08. The Road is Fraught with Dangers

Page 1 of 3

Dusk.

Not quite dusk yet.

A white stag bounded in the fading sunlight.

The stag was white, the flag was black, and so was the flagpole.

A donkey cart was trailed by a horse-drawn carriage, and behind that came an ox cart.

Riding in these carts was no easy feat, especially for these pampered only children; enduring a day of jolting in a donkey or ox cart left them exhausted, yet they could only grit their teeth and bear it.

The bailiffs, still full of vigor, had no reason to stop so long as the lead carriage kept moving, yet complaints simmered beneath the surface.

At that moment, Zhang Wu—head of the bailiffs for this journey, a notable figure among the three squads—hurried over to the carriage at the center, wearing a fawning smile as he carefully inquired within.

The back that stood straight before commoners now bent into an arch.

After being refused by the guards, he scurried back, subtly signaling for the convoy to slow its pace.

Dusk at last. True dusk.

The convoy finally crawled its way to the relay station.

This stop was part of the county yamen’s itinerary, located at the border, with a small inn standing ready to receive travelers. The family that owned the inn worked together: the old man drove the carts, the middle-aged man doubled as both manager and cook, and the half-grown boy ran errands. The inn was modest, with only two guest rooms and a stable, so the rest of the party had to set up camp outside.

Tents were pitched, earth stoves built.

By the time they ate a hot meal, night had fallen.

The moon was hidden, and a cool wind blew.

Above, the White Stag Banner fluttered high.

Beneath the banner, a long table had been set; no one dined in the cramped shop, but all took their meal outdoors.

The old man bustling about was the innkeeper’s father, small and withered, his strength sapped by years of hardship. The cook was not tall either, but much more robust.

At the government’s request, they slaughtered pigs and sheep, stewed chickens and roasted ducks. Though all raised locally, the fare was abundant and well-prepared, set out in eager anticipation of the guests.

“Bring the wine!”

The bailiffs called out, some too impatient to wait, fetching jars of wine themselves.

The bailiffs and scholars dared not begin without watching the purple-bearded elder’s reaction.

The old man with the purple beard laughed heartily and waved for everyone to eat and drink as they pleased.

As if granted amnesty, the bailiffs and scholars broke into lively chatter.

Cheng Yan licked his lips, seized a wine jar, and poured himself a bowl of cloudy liquor.

Old Cat’s paw pressed firmly on his wrist, shaking his head with suspicion written across his round, feline face.

Zhang Wu, ever diligent, brought out a fine jar of plum wine.

“Lord Inspector, General, this is a special wine my master ordered me to keep for you. Please, have some to ease your fatigue.”

He made to pour wine for the purple-bearded elder and the burly Sun Shen.

But Sun Shen’s ape-like arm stretched out, and the wine jar, still in Zhang Wu’s hands, was suddenly in his own. He took a deep sniff from the jar, then let out a sharp, amused snort.

Zhang Wu’s heart skipped a beat, fearing the wine was unsatisfactory and had angered the general.

He hurried to explain.

Sun Shen asked, “Are you in league with them, Headman?”

Zhang Wu was momentarily stunned, following Sun Shen’s pointing arm—toward the innkeeper’s family.

He truly had no idea what the general meant.

Swallowing nervously, he stammered, “Is there something wrong with the wine?”

Page 2 of 3

“If you’re not in league with them, why serve us wine laced with knockout powder?” Sun Shen spun the jar in his hand, letting it thud onto the long table. Shuang Xing’s sharp, frosty gaze swept over the innkeeper’s family, then shifted to the small inn perched on the ridge.

“Knockout powder?!” Zhang Wu was horrified, turning to the innkeeper.

The rest of the party was instantly thrown into panic.

Cheng Yan, sensing something amiss, let go of the jar at once.

“No use hiding it—the people and the animals might be out of sight, but their scent gives them away.”

Sun Shen rose and smashed the wine jar on the table.

Suddenly—

A group of bandit leaders burst from the hillside woods on tall horses, the foremost riding sturdy mounts, their followers howling behind. In a flash, the bandits had surrounded the camp, leaving no escape. Their leader reined in his horse, looking down from above:

“I am Feng Ba. My brothers of the Green Woods call me Lord Ba.”

“Since you are all men of status, your wealth is mine by right!”

