Chapter Thirty-Six: The Trap

It took more than ten minutes for the crowd to slowly disperse. Qi Jun glanced at the execution site; there was no longer any sign of the bandit leader, only a heap of bloody, mangled flesh mixed with the remains of several bodies.

Even though he was no stranger to the brutality of the battlefield, Qi Jun couldn't help but freeze for a moment. His stomach churned, and he felt the urge to vomit.

“Father, I’ve avenged you…” Suddenly, a heart-wrenching cry rose from the crowd.

“Daughter, now you can rest in peace…”

“Heaven has opened its eyes at last!”

Moved by this outpouring of grief, the villagers—whose pain and sorrow had been suppressed for so long—were finally able to release their feelings. The satisfaction of vengeance erupted in tears that flowed without restraint. Sobs and wails echoed endlessly at the village entrance.

Qi Jun was also touched by the scene and subconsciously wiped away his own tears. He knew, however, that danger was still looming; this was no time to relax.

“Everyone, stop crying! Pull yourselves together—more bandits will be here soon!” Qi Jun climbed back onto the large boulder, his voice stern as he addressed them.

Hearing his words, the villagers gradually quieted, though faint weeping and sniffling still lingered.

“This is not the time for tears. It’s time we repay the suffering the bandits have forced upon us a hundredfold! We must let those who committed evil taste true fear!”

Qi Jun spoke with passion, his gaze sweeping over the villagers. The fear and despair that had haunted them were nearly swept away, and in many eyes, the fire of vengeance blazed anew.

He nodded—he knew the moment had come. Everything would be decided in today’s battle.

“Listen to me, everyone! The enemy will be here in less than half an hour. All the elderly, weak, women, and children must hide in the rear hills. Every man who wants revenge, stay behind!”

A stir ran through the crowd. Nearly all the able-bodied men of the village stepped forward, determination in their eyes. Some of the slightly older men hesitated a moment, then also joined.

“I am not forcing anyone to die! If you have elderly parents or young children who need you, go to them—there’s no shame in that.” Qi Jun understood their worries. It was not fear of death that held them back, but the burden of responsibility to their families.

As soon as he finished speaking, several older men gave Qi Jun a complicated look, saluted him, and left the group. A few more villagers quietly withdrew as well.

Now, everyone had made their choice. Qi Jun counted and found thirty-five villagers willing to fight alongside him.

“Thirty-five against a hundred…” Qi Jun repeated silently, frowning as he rapidly devised a plan in his mind.

“Count me in!” A familiar voice called out from the distance.

Qi Jun was momentarily taken aback. He turned and saw his younger brother, Qi Feng, running toward him from the woods, a crossbow in hand. The earlier chaos had made him forget about Qi Feng, who had been practicing his archery.

“I’m much better now! Out of ten arrows, I can hit that tree eight times!” Qi Feng said excitedly, panting as he ran up.

“Hey, where are the county officers?” Only then did Qi Feng notice the change in the crowd. Having been practicing at a distance, he was unaware of what had happened.

“Forget about them, Qi Feng—fall in!” Qi Jun didn’t have time to explain. He just ruffled Qi Feng’s hair and spoke hurriedly.

“Yes!” Though still puzzled, Qi Feng was delighted and quickly joined the thirty-five villagers.

“Thirty-six!” Qi Jun counted to himself, a trace of relief and pride in his eyes.

“Liu Kui, you take charge of evacuating the elderly, women, and children! Liu Biao, take a few strong men and set traps along the main road into the village—delay and injure the enemy as much as possible! Liu Fuyuan, pick some men and build what I sketched on the blueprints, then hide it in the woods halfway up the mountain! The rest, follow me!”

As Qi Jun issued his orders, the villagers immediately began to move in an orderly fashion.

On the narrow mountain path from Panlong Ridge to Dongling Village, a group of bandits, led by their chief, advanced noisily.

Given the dragon-head shape of Panlong Ridge, this winding road resembled a dragon’s whisker, so both bandits and villagers called it the Dragon’s Whisker Path.

On the path, the bandits were a motley crew—tall, short, fat, thin—wielding mismatched weapons: knives, spears, clubs, and sticks. Their disorganized steps and shrill chatter made them look more like a ragtag tourist group than an army.

Yet this unruly mob had frightened the relatively well-armed and disciplined county soldiers of Anqiang into fleeing in panic before any real encounter. If word of this got out, it would be a laughingstock—was it the tragedy of the times or the misfortune of the individuals?

“Tiger, we’ll reach Dongling Village once we descend this slope!” said a lanky bandit, excitedly addressing his leader as he scanned the path ahead.

“Everyone, pick up the pace! I haven’t even tasted the women of Dongling Village yet! Grab a few for me—there’s plenty for everyone!” roared the bandit chief.

“You all heard Tiger! Hurry up—don’t let the women get away!” the lanky bandit added, eager to please.

The bandits responded with a wave of lewd cheers, quickening their pace as they rushed toward the village.

“Biao, look! They’re coming,” Liu Dong, watching from afar, pointed out the approaching bandits crowding the path to Liu Biao.

“Those bastards are quick. Tell Liu Bao’s group to finish camouflaging the traps and retreat!”

Liu Dong turned back and gave a whistle. The villagers setting the traps quickly finished their work, erased any footprints or traces as Liu Biao had ordered, and slipped into the woods on either side of the road.

The bandits, making a great show of force, descended the mountain and gathered on the riverbank opposite the village entrance.

“Tiger, look—those must be the shacks Scar and his men built,” the lanky bandit said obsequiously, pointing at the huts.

“Let’s go see what those lazy fools are doing. They don’t even know I’m here,” the chief grumbled, cursing as he led the way toward the huts.

But as they drew near, there was still no sound from inside.

“Don’t tell me those idiots ran off to have fun in the village already?” The chief eyed the shacks suspiciously, then pointed at the lanky bandit. “Skinny Monkey, go check it out!”

Skinny Monkey replied immediately, putting on a stern face as he stepped up to the shack, lifted the curtain, and went inside.

A piercing scream erupted from within, making the chief jump back in shock. He quickly ordered two bandits to investigate.

The two exchanged nervous glances but dared not disobey. Summoning their courage, they crept toward the shack, opened a corner of the curtain, and peered inside—only to gasp in horror.

A pit had been dug in the center of the shack’s floor, its bottom lined with sharpened branches. Skinny Monkey had been impaled multiple times, blood gushing from seven or eight wounds. The tips of the branches that pierced his body still dripped with blood.

One branch had gone straight through his left eye. His twitching body and faint, ragged breath signaled that death was near.

The two bandits shrieked and stumbled back, as if the shack itself might devour them as well.

“Damn it, these mud-legged peasants have a death wish—daring to set traps for us!” The chief, realizing what had happened, cursed in rage and humiliation.

“Don’t let them scare you! Follow me into the village—leave no one alive!”

With that command, the bandits’ bloodlust was unleashed. They howled and screamed as they charged toward the village.

What they did not know was that Skinny Monkey in the shack was only the first ghost awaiting them on this journey through hell.