Chapter 41

Chapter 41

In the darkness, the bandits who had crept into the village were the first to step into the freshly dug traps. Screams suddenly tore through the quiet night, opening the curtain on this battle of ordinary people defending their homes.

After the traps came Rong Feng's arrows—angled with deadly precision and unerring accuracy.

Those bandits who crawled out atop their comrades' bodies had no time to rejoice before they were instantly pierced through, not even a cry for help escaping their throats as they tumbled back into the trap, stone dead.

These bandits had grown used to acting like kings in these famine years. The imperial court was busy fighting its own wars and had no time to deal with them, which had bred their rampant arrogance. They committed every evil imaginable, and once they had ravaged an area into ruin, milking it dry, they would pack up and move on to plague somewhere new.

Today's raid on the village came from intelligence provided by those soldier-bandits, who said the village had grain and money. And since the imperial army had won a victory, they knew the lands near the prefectural seat were no longer safe. Might as well hit it one last time, loot everything clean, then find a mountain stronghold that was easy to defend and hard to attack to start over.

With such plans in mind, the bandits had sent men to scout the area many times. It should've been a sure thing—but in just a few days, not only had traps been dug, but archers were lying in ambush in the shadows!

"An ambush! Damn it, those soldier-bandits are trying to double-cross us."

"Boss, what do we do? We've already lost a dozen brothers, and that damn archer's too good—nobody dares poke their head out."

The bandits crouched in the snowdrifts. The boss did the math in his head: those soldier-bandits numbered at most a dozen or so. No matter how skilled they were, could they really stop his fifty or sixty boys?

At this moment, the bandits didn't regard the villagers as people at all. In their eyes, poor peasants were nothing but meek lambs waiting for the slaughter.

Since they wanted to throw down, then he'd see it through to the end—he'd stomp them flat. Once he got his hands on them, he'd slit their bellies open and hang them all at the mountain gate, so the bandits on the nearby peaks would know who's boss.

If word got out that he'd turned tail and run from a dozen soldier-bandits, he might as well hang up his hat.

In this trade, you gotta be ruthless to stay alive. Otherwise, no matter where they fled, they'd be nothing but nameless stray dogs.

So the bandit leader raised his arm and snapped his whip.

"Brothers! Wolves travel a thousand miles eating meat; dogs travel a thousand miles eating nothing but shit! Get through this jam, and once we've gathered our fortune and crossed the prefectural border, we'll take over a mountain and become kings!"

"I'll say it now—whoever cuts down the most heads, once we clean this place out, he's number two. Charge!"

These guys all lived one step from the grave, with no guarantee of tomorrow. At these words, they got fired up and tripped over each other, fifty or sixty of them charging into the village with blades drawn.

Bian Hong ducked behind a big tree, watching Rong Feng up in the branches—he'd almost burned through his four quivers. His focus was absolute, drawing and firing so fast Bian Hong could hardly keep up.

But the bandits didn't retreat. Instead, they yanked up their dead buddies and used 'em as shields, some still barely alive, their last bit of value ruthlessly squeezed out by men who had called them brothers moments before.

The villagers were starting to panic. The bandits' inhuman savagery made 'em want to back off.

But with their families hiding up in the mountains, and the homes their folks had built up over generations—they had no choice—they had to fight.

The old village head had told them again and again: if they didn't kill these bandits today, they'd have made enemies for life. Next time, when they came for revenge, their families might not be so lucky as to hide in the mountains. They'd wipe out the whole village, not a soul left.

When it came down to survival, even regular folks found their grit, grabbing whatever they could to defend their homes.

The two sides slammed into each other in a heartbeat. These bandits had wiped out plenty of villages before. They split into several groups, entering from different routes—but when they busted down doors, the houses were empty as a ghost town!

Instead, they tripped all kinds of booby traps: rolling logs, flying iron axes, or sharpened bamboo spears. Or walking down the streets, villagers hiding in the shadows would yank the traps and take out more of them.

Bian Hong had said it before: don't fight 'em head-on if you can help it. Most villagers were no match for the bandits in open combat—too many would die. These folks had families—old and young—and they couldn't afford to get hurt.

