Chapter 024: Chivalry in the Balance

Li Dong frowned and asked, “What happened between you and Zhang Junke?”

At the mention of Zhang Junke, Du Fuwei’s face broke into a proud smile. “He’s a true man!” he praised. “General, you must not underestimate him.”

The story between Du Fuwei and Zhang Junke had once begun when the defeated Zhishi Lang entered Zhangqiu City, but had been interrupted by the sudden arrival of the county constable. Now, with Li Dong bringing it up at this critical juncture, Du Fuwei sensed a hidden purpose and began to recount the tale of their acquaintance.

The official road from Licheng to Zhangqiu has a desolate stretch, winding through perilous mountains deep within dense forests—an ideal place for an ambush. Sensing danger, Du Fuwei urged his men to quicken their pace, but they were soon blocked by a group of horsemen.

Du Fuwei rode forward and roared, “If you value your lives, clear the way at once! Delay us and you’ll be torn to pieces.”

The bandits burst into wild laughter, arrogant and unrestrained. Their numbers far exceeded Du Fuwei’s, and they believed his defeat was inevitable.

The leader, a burly middle-aged man with a ruddy face and long beard, rode a swift horse to the front. He saw only a handful of dispirited government soldiers and sneered.

Zhang Junke laughed heartily, brandished his broadsword, and said with disdain, “With these battered remnants, trying to pass through the Great Wall Ridge is laughable. If you hand your lives over to me, your souls might yet return to Zhangqiu.”

First shoot the horse, then catch the thief; the leader was clearly the target. Du Fuwei spurred his horse and brandished his blade, aiming straight for Zhang Junke. If he could defeat him, the rest of the bandits would be no threat.

Battles are shaped by countless fleeting factors—weather, terrain, morale. There are no fixed outcomes. Even with superior skill, a moment’s carelessness can bring defeat. Zhang Junke dropped his contempt and charged at Du Fuwei.

Du Fuwei wielded a double-edged blade, twelve feet long. As the horses crossed paths, he executed the move “Little Demon Turns the Mill,” sweeping his blade at Zhang Junke’s waist. If struck, the man would be cleaved in two.

Zhang Junke quickly raised his blade, turned his body, and used the shaft to block Du Fuwei’s attack. The clash produced a thunderous “clang,” making the ears of all watching soldiers and bandits ring. The soldiers of Zhangqiu cheered loudly for Du Fuwei.

Though his blade was knocked aside, Zhang Junke’s wrist tingled with numbness. He thought, “This young officer isn’t big, but he’s strong. I must be careful—losing face before my brothers would ruin my reputation.”

Three bandit leaders, seeing Zhang Junke hesitate, rushed their horses forward and surrounded Du Fuwei. Seeing this, Fu Gongtuo exclaimed, “They’re bullying us because we’re few!” He spurred his horse into the fray, engaging two leaders at once and fighting bravely.

Du Fuwei, young and fierce, battled two of the bandit chiefs to a draw. Fu Gongtuo was less fortunate—after several dozen exchanges, he was grabbed by the belt and thrown from his horse.

The soldiers tried to rescue Fu Gongtuo, but the bandits, relying on their numbers, surrounded them. The clash rang out, and the bandits’ superior force quickly became evident. After losing dozens of men, the remaining soldiers were tightly bound.

Now, only Du Fuwei remained on the battlefield, struggling alone. If Fu Gongtuo and the soldiers had not fallen and been captured, Du Fuwei might have held out longer and perhaps snatched victory. But with his comrades defeated, his mind was distracted, and soon he began to falter. After a few more exchanges, Zhang Junke pressed his blade to Du Fuwei’s neck, forcing him to surrender.

The bandits rushed forward and bound him tightly, dragging him to their stronghold atop the Great Wall Ridge with the other soldiers.

These soldiers from Zhangqiu had come mainly to seek reinforcements from Qi County and carried nothing of value. The bandits searched them and were bitterly disappointed. They vented their frustration by kicking a few young soldiers, who responded with curses, filling the stronghold with a storm of shouted insults.

