Chapter Forty-Three: Night of Rain

“Sir, this fellow seems to be their leader. What should we do with him?” Liu Kui, having noticed the man who had been directing the bandits from behind, dragged him by the collar before Qi Jun.

“Isn’t this the third chief of Panlong Ridge? Goes by the nickname Bone-Grinder. This mongrel finally gets what he deserves!” A villager who had seen him before immediately recognized him.

Qi Jun recalled what the one-armed bandit had confessed earlier; indeed, the third chief of Panlong Ridge was called Bone-Grinder.

“This dog’s luck is something else—didn’t even get killed by the falling rocks. Sir, let me have him. I’ll show him what it feels like to have bones worn down by a blunt knife!” Knowing the notorious bandit before him, Liu Kui’s anger flared and he moved to seize him.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!” The third chief, who had been knocked out by the rocks, was jolted awake by Liu Kui’s rough handling. Discovering he’d become the villagers’ captive, he cried out in panic.

“What’s with the shouting? Yell again and I’ll cut your tongue out!” Liu Kui barked, pressing the blade of his chopper against the bandit’s throat.

“Uncle Kui, let’s keep him alive for now. Ask him how many are left at Panlong Ridge and what defenses they have. He could be useful in our attack,” Qi Jun reasoned, stopping Liu Kui.

“What? You lot think you can take Panlong Ridge? Ha! Not a chance! You’ll get nothing out of me. Do your worst—I won’t talk, so give up!” The third chief, catching Qi Jun’s intent, sneered through the pain and taunted them.

“You’re still barking, thinking you can bite someone in your state?” Liu Kui, losing his temper, punched the bandit square in the face.

The third chief, aware of Liu Kui’s fierce nature, dared not speak again, though his eyes still glared at Qi Jun with a mix of resentment and contempt.

Qi Jun felt his own anger rising. Did this bandit think he could intimidate a scholar just because Liu Kui was rough? Knowing such men only feared the strong, he snatched Liu Kui’s knife and, without hesitation, slashed the third chief deeply across the thigh.

A howl of pain burst from the bandit as the blade bit to the bone, his whole body convulsing in agony.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t flay you alive?” Qi Jun whispered coldly in his ear, unwavering.

“Spare me, good sir! I was wrong—I shouldn’t have been so blind…” The third chief, seeing at last the ferocity of those before him, begged for his life, realizing he had well and truly met his match.

Though the villagers weren’t many, the bandits led by ‘Brother Tiger’—over a hundred strong—had all fallen here. For the third chief and his handful of men to be beaten by Dongling Village was hardly a disgrace.

Having come to terms with this, the third chief dropped all pretense of bravado, his tone softening as he pleaded for mercy.

Qi Jun had Liu Kui take him away for further questioning. Glancing at the sky and noting the late hour, he ordered the villagers to clear the battlefield, gather supplies, and prepare for the march to Panlong Ridge.

“Sir, I’ve got it all out of him. Most of the bandits from Panlong Ridge are out raiding; fewer than a hundred remain to guard the stronghold,” Liu Kui soon reported.

“He may not be telling the truth. Question the other prisoners separately and see if their stories match,” Qi Jun replied, unwilling to take it on faith.

Before long, Liu Kui returned with a grin. “Sir, I questioned each one. Don’t be fooled by their tough talk—they’re all cowards. The moment I put a blade to their throats, they told me everything. Their accounts match the third chief’s. What do we do with these scoundrels? Should we finish them?”

“Tie them up and assign guards. We’ll let the magistrate deal with them after we’ve taken Panlong Ridge,” Qi Jun decided after some thought.

He was not a bloodthirsty man; shaped by modern sensibilities, he had no desire to torture or slaughter prisoners.

The earlier execution of the one-armed bandit had been a necessary act, meant to rouse the villagers’ fighting spirit and dispel their fear of the bandits. Now that this goal had been achieved, there was no need for further executions. Qi Jun understood that, as despicable as these bandits were, most had been driven to such a life by harsh circumstances. Few would choose such a bloody path if they had other options. Save for the truly heinous ringleaders, he preferred to leave the fate of the lesser bandits to the authorities.

Besides, the government openly encouraged bandit suppression, and bringing in a live bandit earned a handsome reward. If there was profit in capturing them, there was no reason to kill.

Dark clouds soon blotted out the setting sun, and the sultry air left everyone’s clothes drenched in sweat.

The Dongling Village bandit-suppression party set out in earnest for Panlong Ridge.

