Volume One: The Wild Boy Chapter Sixty-Two: Husband and Wife

“Hurry, gather your clothes, leave this place at once!” Yang Feng burst through the door after running home as if his life depended on it, yanked his sleeping wife and children from their bed, hastily snatched some gold and silver trinkets, and hurried them out toward the far side of Mount Yi. His wife, still groggy, was shocked awake by the cold wind. She shrugged off Yang Feng’s grip, planted her hands on her hips, and shouted, “What new rumor has muddled your head this time? Is Mount Yi about to quake again, and if we don’t run, we’ll die here?”

Seeing his wife standing in nothing but her underclothes, her curves accentuated by the sudden exposure, Yang Feng panted heavily, forced himself into the snow to cool his head, and quickly set aside any amorous thoughts. He returned to the house, grabbed a few garments, tossed them to her, and said, “Hurry and dress! That scoundrel Zhang Yi has set his sights on you. I told you to dress plain and stop wandering about, but you never listened! Now the men from Si Mountain have attacked—let’s slip down the mountain in the chaos, find a village, and live in peace!”

His wife froze where she stood, then hurriedly threw on her outer garments, paling at the mention of Zhang Yi, whose lecherous reputation was known by all. Her voice trembled as she asked, “Husband, how do we get down? They’re fighting at the main pass—”

“Don’t worry about it. Remember that broken bridge we found on one of our walks? I’ve snuck over it many times. It winds from the back of the mountain to the front, and no one else knows about it. It’s steep, but we have no choice. Come on, hurry!”

...

“Ergou, look at the stars tonight—aren’t they something?” A sentry, keeping watch on the mountain, nudged his companion and pointed at the twinkling sky. The rough fellow called Ergou shoved him away in annoyance. “Heiwa, you’re wasted as a bandit. Go get yourself a proper job. Things are unstable these days; everyone’s exhausted from searching all day, and now only a few of us are left to keep watch. We carry the lives of everyone on this mountain! Don’t fool around—listen to me.”

Heiwa grumbled a few curses under his breath, but afraid Ergou would hit him, made a face and scampered off. Ergou glared after him, then managed a wry smile. The boy was young, after all, and playful by nature.

“Heiwa, I’m warning you—get back here! If the patrol chief finds you missing, he’ll work you half to death tomorrow, you hear? Heiwa! Heiwa! Get back here now!” Frowning, Ergou hefted his spear and walked toward the low slope. He had barely glanced down when he was struck down by Qi Yong and knocked unconscious with a single punch.

“Shall we kill him?” Lü Liang pressed his blade to Ergou’s throat, awaiting Qi Yong’s decision.

“Knocking them out is enough. One’s just a snot-nosed kid, and look at the calluses on the other’s hands—clearly a farmer. Spare them.” Qi Yong answered lazily, glancing at Heiwa. “Boy, today’s your lucky day. Next time, be careful. Tell me—where do the big shots of your village live?”

Heiwa trembled violently but said nothing, only pointed northwest.

“Good, thanks. Sorry, but you’ll have to sleep a bit longer.” Qi Yong nodded to Lü Liang, who knocked Heiwa out and dragged both men into the grass at the foot of the slope, covering them with dry weeds before leaving.

Qi Yong spat out the straw in his mouth, stretched, took from his belt the black projectile Chen Mo had given him, weighed it, and flung it hard. The others followed suit, and for a moment, it seemed as though countless shooting stars streaked through the night.

“Gentlemen, we've given them enough of Central Plains’ surprises for one night. Now it's time for us to serve the main course—attack!”

Blades leapt from scabbards, ringing cold and sharp. These rough men from Si Mountain, part bandit and part soldier, roared their way into the fray, their noise shattering the night. This was no stealthy raid, but a full-blown daylight assault.

Armored and mounted, the slaughter began.

From the mountain pass to the bandits’ lodgings, cries and wails grew ever louder, heart-wrenching and shaking the living to the core. The bandits tumbled from their beds in panic, not bothering to fully dress, throwing on whatever would ward off the cold and clutching their blades as they rushed outside.

In the snowy white chaos, the warriors of Si Mountain wove through the melee, slashing their way forward, singing songs of home, the screams beneath their horses growing in number. It seemed the only order these white-clad riders followed was the order to kill.

Among these fierce men, Qi Yong fought with unparalleled ferocity. With a blade at his hip, he gazed arrogantly at the Mount Yi leaders barring his path, took a swig of wine, and seemed utterly indifferent to life or death.

“Do you even know who you stand against? But since you’ve drawn your blades, be sure you can bear the consequences!” As the words left his mouth, his sword flashed. Yet before he could reach them, three of his foes collapsed to the ground, each with a crossbow bolt neatly lodged in the skull. Qi Yong bared his teeth in a grin at Lü Liang, who was theatrically blowing smoke from his crossbow, and began cursing in at least a dozen regional dialects.

“Stop dawdling—Zhang Yi and his lot will be here soon, and they’re not easy to deal with. If you’re still sore I stole your thunder, I’ll let you cut ahead of me next time we drink from the River of Forgetfulness!” Lü Liang scoffed and strode away.