Zhang Junke was displeased as well. The stronghold’s food stores were low; he had hoped to seize valuable loot to weather the crisis. Now, though they had defeated the government troops with ease and captured two officers, their prisoners were poorer than themselves.

The problem of empty larders remained unsolved.

The soldiers’ curses grew fiercer, and Zhang Junke’s temper flared. He ordered his men to keep the horses and slaughter the rest.

Du Fuwei, battered and disheveled, looked tragically heroic. When several bandits tried to drag him away, he knocked them all to the ground with a kick each. The chief assigned to execute them took up his blade.

Du Fuwei suddenly said, “My death is no loss, but the gold and silver I’ve hidden will never see daylight again.”

The chief grinned, greedy. “How much gold and silver? If there’s enough, I’ll plead with Chief Zhang to spare your life.”

Du Fuwei replied, “Too many eyes here. I’ll tell only you. Lean closer.”

The chief, tempted by greed, leaned close to Du Fuwei’s mouth. “Speak…”

Before he finished, Du Fuwei bit down hard on his ear, yanked fiercely, and tore it off. He chewed it, unfazed by the blood, his mouth crunching loudly, his face twisted and terrifying.

The chief dropped his blade, clutching his ear, writhing in pain, screaming like a slaughtered pig.

Hearing the commotion, Zhang Junke rushed out of the hall, stunned by the sight, then furious. He thought Du Fuwei was dangerously cunning and must be eliminated, or he would become a mortal threat. He ordered his men to shoot Du Fuwei with arrows.

Du Fuwei cursed loudly, “Coward! Face me one on one—if I fall to your skill, I’ll die without regret. Ganging up is no hero’s way. I despise you a thousand times! Even as a vengeful ghost, I’ll come for you!”

Zhang Junke, proud leader of the stronghold, was stung by Du Fuwei’s taunts before his men. Killing Du Fuwei was easy, but his authority would suffer among the fierce bandits he commanded.

He was a bold, rough man, and so he threw off his coat and ordered Du Fuwei unbound.

Du Fuwei was freed, stretched his numb limbs, and faced Zhang Junke. No weapons—only fists.

Du Fuwei said, “If you lose, you must obey my orders and free everyone.”

Zhang Junke laughed. “In this stronghold, strength rules. If your fists beat mine, you take the chief’s seat. But if you lose, you can’t return to Zhangqiu—you must stay by my side and serve the stronghold.” Though Du Fuwei was young, his indomitable spirit impressed Zhang Junke, and he changed his mind.

They agreed, shook hands three times, and began their contest.

As a bandit chief, Zhang Junke was seasoned by countless battles, his moves deadly and never mere show. Many had died by his hand.

Du Fuwei, though lacking experience, was full of vigor, agile as lightning, and targeted unexpected spots with fierce, unorthodox strikes.

After a dozen rounds, Zhang Junke gained nothing, left panting and sweating. The watching bandits worried, having seen him barely hold his own when fighting Du Fuwei with weapons.

Zhang Junke realized his opponent’s advantage was youth and agility—his fierce attacks were easily dodged, and Du Fuwei countered with quick, harsh blows.

To subdue him, Zhang Junke decided to close the distance, allowing no space to evade. His attacks pressed relentlessly.

Suddenly, the pressure intensified. Du Fuwei understood his foe wanted to grapple close. He thought, “If you want to fight at close quarters, let’s tangle so tightly you can’t move.”

As Zhang Junke feinted and charged, Du Fuwei followed suit, and they grappled fiercely. Soon both were rolling across the ground, one on top and then the other, spinning like wheels across the training ground.

They tumbled off the platform, wrestling endlessly among rugged stones. After about the time it takes to eat a meal, both were drenched in sweat, clothes torn, faces smeared, neither gaining much advantage nor suffering much loss.

Du Fuwei’s strength held off Zhang Junke’s repeated attacks. Eventually, Du Fuwei managed to pin him, straddled him, grabbed a sharp stone as big as a bowl, raised it high, and shouted fiercely, “Die!” He slammed the stone toward Zhang Junke’s head.