Feng Ba wore battered half-armor, a broadsword gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

He had a wide face, high forehead, and long hair tied carelessly back; below his thick, inky brows, his eyes glimmered with a faint light.

One look at his eyes revealed a man who’d trained his inner energy in some wild fashion—a must for any bandit chief.

His troop, though not large—forty or fifty men—was a world apart from the rabble of the pirate Chen Sheng’s water fort.

That gang was mostly old men and weaklings from combined villages; his own were all sturdy men, not an old or sickly face among them, each ruddy and well-fed.

“Someone told me you’re an important official. Killing you is worth six thousand taels of silver.” Feng Ba’s gaze locked onto the purple-bearded elder.

Beside Zhu Xianzhen, three well-trained guards spread out in a protective triangle.

“Who told you?” Sun Shen showed not the slightest fear. Numbers meant nothing to him; his interest lay only in the power behind them.

To know the Inspector’s whereabouts, and to set a bounty of six thousand taels, pointed to the rebels of the southeast.

“I did!”

A clear voice rang out from the twilight.

A middle-aged man in a cloak and colorful robes stepped from the mist. On his head was a dark green cap, beneath which shone a riot of colors in his ceremonial robes, all covered by a plain cloak with a high collar framing his square face. His face was broad at the top, narrowing below; beneath slanted brows, a pair of fierce leopard eyes gleamed. His temples were streaked with white, and he sported a curly goatee.

“Master Song Yuan!” Sun Shen’s eyes narrowed, his hand moving to the long blade at his waist.

“Sun Shen, didn’t expect to meet me here, did you?” Song Yuan drew forth both hands, revealing two crossbows, each loaded with three feathered bolts.

Six arrows—half aimed at Sun Shen and Zhu Xianzhen, who was shielded by the three guards, the other half at the scholars and bailiffs.

He called out, “Your martial skills are impressive, but how many can you save?”

“I only need to kill you,” Sun Shen replied, striding forward.

Twang! Twang!

The strings sang out.

Three bolts shot toward the purple-bearded elder, the others toward the scholars.

“Attack!” Feng Ba roared, spurring his horse to charge.

Page 3 of 3

Several of his lieutenants, also on sturdy horses, charged in with him, while the bandits surrounding the camp closed in swiftly.

As expected, at Feng Ba’s shout, the bailiffs and guards turned to jelly, trembling as they raised their sabers and retreated step by step.

Zhang Wu’s face went deathly pale as he shouted in defiance.

But before he could mount any defense, Feng Ba rode up and in a flash, his broadsword swept past—

The headman’s head flew high, blood spurting from the headless body.

With no will to fight, the bailiffs and soldiers scattered in terror.

The scholars tried to flee as well, but the bandits were here for them; there was no chance the ransom would get away.

A cacophony of wild laughter, screams, and panic erupted.

These pampered sons of the wealthy had never seen such carnage.

The bandits’ brutality was beyond anything they could have imagined.

Only when a bloody, severed head rolled before them did they jolt from their stupor.

Clang!

A sword was drawn.

Cheng Yan unsheathed his long sword.

He was met by several sabers swinging down upon him.

Clang!

Cheng Yan barely blocked one blow, but another hilt slammed into his stomach. Stumbling, he was about to fall to a bandit’s blade.

“My life is over…” Cheng Yan had no time for further thought.

An ape-like, snow-furred arm easily lifted him off the ground.

At the same time, a fist lashed out.

Thud.

The iron fist punched clean through the oncoming bandit’s chest.

The bandit’s eyes widened in terror, the light fading as his feet left the ground and his body hung limp from that iron arm.

The other bandits, still in confusion, watched as the iron arm tossed their dead comrade—who had drunk and fought alongside them—aside like a damp rag.

Cheng Yan, still dangling in the iron grip, was frozen in panic, his body stiff as rusted gears.

His teeth chattered as he slowly turned his head.

What met his gaze were dazzling, golden demon’s eyes.

A crimson face, tusks jutting like a devil’s mask.

A seven-foot frame shrouded in silver-gray fur.

A great demon!

There was no doubt.

The “demon” gently set Cheng Yan down and nodded slightly.

“You, you are…!” Cheng Yan could hardly believe his eyes, nearly crying out in astonishment.