

Old Mrs. Du’s words seemed to flip a switch. Thinking of all they had suffered these past days—how hard it had been, how bitter! When people leave their homeland, they’re bullied everywhere they go. Even just trying to pass through a place, they were oppressed!

All along this journey, they had harbored no ill intentions. So many people, such a large group, and they’d never once thought of robbing or waylaying anyone. They were nothing but a bunch of honest peasants, law-abiding commoners. So why were they being bullied? What gave others the right? Life was already hard enough. This year’s harvest was poor. Even though the bags on the carts were stacked high, there were only a few sacks of new grain. The rest were all old stored grain and mountain goods, saved up over years. Their pockets were cleaner than their faces. Their village, Wanxia, was so remote that even during the slack season, when they wanted to go out for work, few landlords were willing to hire them. They barely managed to save a single copper coin all year.

Thinking of all the hardships along the way, the old men and women could no longer hold back their tears. They wiped their noses and eyes with their dirty sleeves, gently patted their grandchildren’s little heads. The tenderness faded, replaced by a look of desperate resolve.

Without any signal, they put down the hoes and sickles they had been clutching. In unison, with tacit understanding, they pulled out their fire starters and flints.

Wanxia Village had over thirty households. The bandit raid that had swept through the village had wiped out several families, killing dozens. The past two years had been harsh, with endless disasters and calamities. The women were worn out, their bodies never recovered, so there had been few newborns. Counting the widows and orphans, the village barely numbered one or two hundred people.

These people were the foundation of Wanxia Village, built up over generations—so fragile that with a single wave of someone’s hand, they could be erased from the world.

They had abandoned their fields and homes, fled for their lives, hoping to survive, to pass on their bloodline, to carve out a path for their children and grandchildren. But now, someone was blocking their way, front and back, trying to trap them in this unfamiliar forest. Since they couldn’t live, they might as well die together.

Even though Da Gen said that pulling out the fire starters was just a bluff to threaten the bandits, that it wasn’t real.

But at this moment, they no longer cared about real or fake. Everyone’s face was twisted with madness, staring at the bandits as if they wanted to bite off a chunk of their flesh.

A single faint spark was nothing.

But ten sparks, a hundred sparks—above the glowing red, smoke filled the air. Everyone smelled the choking smoke.

The children squatted on the ground, gathered dry twigs, and, as if no one else existed, banged their flints together with a clatter. The crisp sound echoed in everyone’s ears, making hearts tremble.

The archer hidden behind the gentle slope was sweating. The arrow in his hand wavered back and forth. The second in command had ordered him to kill the threatening old man first. But now, there was more than one person holding a fire starter. Who should he shoot first?

He aimed at Old Man Zhao behind the human wall, then at Qing Xuan standing on the carriage roof, his mind swinging wildly, unable to decide.

"If you won’t let us live, then let’s die together!" Zhao Shanao pushed through the young men on the outside and staggered forward. Holding up his fire starter, he strode straight past Zhao Dashan and Li Dahe, facing the dozens of fierce, burly bandits. With his hunched body and his thin, brittle bones that couldn’t stop anything, he shielded everyone in the village behind him. "Old as I am, I’m not afraid of death! You want to shoot us dead? Come on, I’m standing right here! Shoot me! Swords, arrows, axes—aim them all at me!"

After a day of travel, sweat mixed with dust had left dirty streaks on his face. He was filthy, but his murky eyes shone bright. His right hand held the fire starter, while his left hand pounded his chest. "Come on, shoot! Aim right at my heart!"

He didn’t look back, but everyone in Wanxia Village knew that every word he said next was meant for them. "Don’t be afraid, all of you! What’s dying? We’re surrounded by our own people. If we can’t carve out a path to life, then let’s take the road to the underworld together!"

"Watch carefully! When their swords or arrows pierce my heart, don’t hesitate! Drop the fire starter into the woods! We’ll take them all with us to die!"

"Heaven is forcing us, the court is forcing us, and now even the bandits are forcing us! We can’t do anything about Heaven, we can’t do anything about the court, but we can do something about these bandits! Burn it down! Burn their bandit lair! We’re commoners! We burn bad people! We’re doing the right thing! Even if we go down below, the King of Hell can’t condemn us for this!"

"Burn! Burn! Burn!"

"Burn the mountain, burn the bandit lair, burn the bandits to death!"

The crowd was in a frenzy. Every man, woman, old, and young in Wanxia Village was screaming at the top of their lungs. Not a single face showed fear or hesitation.

Rage, like an invisible fire, had thoroughly scorched this forest.

On the main road, the refugees trudging slowly forward heard these earth-shattering roars and were terrified out of their wits.

"What’s that sound?"

"Where is it coming from?"

"Could it be that the bandits have come down the mountain? Is someone setting the forest on fire?"

"What do we do? Run? Can we escape?"

