Volume One: The Wild Child Chapter Seventy-Two: The Bandits’ Bottom Line

The scenery in the Weinan mountains remained unchanged, always clad in a shroud of unyielding snow and ice. This pass was once the pride of the border beacons, and even during the massacre of the criminal clans, not a soul dared cross it. Yet now it had become a battleground for the marauding bands, with the northern outlaws striking south, and those from the west attacking east. With all restraint gone, fugitives naturally turned the northern lands into their own playground.

Yong Chi's spirits had suffered much since the past days. The hungry tigers of Si Mountain had just departed, only to be replaced by even more ravenous wolves. The former merely sought his life; the latter were determined to plunge all of Weinan Mountain into chaos. Those who wished to survive found themselves at the mercy of ruthless villains who would brook no dissent.

The comrades who fled that day had been imprisoned, their meager belongings looted clean by Guo Huai and his gang. Of course, in the eyes of these scoundrels, the women beside the sheep were certainly the most valuable spoils. Families were torn apart, old men beat their chests in grief, lamenting the misfortune of their sons.

Banditry in the northern lands followed a grim cycle, requiring generations to be reconciled. The price of letting go was steep: either return obediently to the village life of one's ancestors, or ascend to the highest peaks by stepping over countless corpses. From greenhorns to shrewd veterans, their fierce courage eventually faded with age. When one acquired a family, it was also the beginning of burdens.

It was rare to see three generations under one roof among the outlaws of the north. Perhaps they themselves regarded aging as a disgrace; desperadoes died on the battlefield, their sons inherited their fathers’ will, generation after generation giving their lives to others. This, perhaps, was the bandits’ unshakeable fate.

Thus, feuds among the bandits seldom extended beyond three generations; after all, this was the ultimate taboo in the northern realm. But Guo Huai’s gang crossed that line. They killed the father of an infant still in swaddling clothes, abducted his mother, and left a tender flower to wither in the frozen wilderness.

Fortunately, Yong Chi discovered the child in time, quietly rescuing it with Liu Er. He had already failed his comrades; he could not stand by and watch their lineage be extinguished. The child, only a few months old, brought some solace to the rough man amidst his daily guilt, a spark of vitality. Yet, in hazy moments, he could still hear the cries of the infant he had buried with his own hands.

In truth, the flower wilted not long after being rescued.

"Is it impossible to do a single good deed?" Yong Chi muttered, caressing the hilt of his broadsword, guarding the pass alone.

He had lingered long enough under Ma Hui's influence in the Weinan mountains. The other two bandit chiefs had urged him many times, and with the final ultimatum approaching, Guo Huai dispatched his entire force, as if some long-hatched scheme was about to unfold.

Since Guo Huai led his troops to attack Si Mountain, a new group of uninvited guests appeared at the Weinan pass. Kui Sheng arrived, sword at his side, leading a mass of elite cavalry that encircled the mountain, leaving not a gap.

He had been most reluctant, but under Lin Changtian’s coaxing and threats, he was finally persuaded to bring the formidable Si Mountain general.

"I swear, if I ever drink hot tea again, I’ll be a dog," Kui Sheng muttered, raising his eyes impatiently at Yong Chi. "What tricks are you playing now? Why are you the only one at the pass? I came because I got word—there’s barely any garrison left on Weinan Mountain. Stop playing your childish games and accept your fate."

Yong Chi shook his head, tossing his broadsword down the pass, spreading his arms, spirited as if he had regained his youth. "General Kui Sheng, my brothers on the mountain are all gone, dead or departed. Those who remained, I drove out myself. Ha, in this cursed world, I once betrayed Si Mountain with Zhang Yi, then rebelled and set up my own stronghold, only to taste the bitterness of loneliness myself! We aren’t on the same path, I won’t delay you. Guo Huai’s lot have all left, so now’s the time to strike back and catch them off guard. But you needn’t hear such shallow words from me. Let’s end it here, General Kui Sheng. You fought well—I concede!"

With a wild laugh, the man leapt down from the mountain pass. The blue behind him was clear, and in his heart he cursed, "Damn, not even a legacy left at death—what a coward." Yong Chi landed as snow slid down, covering his body; it seemed burial between earth and sky was his best resting place.

The horses whinnied, and Si Mountain’s fierce warriors turned and charged back with their commander. Kui Sheng gave Yong Chi the final dignity—trust.

Guo Huai’s bloodshot eyes scanned the path; as he advanced, not even a sentry was seen, and he reached Si Mountain’s territory without resistance. He had expected the defenders to be exhausted, but he finally understood why not a soul was seen at the border—they were all waiting at Si Mountain for him.

