Volume One: The Wild Child Chapter Sixty-Nine: Joining the Band

"Yang Feng, I'll hit the left flank, you attack the center—just keep him occupied, don't lose your head!" Lin Zhao growled in a low voice, not bothering to say more. He threw himself into the fray, swinging his staff with force.

The two moved in tandem, one in front, one behind, their attacks and defenses complementing each other, like a pair of venomous snakes, tongues flicking as they waited for their prey to reveal a chink in its armor.

Unknowingly, the blade in Lin Changtian's hand grew swifter, cutting through the "quagmire" that Lin Zhao and Yang Feng had painstakingly laid out, sending up splashes as it pressed the two to keep their heads low—their attacks now seemed almost timid.

"We can't keep letting him lead us by the nose," Yang Feng muttered, propping his wooden spear in front of him, eyes narrowed as he watched Lin Zhao and Lin Changtian duel in the midst of the ring.

Lin Zhao's staffwork grew ever fiercer, each strike aimed at Lin Changtian's vitals. The youth's face was grim, cold wind rushing at him and scattering the sweat from his brow.

Lin Changtian's expression remained unchanged, his blade never straying an inch from his body, as if he intended to give the brash youngster a few lessons.

"Aiming for my face, hmm, not bad. But next you should thrust, not keep sweeping sideways!" Lin Changtian critiqued Lin Zhao's technique, and as the boy faltered, he rapped him hard on the head with his hilt.

"Ouch!" Lin Zhao yelped, his cheeks flushing scarlet. He flung his staff to the ground and pointed at Lin Changtian, shouting, "Aren't you supposed to be a chieftain? Why are you so nagging? Ducking and dodging like a long-legged jerboa! Dare you face me head-on, big brother?"

Yang Feng watched Lin Zhao scratching his head and ears with a strange expression, shaking his head helplessly. This boy was still so young—just now he'd warned the others not to lose their heads, and in the blink of an eye, he was the first to get worked up.

Lin Changtian took no offense. He picked up the wooden staff and returned it to the boy, smiling as he said, "All right, as you wish. But if I mean to put you flat on your back, what are you going to do?"

Lin Zhao scratched his head, pulling out several strands of hair. Ignoring his nephew's desperate signals from below the platform, he raised his staff skyward and declared boldly, "Let me strike you three times first, then you can try to cut me three times. If you can't withstand it, you let my nephew and me settle here in Sishan. If I can't take it, my life is yours to command, Marshal!"

Lin Changtian laughed and shook his head, tapping the boy's head. "So no matter who wins, you benefit, huh? Fine, I'll only strike you once. If you can take it, the Lin clan will have another member on Sishan! But your surname is rare—I've been in the North for some time and never met another Lin."

Lin Zhao curled his lip. He was not from the North; running into another Lin here would be a miracle. "Marshal Lin, don't be so arrogant. We agreed on three cuts, three it is. But before that, let me hit you a few times."

Sheathing his blade, Lin Changtian straightened and beckoned Lin Zhao over.

Lin Zhao's eyes flickered as he circled behind Lin Changtian and struck him three times on the buttocks with his staff. Though the blows seemed fierce, they were no more than gentle scratches.

Lin Changtian stood frozen, while the Sishan generals, red-faced and bickering moments before over whose turn it was to be struck, fell silent. Not a sound was heard.

"You can't pat a tiger's backside, but you can take a stick to it," Lin Zhao whispered to Yang Feng, winking. Yang Feng returned a pained smile to Lin Changtian, gesturing that this had nothing to do with him.

Lin Changtian, brandishing his blade, walked over and "smiled" at Lin Zhao. "Had your fun? Now it's my turn. Come here, little brother—my strike won't hurt a bit, I swear!"

Suppressing a laugh, Lin Zhao knelt on one knee and saluted, "Marshal Lin, you're too fierce. Those three blows have left me with internal injuries—my hands are still numb. No need for your three strikes; I admit defeat. I submit to you, heart and soul, and will serve you faithfully!"

"Oh, you'll obey? Tell me, what kind of obedience?"

"Heh, anything you order! You say left, I won't go west. You say into boiling oil, I'll never climb the blade mountain!"

"Good, if you're so obedient, then don't admit defeat—stand up and let me finish my three strikes."

Lin Zhao looked up, his smile frozen as he saw the teasing look on Lin Changtian's face. He put on a pitiful tone. "To tell the truth, my family was ruined when I was young, and now it's just me and my nephew left, the last of the Lin lineage. If you break me, it's nothing, but then my nephew will have to carry on the family name. Look at him, skinny as a monkey, malnourished—how can he bear such a burden?"

Lin He dared not reply, burying his head in his chest and silently apologizing to the Lin ancestors for his young master's disrespect. "If the family head hears of this, young master will be bedridden for days."