Voices rang out one after another. Panic spread across the land where Mount Erdao and Snake Pit Three intersected. The timid ones fled forward in a blind panic, while those lagging behind hesitated, wondering if they should turn back.

They were afraid of the bandits, but they also hated the idea of losing the grain and money they had already paid to pass through the village. They dreaded having to pay the toll all over again.

"It’s the commotion up ahead. Let’s wait, let’s see what happens." The leader decided. Heading to Hebo County was their only chance to survive. Going back meant death, so they might as well take a gamble.

If someone really set the forest on fire, the man looked at the dense woods around him, a look of despair on his face. Forward or back, death was certain. There was no escape.

Over by the bandits, the group of men gripping their broadswords was momentarily deafened by the earth-shaking roars.

The burly, bearded man suddenly whipped his head toward the gentle slope, glaring fiercely at the thin man. His teeth clenched, he lowered his hand behind his back. The thin man reluctantly lowered his bow.

He had missed the chance to shoot and kill the leading old man at the first moment. Now, he dared not act rashly.

Staring at the surging crowd, his eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s. He could even clearly see the madness on their faces. They were really going to burn the forest. They really dared to burn it. This wasn’t just an empty threat.

These people weren’t afraid to die, and they wanted to drag the bandits down with them.

A chill crept up his back. Despite the heat, his hands and feet felt cold. He wondered if it was still possible to flee back up the mountain, grab his belongings, and run.

The village head of Wuling was also stunned. He had never expected this outcome. In his mind, he had imagined blocking their path, throwing out a few threats, and savoring the regret on their faces. If someone knelt and begged for mercy, they would kill all the men and boys, then carry the women and girls up the mountain to bear children.

Because of the natural disasters, many wealthy households had passed through. The villagers didn’t dare to block them, but the bandits on the mountain did. In recent times, they had pulled off a few big scores and seized plenty of horses, silver, and weapons.

That was why he had dared to let this group go. In numbers, they couldn’t match the bandits. In ruthlessness, they couldn’t either. Even the only weapons they could rely on—the mountain bandits had plenty of those.

But things didn't go as he'd expected. Who could've guessed that these night raiders—ruthless men who fought like their lives depended on it—would now suddenly back down, too scared to fight, and threaten them with fire starters instead?

They'd planned for everything except this.

Yet it was exactly this move that hit 'em right where it hurt.

The village chief's forehead was dripping with sweat. He didn't dare pull out a rag to wipe it, didn't wanna look scared. Turning to look at the burly bearded man, he was thrown into confusion by the sudden turn of events, panicking: "Second-in-command, what—what the hell do we do now?"

"The hell you askin' me for now? I wanna ask you—how is this different from what you said?!" The burly bearded man gritted his teeth, like he wanted to wring the old man's neck.

He was an outsider—the big boss up top was from the village. He wanted to act, but held back—many of the brothers below were local lads, and there'd always been friction between these locals and the outsiders. No sense giving 'em ammunition.

That night, word came down from the mountain, one messenger after another, that something big had happened—the village was attacked by outsiders, many dead. The big boss flew off the handle and ordered him to take the brothers down the mountain to kill those cocky outsiders and avenge the dead.

Revenge? Screw that—the dead weren't his problem. They hadn't come down since that last big job a month back. He figured it'd be a quick job, so he came down to try his luck and see if there were any fresh fish.

But damn it, this old bastard's story didn't line up with reality one bit. A group of a hundred or two refugees—this was the first wave they'd encountered. The ones before, even with guards, maids, cooks, and all, were only a few dozen. Rich folks value their hides—they just push their guards to fight for 'em—no way they'd think of lighting a fire and dying together.

The smaller groups? A bunch of pushovers—handed over whatever was asked, never dared to fight back.

Only this group—big, and every last one of 'em stubborn as mules. Whatever their leader said, they did. Even if they charged in and killed the ones up front, if even one person in back lit a fire, they'd be done for.

The whole land was bone-dry, but Mount Wuling still had water, food, and women. They could come down every so often to grab fresh stock. Life was sweet, sweeter than ever.

If they actually let 'em torch the forest, everything would be finished.

"Old-timer, it's dry out here—things catch fire easy. Let's talk this out nice and easy, no need for anger. Keep that hand steady—this ain't no joke." The burly bearded man suddenly sheathed his sword and signaled to his men. All the bandits put away their weapons.

He laughed loudly, took a few steps forward, and kicked aside the cover over the trap: "I see these kids are still young, got plenty of years ahead. How can they keep yappin' about dying?"

"A live dog's better than a dead lion. One more day alive, one more day to see the sights, one more day to enjoy your children and grandchildren's filial piety. Old sir, isn't that so?" Standing across the trap from Zhao Shanao, he smiled, the fleshy wrinkles on his face trembling. "Today, I'm the one callin' the shots. Whatever happened before, it's all water under the bridge. I'll let you pass, and you don't get any funny ideas. As I said, living is good. You live, I live. Only the livin' can eat and drink good, only the livin' can see their children grow up, marry, and have kids. Do something that wipes out your bloodline—your ancestors'll curse you."