"Weren’t you saying Si Mountain was in chaos, and its commander a worthless glutton? Look at the defensive lines that ‘worthless’ man has set up. Do you know how many casualties we’ve suffered already?" Guo Huai was like a tiger ready to devour, full of hostility, glaring at the rat-mustached man.

The scoundrel didn’t dare make a sound, head bowed low, legs trembling, terrified beyond measure. "Fine, won’t speak, huh? Cut his tongue out and execute him before the troops. Also, send orders—halt the assault on the mountain. I want to question the commander of Si Mountain."

Before the rat-mustached man could utter a word, he was punched in the stomach and dragged out by Guo Huai’s fierce soldiers.

Lin Changtian stood at the front line, leaning on his sword, with Chen Ziliang beside him and surrounded by Qi Yong, Lu Liang, Yang Feng, Lin Zhao...

The faces of Si Mountain’s generals were grim, none at ease. The youthful Lin Zhao was pale, never having witnessed such carnage; if not for Lin He’s care, he might have collapsed already.

"So, I thought you feared nothing, but this little scene made you sick—how embarrassing!" Yang Feng teased, handing him a handkerchief and patting his head.

Lin Zhao wiped his collar, weakly retorting, "Any beast would vomit at such a sight, let alone a youth like me. Besides, if this is a ‘small scene,’ what counts as big?"

Yang Feng stroked his chin, silent for a while, "What, can’t make something up?" Lin Zhao turned away, thinking Yang Feng was just boasting. Yang Feng lowered his head, then after a moment looked up, gazing at the youth with a wry smile. Crawling out of hell was not something to brag about.

The assault at the foot of the mountain gradually ceased, and the generals breathed sighs of relief, wiping sweat from their brows.

Lin Changtian, leaning on his sword, frowned as he looked at the man dragged out for execution below. He recognized him instantly—it was the rat-mustached man who hadn’t returned that day.

"Who commands your mountain? Bring him out to answer!" Guo Huai stood before the armies, eyes closed, wrapped in a fur cloak.

He called for the commander, but it was others who relayed the message.

Lin Changtian’s raised hand was pressed down by Qi Yong, who stepped forward, shouting down the mountain, "Defeated general, what business do you have with our commander? Are you tired of being Ma Hui’s dog and want a new master? You don’t need our commander; I’ll take care of you myself!"

No sooner had he finished than the laughter of Si Mountain’s men rang out, echoing through the heavens. Even the stern Lu Liang couldn’t help but smile; Qi Yong, with his booming voice, never lost a verbal battle on the field—a true original of Si Mountain.

Guo Huai’s eyes snapped open, and he loosed an arrow with full force, aiming straight for Qi Yong’s face. The deadly intent was palpable; in a blink, Qi Yong smelled death.

The generals had no time to react; most still wore smiles. Lin Zhao reached for his sword, but only managed to draw half, realizing he was too late.

Guo Huai’s expression changed, lips curling as he prepared to shoot again, but suddenly he seemed to see someone formidable. His eyes widened, and he dropped his weapon, darting back into the ranks amid his soldiers’ confusion.

The arrow stopped a foot from Qi Yong’s face, unable to advance any further.

Lin Changtian’s martial aura enveloped a wide area, shielding all the generals and covering their bodies. The men of Si Mountain were stunned—so their commander, who seemed so unreliable, was actually a peerless expert.

But that was not all—the deadly warrior raised his long-suppressed battered sword.

The deathly atmosphere of the battlefield had awakened Lin Changtian’s long-repressed ferocity, and now, as his aura unfolded, his smile took on a hint of madness.

Guo Huai, ignoring decorum, stared in horror at his men, pulverized by the sword’s energy, grateful for his own quick retreat.

"All troops, attack! Charge! Can he alone withstand a pack of wolves?" Guo Huai screamed, squeezing himself to the rear, surrounded by his generals as he retreated to the main tent.

Lin Changtian let out a long cry, and the Si Mountain generals drew their swords, leading the charge down the mountain.

The battle raged from dawn to moonrise. On this patch of land, countless lives were lost in its pursuit; blood flowed like rivers, both sides blinded by rage, blades curled, arms rose and fell. Lin Changtian clutched his chest—his thirst for slaughter seemed sated, replaced by a rare clarity.

Had it not been for sheer numbers, Guo Huai’s forces might have already been defeated. The Si Mountain bandits were fierce, but those serving Ma Hui were also hardened desperadoes, not as brave as Si Mountain, but knowing this truth: in a fight to the death, there could be no retreat.

When the moon reached its zenith, both armies paused. The tents were brightly lit, as if awaiting something, taut with a chilling sense of imminent violence.

Each side kept their reserves, preparing for the morrow.