Chapter Forty-Four: The One-Eyed Golden Eagle

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As night descended, the Broken Cliff Mountain loomed like a man-eating beast lurking in the darkness. Even though it was deep into the night, the mountaintop was still dotted with firelight, and the boisterous clamor could be heard clearly from two or three miles away.

Broken Cliff Mountain was not the tallest among its neighbors, but it was certainly the most peculiar. The entire mountain seemed to have sprung abruptly from the earth, its vast rocky body accessible by only one road, with sheer, exposed cliffs encircling it on all sides.

There was no true peak to Broken Cliff Mountain; its summit was flat, as if a god had struck it with a mighty blade and cleaved it in two, leaving it oddly truncated—the very origin of its name.

Such a naturally defensible terrain made this stony mountain a favorite among bandits. For over a hundred years, generations of brigands had occupied Broken Cliff Mountain, never once vanishing from its heights.

Currently, the one who sat at the head of the mountain was Fang Dayong, known by his outlaw name, the One-eyed Golden Eagle. His origins were shrouded in mystery, his skills formidable; even among bandits, he was infamous for his ruthless cunning. In just five short years, he had brought his unruly followers firmly under control.

“Boss, the delivery team from Elm Tree Bay did exactly as you predicted. When they heard we wanted a hundred taels as a toll, they obediently turned back,” a minor leader kneeled beside Fang Dayong, quietly reporting. “I saw those delivery men—each looked ready for a fight, but the village chief from Elm Tree Bay restrained them.”

Fang Dayong’s eyes flickered as he held his wine bowl, a sly smile curving his lips. “Go now. Tomorrow, continue to block the road. If you encounter the delivery team again, demand two hundred taels.”

The minor leader answered respectfully and quietly slipped away from the riotous assembly hall.

The boss’s presence was so intimidating that merely reporting beside him left the minor leader’s shirt soaked with sweat.

Once outside, he hurried toward his lodgings, his head instinctively lowered as his ears caught the piercing screams echoing nearby.

Those cries belonged to captives, undergoing torture to reveal just how much wealth their families possessed.

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Ever since the boss arrived at Broken Cliff Mountain five years ago, the stronghold had changed. The once loose-knit band had been drilled into a formidable force; the formerly chaotic stronghold was now orderly, and even the lone mountain road had been fortified by the boss’s orders with a stone wall, as a precaution against an army assault.

The stronghold on Broken Cliff Mountain was thriving. Nearby bandits had long been subdued through various means, and now the brothers walked out with pride.

Yet the minor leader felt that something about the stronghold had changed—it no longer followed the ways of banditry, and a vague sense of unease often troubled his heart.

But he never considered changing anything. In this land where everyone struggled to fill their bellies, being a bandit was still better than being a captive; to rob and kill was preferable to being robbed and killed.

The assembly hall glowed with lanterns. The One-eyed Golden Eagle, bare-chested with thick protective hair, raised his wine bowl, calling loudly for the leaders to drink!

Not until the second half of the night, when most of the leaders were drunk and sprawling, did the One-eyed Golden Eagle, supported by a loyal old comrade, stagger from the assembly hall.

Back in his quarters, he waved away his helper, stood tall, and a sharp gleam shone in his solitary right eye—there was not a trace of drunkenness on his face.

By the light of the oil lamp, Fang Dayong took out a small bamboo tube, exerted a gentle force to open it, and a narrow strip of paper fell out.

He carefully read the words on the paper, then gazed at the ceiling in thought. He did not burn the paper as was customary, but instead retrieved a locked small box from a hidden compartment beneath his bed.

He placed the paper into the box with great care, locked it again, and returned it to the hiding place, finally letting out a long breath.

He extinguished the oil lamp, but did not rest; instead, he sat alone at the bedside, his lone eye swirling with inscrutable meaning.

As dawn rose, Elm Tree Bay was once again filled with bustling energy.

Unlike before, even during the slack season, everyone in Elm Tree Bay rose early, bustling off in groups to their workplaces, ready for another day of earning work points.

No one’s face bore the pallor of past days; the lazy, disheveled folk had vanished.

Whenever people have hope in life and their basic needs are met, they naturally strive for a higher quality of living.

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Moreover, the master managed everything—how often to bathe, whether hands and faces were clean, if clothes had been washed—all were attended to. For the sake of their hard-won good days, the villagers of Elm Tree Bay naturally endeavored to keep themselves neat and tidy.

The master had said that patched clothes were no shame, so long as they were cleanly washed; wearing them was still respectable.

Now, things were different in Elm Tree Bay; everyone was a respectable person, and none would dare disgrace the village.

Besides, the master had promised that once the textile operation expanded again, the new batch of fabric would be given to everyone for clothing, as a sort of company benefit. Naturally, everyone obeyed willingly.

On this lively morning, no one noticed that the usual guards practicing martial arts on the village’s open ground were absent, nor did the young hunters know where their fellows had gone.

For the ordinary villagers, today was just another day like any other.

Not far from Elm Tree Bay, in the woods, the guards and young hunters stood in a ring, each gripping a loaded crossbow, their eyes alertly guarding the center.

At the circle’s heart, Song San spread out a square piece of cloth on the ground, upon which was drawn a map of Broken Cliff Mountain!

The map was exquisitely detailed—not only the stone wall blocking the lone road up the mountain, but even the summit’s warehouse, mess hall, and dungeon were clearly marked.

Such an item could not have been obtained in haste. Zhao Hengyi’s eyes sparkled; his elder brother truly treated Dang County as his stronghold and fallback!

“This Broken Cliff Mountain is easy to defend and hard to attack, and the bandit chief, the One-eyed Golden Eagle, is a capable man. It looks like storming their lair won’t be easy!” Though Zhao Hengyi spoke with some discouragement, his expression was relaxed, even with a trace of teasing. “But we’ve gathered so many elite troops from the Xuan Battalion and the lord’s hand-trained men. If we only pick the easy targets, it’s a waste of our talents!”

Song San, who had provided the map, remained his usual amiable self, sitting silently on a nearby stone, keenly observing the expressions of those around him. He looked very much the bystander, or perhaps an examiner at some unseen test.