So this usual bandit raid for loot and blood had turned into a street-by-street brawl.

Nobody knew these streets better than folks who'd lived there half their lives.

The bandit boss, smelling trouble, snapped his whip a few times—the signal to change tactics. The bandits stuck in the alleys pulled back fast and regrouped on the main drag—they had some discipline after all.

Bian Hong gripped his curved blade, a sly glint in his eye. This was just what he'd hoped for.

The villagers held up pot lids and thick wooden tub covers as shields, clutching pitchforks and rakes, and quickly surrounded them, jabbing hard through the cracks in their "shields." With that many folks pressing in, every jab landed somewhere—it was brutal.

The bandits tried to bust out of the ring, but at every way out, folks rushed in with shields up and forks out.

Bian Hong kept an eye out for the tough ones who might bust through, ready to take 'em down clean, while Rong Feng headed straight for the bandit boss still outside the village.

After snapping his whip a few times and getting no answer, the bandit boss knew something was way off. This wasn't a simple setup—those dozen soldier-bandits couldn't have done this.

Just then, a few of his men who had been stabbed several times came running out, shouting: "Boss, run! There's some kind of formation in the village—the brothers are getting surrounded and stabbed to death!"

"Boss, let's retreat first! As long as the green mountains remain, we'll never lack firewood. Let's go back to the mountain, gather the rest of the brothers, and come back for revenge!"

But before he could wisely flee, an extremely tall and powerful figure leaped into view, cutting down the stragglers who had escaped the village with a single stroke, then coldly flicking the blood from his blade as he charged toward the dozen men around the bandit leader.

"Just one man—let's get him!"

These bandits had killed countless people and weren't afraid. Eyes red, they charged, surrounding Rong Feng.

But wild street-fighting was still just that. Against ordinary folk, they seemed unstoppable, but the moment their blades clashed with Rong Feng's, they knew it was over.

This was a man who had been climbing mountains and drawing blades in the forbidden forest since he could walk—a guardian of the mountains, inheritor of thirty-six generations of orthodox martial arts, exquisite and unstoppable.

The dozen or so men fell quickly. Seeing the tide turn, the bandit leader hastily spoke up.

"Hold on! What's your background, hero? I have some wealth on Black Wind Mountain. I'll offer you silver, and we'll never trouble you again."

But while his mouth said one thing, his mind schemed another. He'd been careless this time—he'd assumed it would be like always, fifty or sixty men enough for a few villages, so he'd left some men back at Black Wind Mountain to guard the place. After all, the stolen grain, money, and women needed watching, lest someone pull a decoy maneuver.

Losing a little loot was fine—as long as he kept his base. Once he got back, he'd regroup and come back to wipe out this humiliation!

Rong Feng didn't listen to a word the bandit leader said. His blue eyes, in the night, reflected by the fresh blood, were cold and murderous.

His master had taught him: evil must be eradicated completely.

Seeing the man unmoved by wealth, the bandit leader snarled: "You dare touch me? Tomorrow my hundred brothers on the mountain will come and flatten your shabby village!"

Rong Feng said nothing, swinging his blade. The bandit leader, seeing the situation hopeless, turned and fled with a few loyal men shielding him.

Rong Feng cut down those who tangled with him and gave chase with his blade drawn.

Just as he exited the village onto the mountain path, he saw in the snow-covered distance a dozen or so horses thundering toward him.

For a split second, the bandit leader thought his mountain brothers had come to reinforce him—but then he snapped back to reality. They didn't have this many horses.

The imperial court had been at war for years; horses were rare commodities. The only way to get them was from military camps—there was nowhere to steal them. Occasionally, they could buy one or two at exorbitant prices on the black market, and that was considered lucky.

So the bandit leader turned and ran in another direction. But two legs can't outrun four. The horses closed in fast, and by the time he realized what was happening, he felt a coldness at his throat.

The last image his eyes captured was, under the moonlight, a fair-skinned, red-lipped figure reining in his horse, flamboyantly flicking his crimson cape.