As he spoke, he ordered his men to clear the main path beside the trap that could only fit one cart, revealing a flat road free of leaves.

"Look, this road can take you straight out of the mountain. It's up to you—whether you'll put away your fire starters and lift your feet."

Zhao Shanao was good at being fierce, but he didn't have the nerve to negotiate with bandits. He instinctively turned to look at Da Gen.

Old Man Zhao stepped out from behind Da He and Da Shan. He glanced at the leaves they'd swept into the trap, and in front of the burly bearded man, he threw the fire starter directly into the leaves.

This caught everyone off guard—nobody could stop him. Sparks licked the dry leaves, and in a flash, flames shot up. White smoke rose, firelight flickered, and the crackling sounds stabbed at the bearded man's eardrums.

"Don't be ungrateful!"

The men's faces changed color. The bandits around glared at Old Man Zhao, then rushed to put out the fire without a word.

The fire starter had been thrown into the trap, which was full of upside-down wooden stakes. The few leaves were from the road they had just swept. The fire spread quickly. The bandits didn't dare jump into the trap, and there was no water nearby. They could only sweep the dry firewood around the trap into it, then take off their clothes and run back and forth between the trees to get the dirt they had dug up earlier to hide the trap, throwing it into the pit to keep the fire from spreading.

Old Man Zhao watched calmly as they ran back and forth, shouting that they wanted to kill him while sweating and hauling dirt.

"I'll kill you!" Seeing the flames shoot up, the bearded man was so mad he was about to blow his top. He yanked out his blade and charged at Old Man Zhao.

"Take one more step and see what happens!" Qing Xuan's voice was even louder. He held the fire starter up to the leaves. If the bearded man advanced another step, he would set the tree on fire.

To make them step into the trap, the pit had been dug right in the middle of the main road. Old Man Zhao threw the fire starter into the trap. The bandits reacted fast, hauling dirt to put out the fire and filling the trap as they did.

But Qing Xuan was different. If he set the tree on fire, once it caught, dirt alone couldn't put it out.

The bearded man stared at his raised hand, stopped abruptly, his face full of ferocity and anxiety. He roared: "What the hell do you want?! I said you can go! Water under the bridge, understand? I'm not holding this against you!"

"Fifty taels of silver, fifty sacks of grain, ten knives." Old Man Zhao looked at him expressionlessly. "I'm not letting it go."

"Wasn't it five knives?!" Before the bearded man could say anything, the village chief exploded. "Double in one breath? Why don't you just rob us!"

"Rob? I can't compare to you." Old Man Zhao said sarcastically. "I gave you the chance at five knives. You didn't take it. Now I want ten. Give it, and we leave now. Don't, and I'll burn the mountain."

He looked down at the still-smoking pit. He wasn't joking. They had plenty of fire starters.

"Hell! Where are we supposed to get fifty sacks of grain right now?!" The village chief spat as he shouted, frantically patting his pockets but not pulling out a single coin. Who brings silver when seeking revenge?!

He could only stare at the knives in their hands.

The burly bearded man's chest heaved with rage. He couldn't gamble. Earlier, he might have taken a chance, but not now. That old bastard had already made good on his threat. If he didn't give in, the next fire starter wouldn't go into the pit but into the forest.

Reluctant? Damn right he was! Who would willingly hand over the tools of survival to the enemy?

He ground his teeth hatefully. After a long silence, he said through clenched jaws: "...Five. Only five. No more."

"Ten." Old Man Zhao stood firm. He knew they didn't have silver on them and couldn't go back up the mountain to get grain. He had been aiming at their knives all along.

He planned to give one knife to every man in the village.

"Absolutely not!" The burly bearded man snatched knives from his brothers, grabbing several in succession and throwing them on the ground with a clatter. Seven in total. "That's all. No more."

Before Old Man Zhao could speak, he raised his hand, turned, and headed toward the slope without looking back, as if afraid someone would stop him: "Don't be too greedy. You lost people, but the village lost more. If you think about who came out worse, you know the answer."

"We brothers were just too lazy to move, so we let you take advantage. You have a handle on us, but I'm no fool. Take what's given and stop."

What's the point of talking about life and death with bandits? The day they became outlaws, they already put their heads on the line.

If you push too hard, we can just find another place to live. Do you think I'm that attached to Mount Wuling? My ancestral grave isn't buried here anyway.

The village chief glared at them hatefully, knowing revenge was impossible. Even if the chief came down the mountain, today they'd have to let these people go.

Because the bandits had nothing to lose—this wasn't their ancestral home.

But the villagers did. Their ancestors had lived here for generations. Their ancestral graves couldn't be burned, and they couldn't bear to die.

"Get the hell out of here! Leave Mount Wuling and never come back!"

He spat out the words hastily, then turned and followed the already distant group, disappearing into the jungle.