Qi Yong scratched his head, waved at the dark figures charging down from above, and let out a long howl. “Zhang Yi! We’ll settle this another day—watch your back! Men, retreat!”

The Si Mountain warriors whooped, cursing Zhang Yi as they turned their horses and made a noisy descent.

...

Zhang Yi arrived, followed by a horde of disheveled bandit chiefs. Gasping for breath, he glanced around, then quickly looked away, afraid he might lose control and kill someone on the spot.

The once orderly camp was in ruins, littered with corpses. At a glance, he nearly fainted. Most of his trusted Mount Yi followers, those who had been with him since Yu Wenlong’s time, now lay dead with bolts in their skulls.

His face darkened, the muscles at his mouth twitching. Suddenly, he spun and shouted, “Where’s Yang Feng? Who’s seen him? Bring that traitor to me, I want to—” His words were swallowed by wind and snow. With bloodshot eyes, he glared at the crowd like a wolf separated from its pack, fury radiating from him.

After a long silence, someone finally piped up, “Reporting to the commander—I’m Yang Feng’s neighbor. I was asleep when I heard a commotion at his door. I saw him fleeing with his family toward the back mountain.”

“What else did you hear?” Zhang Yi’s eyes were icy. He was afraid Yang Feng might have said something incriminating, and that this man would repeat it and embarrass him.

Terrified, the man trembled so badly his head nearly shook off his shoulders. He’d overheard some rumors, but dared not repeat them. Zhang Yi might lose a bit of face, but the man’s family would not survive the day.

“Forget Yang Feng for now. Tell me, the Si Mountain bandits attacked our doorstep—how could you sleep through it? Clearly you’re a coward. What use are you?” With that, Zhang Yi drew his sword and executed the man, then kicked the bloody head toward the fire. Even in death, the man’s expression was one of disbelief.

“Why are you all standing around? Get to the back mountain and bring Yang Feng to me! Alive or dead, I want to see him!” His furious roar echoed through the sky, sending shivers through the bandits.

...

A thick fog had settled in the chasm. Yang Feng carefully led his wife and children forward. “Once we’re past that cliff, we’ll be safe. Hold on, don’t fall. I’ll go first, then you hand me the children. Yirong, keep a tight hold on the kids, and don’t make a sound. We’re right next to where the leaders live—we must be careful.”

He wiped his hands on his clothes, steadied his breath, and leapt to grip an old tree branch, hauling himself up with great effort. After receiving his two children, he collapsed, spent. Normally, it wouldn’t have been so exhausting, but after hours on the run, this final climb had taken everything he had. Thankfully, the path ahead was much gentler.

The fog had lifted, as if to signify the family’s hope was dawning. Pushing through the mist, the morning sun was already rising.

Yang Feng sighed in relief, but then his eyes widened in horror as he clamped a hand over his mouth.

The cliff above was crowded with people. The bandits, frustrated and angry, were on the verge of exploding.

...

Their rage could not be directed at Zhang Yi, so they cursed the wretched Yang Feng, who had forced them to search for hours.

One bored fellow tossed a pebble over the edge, which by chance struck Yirong on the head. She cried out in pain, and though she quickly bit her lip, the clear sound of a woman’s voice sent a thrill through the searchers.

Yang Feng was safe enough, hidden deep in the old tree, but his wife was now fully exposed.

The wolves’ eyes turned from mockery to greed. The woman’s beauty was undeniable, and this filthy lot could not restrain their evil desires. They shouted up at her, their words lewd and mocking.

“Hey, miss, must be tiring hanging there—come up and rest! We’ll come get you ourselves if you like!”

“Tsk, tsk—what, Yang Feng abandoned his wife and ran? Why don’t you come keep us company? Call us ‘good brothers’ a few times and you might just survive.”

Their words were filled with malice, but some of the true bandits had already begun climbing down the cliff, intent on assaulting Wang Yirong.

She was stunned, but the villains’ leers snapped her out of it. She gazed at the sky, as if seeking hope in the rising sun, but Yang Feng knew her true glance lingered on him and their children, hidden in the old tree.

Yang Feng exhaled deeply, stroked his children’s faces with longing, drew his blade, and was about to leap forth—to cry out, “Scoundrels, unhand my wife! If you want someone, come for me!”

But in truth, it was always his wife who took charge at home.

She pinned up her long hair, just as she did in the village, her bearing dignified even now.

“This wretched morning, my heartless husband must have feared I’d drag him down. Turns out he’d already fled with the children! I must have been blind to follow the wrong man for half my life. I only hope he truly raises our children well. Hmph! You gutless cowards—when the men from Si Mountain came knocking, none of you dared make a peep, yet you put on a show of manhood before a lone woman! Even in death, I won’t let you weaklings have your way!”

With a bitter smile, Wang Yirong cast a final, longing glance at the old tree, then leapt into the snowy abyss and was gone.

Yang Feng clamped his hand over the children’s mouths, the hate in his eyes etched deep—only death could relieve such enmity.