Rong Feng chased to the edge of the village, staring at the headless bandit leader and the dozen or so mounted men. He raised his blade in caution.

The shift in his "aura" was keenly sensed by animals, so the red-robed man's horse—which had been charging aggressively moments before—immediately calmed and obediently stepped back.

When the red-robed man tried to urge it forward again, the horse refused. His carefully planned entrance came to an abrupt halt, and the imposing presence he'd built instantly dissolved.

"How boring. Where's Min Xi? I'm looking for him."

"Who's there?"

The moment Rong Feng spoke, a grayish head popped out from behind the man in red, and as if finally coming to life, yelled excitedly.

"Benefactor! You're alright—is Brother Xi okay? Did he get hurt?"

"Yan Qiu?"

"It's me, it's me! I've brought backup—this is One Cut Red, the second-in-command of Qingyun Mountain, here to repay Brother Xi for saving my life."

Hearing this, Rong Feng ignored them and sprinted back into the village.

By the time he reached the village entrance, Bian Hong had already charged out with his curved saber.

A group of villagers trailed behind him in a loose group, armed with pot lids, wooden shields, and pitchforks, many of them wounded. It was clear that no matter how clever the formation or how well the traps were laid, the villagers' bodies just couldn't keep up—plenty had been hurt in the effort to wipe out those ruthless bandits.

Rong Feng stepped forward and looked Bian Hong over carefully, then wiped the blood off his face.

"Where's their leader?"

Just as Bian Hong finished, the man in red behind him—seeing his horse refuse to move—dismounted and ran over, dropping to one knee in a deep bow.

"Benefactor, glad to see you're alright."

Bian Hong looked at One Cut Red, then at Yan Qiu who had jogged up behind him, and finally lowered his curved saber with a sigh of relief.

As dawn broke, the villagers remained tense, with a few of the more spirited men still keeping watch at the edge of the village. Rong Feng had warned that these bandits weren't the full force—there were still stragglers on Black Wind Mountain, so they still had to be careful.

Inside the house, Bian Hong bandaged up the villagers' wounds. Fortunately, the makeshift shields had blocked most of the blows, so the wounds weren't deep—mostly scrapes and bruises.

The worst injury, as it turned out, was a guy whose leg cramped up while the line moved too fast, and he got trampled by the people behind him.

Bian Hong sighed, but at least the bandit problem was now resolved.

Yan Qiu had ridden Silver Frost to the prefect's city to seek aid. As soon as the Mountain Guard's order was issued, the Prefect was alarmed and brought Yan Qiu straight to his residence for questioning.

But mobilizing the city defense garrison was still a big deal. Under wartime policy, from the top ministers down to the local counties, military and civil affairs were strictly separated. The Prefect only handled civil affairs and criminal law, while the military was under absolute central control. In wartime, the city defense garrison's primary duty was to defend against enemy forces breaching the city—dealing with bandits wasn't on the agenda yet.

Still, after much deliberation, the Prefect and the garrison commander decided to arrange defenses first and at least pull some troops to deal with the bandits. The people needed saving, and with the Mountain Guard having appeared and spoken, they had to do something about it.

If higher-ups questioned it, they could use the Mountain Guard's name—given the National Preceptor's standing, it probably wouldn't be pursued.

Being an official wasn't easy. It looked prestigious, but every move was a game of politics and personal connections. You had to get things done while staying cautious, lest someone find a weakness and get your whole family in trouble.

So the city defense troops were slower to leave. Yan Qiu didn't want to wait for them, so clutching the jade pendant, he spurred his horse straight for Qingyun Mountain.

One Cut Red was in charge on the mountain and made the call on the spot. But given the urgency, he took the only dozen or so horses on the mountain and rode out at full speed.

Silver Frost had run a long way, and Yan Qiu, worried about its old injury flaring up, rode with One Cut Red, letting Silver Frost rest at Qingyun Mountain.

By noon, the city defense troops finally arrived, and together with One Cut Red, who knew the bandits' habits well, they went to Black Wind Mountain to take care of the bandits.

Bian Hong chose not to participate, believing it was the garrison's proper duty—soldiers and generals should protect the people and defend the land.