Lin Changtian chuckled, putting away his wooden blade and ruffling Lin Zhao's hair. "If you can last a few rounds under me, you're quite the talent. Here's what we'll do: the matter of the new camp can wait. The territory on the left side of Sishan and the new brothers under it are yours to command. Train their courage well, and let me see if you really have what it takes to restore the Lin family's honor!"

Lin Zhao was stunned. He did want to stay in Sishan, but who would want to lead a bunch of cowards?

"Lin Zhao, what are you daydreaming for? Take your orders!" Lin Zhao snapped back to himself, smiling gratefully at Yang Feng, and saluted. "Marshal Lin, rest assured. Even rotten wood can be carved straight by me!"

"Good, take them to settle in first." Lin Changtian turned to Yang Feng, his smile sly. "Yang Feng, you go with him. The boy's still green—keep an eye on him and consult together if anything comes up."

"Me?" Yang Feng froze, but before he could protest, Lin Zhao dragged him off the platform and hurried toward the left slope of Sishan.

As their figures faded, Lin Changtian pointed calmly at the Sishan generals below the stage. "In the council tent, no weapons are drawn. Those who unsheathed their blades in my presence just now, step forward and receive your punishment from Chen Mo. Afterward, come to me for your reward."

"Yes, sir!" Lin Changtian strode off in his fur cloak, not sparing a glance at the kneeling Sishan men behind him.

...

By the winding river, beneath the southern slopes of Wei Mountain.

Kui Sheng sat in the central command, holding his horse. Unlike his adjutant, who was hoarse from shouting, he seemed utterly unperturbed, the lone spectator in the chaos of battle.

"Zhang Junyi, save your breath—who's listening to you in this mess?" Kui Sheng lay back on his horse, gazing at the clouds, as relaxed as could be.

Zhang Junyi scratched his head and grinned. "Boss Kui, what do you say we should do? It's all chaos now—if we don't give the order, what then? I don't get it; we've got ten times the troops of Liu Er and Yong Chi! Never fought a battle with such numbers before. Why not just sweep them all up? If I were Marshal Lin, I'd suspect you of treason for dragging it out this long."

Kui Sheng flicked his whip lightly at Zhang Junyi, cursing with a laugh, "You really have no filter, do you? Idiot, look closely—does this stretch by the Wei River look like a good place to fight a pitched battle?"

Zhang Junyi, sulking, ignored him.

"Oh, I forgot—promised not to call you an idiot. Smart General Zhang, I apologize!" Kui Sheng laughed, giving him another playful swipe with the whip.

At last, Zhang Junyi's mood brightened, and he raised his nose to the sky. "I told you—in Little Green Mountain, they called me a cunning strategist! When you first came to the North, with nowhere to go, you set your sights on Little Green Mountain. I was the one who led our men to hold off Yu Baili, tough as it was."

"I seem to recall the bandits of Little Green Mountain were all still in bed—resisting in their dreams, were they?" Kui Sheng narrowed his eyes, intent on teasing.

Zhang Junyi’s face flushed. He rubbed his bald head sheepishly. "Well, I thought it was a feint. If it was a real attack, the sentries would have sounded the alarm. So I told the brothers to stay in bed. Who'd have thought the sentry was snoring under his covers? What a shame! If not for that, you wouldn’t have taken us so easily."

"Oh?" Kui Sheng feigned surprise. "The Little Green Mountain men all joined Sishan long ago. Which one was it? I want to see such a talent."

Before Zhang Junyi could reply, Su Yu, standing nearby, interjected, "You can stop pretending! That sentry was you, wasn’t it? You kept ranting about a traitor, but which of us who went up the mountain first cared to listen?"

Kui Sheng burst out laughing, clutching his stomach, and gave Zhang Junyi a thumbs-up. "Well, you really are a genius. Listen up, idiot. Mountain warfare is a slow grind. Liu Er and Yong Chi are nothing, but if we break this lot, we’ll have to face Ma Hui to the north! Knowing the southern passes of Wei Mountain is crucial. Now Ma Hui is camped over there—who knows what tricks he's up to? Slower is safer."

Zhang Junyi nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"But you're right, it's dragged on long enough—time to finish them off." Kui Sheng's last words seemed as much an order for his adjutant as a reminder to himself.

"Pass on my command: main force holds position, left and right wings encircle—attack at will! But remember this—Liu Er is none of our concern, alive or dead. But don’t let Yong Chi escape. Back in Sishan, he was the loudest. Bring him back alive! I want to ask him myself if he’s truly convinced!"

Zhang Junyi grinned, his eyes gleaming. He spurred his horse forward, his voice ringing across the southern pass of Wei Mountain. "General Kui’s orders—attack at will! Leave the rest, but Yong Chi must be taken alive. The general has his eye on him!"

Kui Sheng spat out a mouthful of fiery liquor, drew his blade, and charged cursing into the fray.

...