027. The Bandit Liu Black Five

Early summer, the sun blazed fiercely, and cicadas shrilled incessantly in the woods, their noise grating on the nerves.

Smack—

A blackened hand reached up from beneath the trees, pinning a cicada, snatching it up and stuffing it into a mouth. Crunch, crunch—it was crisp and succulent.

“Damn it, why haven’t they come yet?”

Liu Heiwu scratched at the red rash on his neck. He’d barely lain in the woods for a moment, and already his body was covered in welts, itching terribly.

Buzz, buzz, buzz—

Another wild mosquito, striped white, landed on his thin, shriveled arm, preparing to drink his blood.

Liu Heiwu was furious. He starved every day, rarely eating his fill all year. His body was as skeletal as a corpse—where was there meat, where was there blood? Yet these pests bullied him daily, feeding on his flesh, drinking his blood, never letting him rest. Was he really so easy to bully?

Smack—

Liu Heiwu, full of resentment, slapped his arm hard.

“Keep quiet, don’t fidget. We’re here for a robbery, not a picnic,” barked Ninth Master Zhao Erping from the grass nest ahead, glancing back.

“Ninth Master, mosquitoes,” Liu Heiwu protested, pinching a flattened mosquito and showing his swollen, bitten arm.

“Endure it!” Zhao Erping glared at him, scanning the hundred-odd underlings behind, lowering his voice.

“Word from above: this haul is a big catch—over twenty wagons, valuable goods from Huitong Trading bound for Xiangyang, tea, fine wine, perfumes, worth over ten thousand coins. The Chief said, if we pull this off, each gets a pound of salt and five pounds of fatty meat.”

He spread his hand as he spoke.

“Five pounds of fatty meat?!” Liu Heiwu and the others gasped in disbelief, some drooling openly.

Though beasts roamed the mountain, tens of thousands lived here for years, and wild animals were nearly hunted out. Even if one was caught, after the leaders divided the spoils, the small fry like Liu Heiwu were left with bones and broth.

The promise of fatty meat made Liu Heiwu’s throat convulse fiercely. He’d spent seven or eight years on the mountain, living on chaff and greens daily, almost forgetting the taste of fat. He vaguely remembered eating it as a child—at seven or eight, running errands for the magistrate, he found a piece of fatty meat under the table. Though cold, it was soft and sweet in his mouth, tastier than anything.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, hunched low in the grass nest, eyes fixed on the mountain road like a wolf, hoping the merchant caravan would arrive soon.

The mountain road below the woods was called Yang Gong Road, lying at the intersection of Mount Huo and Tongbai Mountain. Caravans heading south from Wancheng to Xinye and Xiangyang usually passed this spot.

There had been no road here in the past—the mountains were high, forests deep, roads treacherous. Travelers heading south detoured through Ruyin and Zhangling counties, adding over a hundred miles to their journey.

Fifteen years ago, Yang Xu, the Grand Chamberlain, became prefect of Nanyang and lamented the difficulty of north-south travel. He organized wealthy families to donate funds to build a twenty-mile mountain road through the lowlands between Mount Huo and Tongbai. The road took three years to build, but Yang Xu died before its completion. To commemorate him, locals named it Yang Gong Road.

Guarding this road brought extra income each year, allowing the village to buy salt and grain. But after Chancellor Cao and Zhang Xiu began fighting, the north-south trade in Nanyang was cut off, travelers avoided the area, and the village received no tolls, nor had anyone to rob. Even salt was rationed at meals.

‘How come a merchant caravan dares pass here today?’ Liu Heiwu scratched his neck in puzzlement, but then shook his head. The nine leaders in the village were all shrewd—if there was trouble, would they not have foreseen it?

“Attention! Don’t move, the caravan is coming,” Zhao Erping whispered.

Everyone crouched lower. With five pounds of fatty meat at stake, no one wanted to make a mistake.

“When the caravan passes, Chief, Second Master, Black Bear Village, and Oxhead Mountain's leaders will launch the first attack. Our job at the pass is to block the mouth of the mountain—don’t let anyone escape, not a single one,” Zhao Erping continued.

“The Chief says a formidable prefect named Cao Xin has arrived in Wancheng. He’s a skilled general. If he hears of trouble here, we’ll all be held accountable.”

“They’re coming, steady now! Don’t move!” Zhao Erping hissed.

Liu Heiwu lifted his head slightly, peering at the road beneath the woods. At the bend, a procession appeared.

Leading was a young warrior, long-faced, prominent brows, two scars on his left cheek, his bearing fierce. Behind him followed twenty young men, all in light armor, curved swords at their waists, tall and imposing—not to be trifled with.

They were the vanguard guards. Behind them came a wagon, two large flags atop it: one an official banner from Wancheng Prefecture, red with yellow, inscribed with characters Liu Heiwu could not read. The second flag he recognized—it belonged to White Family Village of Tongbai Mountain. Any caravan bearing it was under their protection.

White Family Village had over ten thousand people, the largest settlement nearby. This caravan had paid them off; afterwards, there would surely be wrangling over the spoils.

Liu Heiwu grinned, watching as the caravan emerged fully—over twenty wagons, more than two hundred armed guards, forty horses.

“A big catch, indeed,” Zhao Erping muttered.

Whistle!

As the caravan reached midway, a shrill whistle pierced the woods. A great tree crashed down, blocking the road.

The guards instantly grew alert, raising lacquered red shields and forming up around the wagons.

“Slaaaay!”

With a thunderous roar, thousands surged from the forest like wolves, swarming onto the mountain road and encircling the caravan from all sides.

“Brothers, attack!”

Ninth Master leapt up, brandishing his long blade as he charged down.

“Slaaaay!”

Liu Heiwu hoisted his trousers and gripped a wooden club, shouting as he slowly rushed down the slope.

—

“Are they all out?”

“All out!”

Li Big-Eye, bow and arrows slung on his back, lay atop a tree, surveying the robbery below.

“About five thousand, counting those from Gorge Pass Village, Black Bear Village, and Oxhead Mountain who haven’t come down—maybe over ten thousand,” he said.

Below, Yu Du rubbed his bearded chin and laughed, “These three villages have ten thousand, White Family Village has over ten thousand. We’ve managed to gather over twenty thousand for the general. Let’s hope he doesn’t blame us for being too efficient.”

“Don’t worry, the general’s got skills. Back when he had no territory or status, he casually organized tens of thousands—this mere twenty thousand is nothing,” Li Big-Eye scoffed.

“True, the general is capable. We should pull more people down the mountain for him, lest he get bored and cause us trouble,” Yu Du chuckled.

“Heh, makes sense. There’s a fight brewing below. Should we help? Those recruits are only two hundred strong—against four thousand, losses are likely,” Li Big-Eye stretched his neck.

“In training, deaths are inevitable. These recruits are no weaker than the last batch. Among them are Niu Jin and Wang Shuang—I couldn’t best either in a hundred rounds. And that Yang Da-Xia, who dared rob the general’s golden wagon—I fear I’m no match for him,” Yu Du grinned.

“That guy, robbing the general’s golden wagon—he’s impressive,” Li Big-Eye laughed.

Yu Du joined in, laughing heartily.

—

End of page.