“Let’s pick up the pace—looks like we’re in for rain,” Qi Jun urged, worried. The people had longed for rain after a season of drought, but this was hardly the time for it, not when he and his company needed to reach Longyan Gully quickly.

Even as he spoke, raindrops began to fall, the cool water refreshing the villagers as they hurried along, relieving the heat’s torment.

“Heaven has finally taken pity on us—it’s raining at last!” one villager cried, looking up in gratitude.

“If only the rain had come a month sooner, so many of our kin wouldn’t have died of thirst…” another murmured, pausing in reflection.

“Now isn’t the time to thank the heavens—we must reach Longyan Gully before nightfall!” Qi Jun called, growing anxious.

On the winding, rugged Dragonbeard Path, the Dongling villagers pressed on toward their battleground.

The rain intensified, turning the road to mud and obscuring their way. Halfway there, the wagon bearing the parts of the catapult became mired in a deep rut, unable to go forward. The narrow mountain path allowed only a single wagon; the delay not only slowed their advance but threatened to leave Qi Jun’s most powerful weapon behind.

“Everyone, one more push! One… two… heave!” Liu Kui and the villagers strained with all their might, while Liu Biao whipped the horses, but the wagon only sank deeper.

Night fell, the rain pouring harder. A sense of despair settled over the group, mirroring the deepening darkness.

“Sir, maybe we shouldn’t attack Panlong Ridge tonight. Let’s leave the wagon and head back—everyone’s exhausted…” Liu Kui panted, watching the villagers’ strength wane.

Standing in the rain, Qi Jun gazed toward Panlong Ridge, lost in thought. This storm was both a cruel obstacle and a rare opportunity. Such a night was ideal for a surprise attack—the bandits of Panlong Ridge, long unchallenged, would likely be slack in their defenses.

Under cover of this storm, Qi Jun felt certain he could take the stronghold by storm.

Liu Kui had never seen Qi Jun so torn and anxious. He could only stand quietly by, awaiting his decision.

“Sir, someone’s approaching!” a villager scouting ahead suddenly called out.

“All hands, prepare for battle!” Qi Jun ordered, his heart pounding. Anyone coming from that direction could well be an enemy. The villagers, tense, gripped their weapons and watched the road ahead.

“Jun! Is that you?”

The voice rang out from less than fifty paces away. Qi Jun recognized it instantly and called back, “Deng Fang? Is that you, Deng Fang?”

There was no reply, but hurried footsteps approached. Qi Jun quickly signaled the villagers to lower their weapons to avoid any accidents.

“Jun! It’s really you!” Deng Fang ran up to him, and, confirming it was truly Qi Jun, threw his arms around him in a bear hug.

“Deng Fang… easy… if you squeeze any harder, there won’t be any Jun left…” Qi Jun gasped, patting at Deng Fang’s muscular arms in an effort to free himself.

“Sorry, Jun! I just got carried away…” Deng Fang released him, wiping his face, whether of rain or tears, it was hard to tell. “Come on, you lads, greet my big brother—he’s my master as well.”

At his beckoning, three young men stepped forward and saluted Qi Jun. “Greetings, Grandmaster!”

Qi Jun sucked in a breath, half thinking the rain had made him delirious. “What? Deng Fang, who are these? And how did you come to be here?”

“These three are my apprentices from the county. All martial artists—they each lost to me in a contest and became my disciples afterward,” Deng Fang replied, a touch of pride in his voice. “Since I’m your disciple, they naturally call you Grandmaster.”

Qi Jun felt dizzy, unsure whether from the rain or the sudden elevation in status.

“Let’s talk later—tell me how you came here,” Qi Jun shook his head.

“You and Uncle went out to fight bandits without telling me. By the time I heard, you’d already left town,” Deng Fang said, a note of complaint in his voice. “I went to the county barracks and found Captain He’s unit, so I joined them at the foot of Panlong Ridge.”

“We waited for ages with no news, and were about to head back when we ran into Captain Sun, who said you were at Longyan Gully. But when we got there, you were nowhere to be found. With the rain so heavy, we figured you must be stuck on the road or had run into bandits, so we followed the Dragonbeard Path and found you at last.”

Having finished, Deng Fang turned to his apprentices. “What are you waiting for? Help push the wagon!”

Deng Fang was strong, and his three apprentices were no less so. With their help, it took less than half a stick of incense for the group to haul the wagon free from the mud.

Qi Jun and his party resumed their journey. After another half-hour, they finally reached Longyan Gully, where Captain He and Sun Jiu had been waiting in the rain.

The two groups joined forces, heralding the impending downfall of the bandits of Panlong Ridge.