By dusk, the garrison returned with the bandit leader and the stolen goods, stopping by to report to Rong Feng before heading back to the city.

The bandits had put up resistance but were mostly killed. A few were kept and escorted back as evidence to wrap up the case. Rong Feng handed over the dozen or so bandit corpses piled on the mountain, along with the one-armed man who was barely clinging to life.

This time, the "witnesses" were gathered together, all beat up, staring at each other in the prisoner carts.

As for the goods confiscated from Black Wind Mountain, they were to be carefully logged and turned over to the state treasury. After the war, when spring planting came, that money would be used to buy seeds for the people. The National Preceptor worked tirelessly, pinching every penny to stretch it further.

But the hardest to handle were the dozen or so women the bandits had held captive—all of them horribly abused, yet thankfully still alive and strong.

By law, they were to be sent back to their places of origin, but several women flat-out refused, insisting on entering the self-combed women's temple, vowing never to let a man touch them again for the rest of their lives.

Rong Feng went into the mountains to fetch the elderly, women, and children from the caves. Going up was easy, but coming down was hard—the mountain paths were treacherous. The village men, having patched up their wounds, followed Rong Feng to get their families.

Bian Hong watched the people crowding behind Rong Feng as he headed up the mountain, staring quietly for a long while.

Their attitude toward Rong Feng seemed to have shifted subtly, but Bian Hong thought that was a good thing.

What Bian Hong never expected was Yan Qiu coming to say goodbye to him.

Yan Qiu had even washed up a bit, then appeared spirited, carrying a small floral bundle—the one Bian Hong had packed his clothes in.

"Brother Xi, I'm heading off now. I've already spoken with the Benefactor, and now I've come to bid you farewell."

With that, he moved to kneel in a grand salute, but Bian Hong quickly stepped forward and pulled him up. In all his time in this world, the thing he was least accustomed to was people kneeling and kowtowing to him.

"What are you doing!"

"Brother Xi, both you and the Benefactor have shown me great kindness."

Bian Hong shook his head. Yan Qiu had pulled himself back from the brink of the fire pit—that was all his own doing.

"Where are you going?" That was what Bian Hong cared about most.

Yan Qiu smiled. He didn't seem worn out or weary from the days of rushing for aid; if anything, his eyes shone even brighter.

"Brother Xi, you don't know—before, I only lived in that tiny corner of my own courtyard. The lives I saw were nothing but a drunken father and a sharp-tongued stepmother, or the idle loafers next door. But now it's different."

With that, Yan Qiu looked up at Bian Hong. "I've met you, Brother Xi, and I've met One Cut Red. We're all men, but you both live far more vividly than I ever have."

Brother Xi was so resolute and self-determined, someone he admired. And when he saw One Cut Red, so free and unrestrained in his mountain stronghold, his heart was shaken. Clearly, a person needn't seek validation from outside—catering to his stepmother, or to the father who sold him off like property.

A person must look inward to truly master themselves. Perhaps, one day, he too could become someone like Brother Xi, like One Cut Red.

Yan Qiu reached up and gripped the small bundle on his shoulder. "Brother Xi, I'm going with One Cut Red. I want to find a way of living that's my own!"

Bian Hong saw the sparkle in Yan Qiu's eyes and was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

The person before him seemed to have awakened wings that had long been sealed. He was a swallow, merely resting here for a while. Now, he'd found the direction of his life's spring and was ready to fly there without hesitation.

Bian Hong was happy for him.

But Bian Hong also turned inward in reflection.

That day, by the wall behind the orchard, he shouldn't have said those words to Rong Feng.

Telling Rong Feng to try getting along with Yan Qiu had been his own wishful thinking. Yan Qiu had his own way of living, and so did Rong Feng. Even with the best intentions, no one could make decisions for anyone else—except themselves.

Only they knew what they wanted, what they wanted to become.

People seek different things in life, and the gaps can be vast.

But every soul ought to be free.

Bian Hong had learned another lesson.

So he took Yan Qiu's hand and said two things to the departing traveler, who knew nothing of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry."

"And thank you."