The watching bandits were terrified, some covering their eyes, unable to look. No man’s head could withstand such a blow, especially delivered with murderous force—the chief’s fate seemed sealed.

Zhang Junke thought so too. He closed his eyes, awaiting death. But after a crunching sound, he felt no pain. Opening his eyes, he saw Du Fuwei had struck the stone beside his ear.

Du Fuwei, still angry, demanded, “Do you yield?”

Having brushed death, Zhang Junke felt as if he’d shaken hands with the Grim Reaper. Dying was not difficult for him—he’d lived by risking his neck daily—but surrendering, especially before his brothers, was harder.

With his comrades watching, losing face was worse than dying. Zhang Junke turned his head, closed his eyes, and said, “Go ahead, kill me.”

“Let him go! I’ll fight you. Best two out of three!” As Zhang Junke had lost, he was supposed to let the soldiers go or let Du Fuwei take the chief’s seat. Other leaders refused to accept Du Fuwei and challenged him to another contest.

Du Fuwei released Zhang Junke and fought again. After dozens of moves against the second chief, he triumphed.

Now all the leaders were awed.

They had long plundered with impunity, rarely meeting a worthy opponent. Most victims quaked at the sight of the stronghold’s men, and battles rarely lasted ten rounds before the enemy was cut down. Yet this young officer was fiercely formidable, not only unafraid but defeating the two strongest chiefs in succession.

Others who challenged met the same fate—defeated and subdued.

Zhang Junke himself stopped further contests, leading the chiefs to kneel before Du Fuwei. “Please take the chief’s seat! We are willing to follow you, through fire and water, without hesitation.”

In ordinary society, the law of the dynasty is the guiding principle. Those who follow it are safe; those who don’t are handled by officials, punished or executed as necessary.

Bandits, however, operate by loyalty and honor among brothers, not by statutes. A word is a bond, and promises are kept even through fire and blades. Compared to ordinary folk, they value honor and trust above all.

Since their agreement was clear—if Du Fuwei won, he would become chief—Zhang Junke and his brothers submitted to him.

Du Fuwei, new to such matters, had thought his words mere bravado, but Zhang Junke’s actions exceeded his expectations. He quickly helped the men up. “I am only passing through; I have no intention of taking your chief’s seat. Besides, I have urgent matters to attend to. I cannot accept the position.”

Zhang Junke and the others said, “A man’s word is his bond.”

Bound nearby, Fu Gongtuo had witnessed everything and shouted, “Since Chief Zhang respects us and offers his friendship, you should accept!”

Du Fuwei could refuse Zhang Junke, but Fu Gongtuo’s words gave him pause. They had grown up together, and in this critical moment, Fu Gongtuo’s plea surely carried deeper meaning. Refusing outright would leave them stranded, unable to escape the Great Wall Ridge.

Du Fuwei had to agree. For the soldiers, time was life. Every extra moment spent at the Ridge increased the peril in Zhangqiu—the city’s survival hung in the balance.

Once Fu Gongtuo and the soldiers were released, Du Fuwei joined them, apologetic. “It’s my fault you suffered. Let’s leave the Ridge and hurry back to Zhangqiu.”

Fu Gongtuo shook his head. “Going back now is suicide. Here, we have food, drink, and men—being chief is worth more than being a pawn! Why rush back and be slaughtered?”

Du Fuwei looked at him in surprise, as if seeing a stranger, and rebuked, “Have you no shame? Zhangqiu’s people are suffering, and you would enjoy comfort here, ignoring their plight?”

“That’s not right!” Fu Gongtuo shook his head vigorously and whispered, “With less than a hundred battered soldiers, returning is certain death. Now that you command the Ridge, why not lead these men to Zhangqiu and attack Zhishi Lang’s army?”

Du Fuwei excelled in fighting, but for cunning and strategy, Fu Gongtuo was unmatched—he’d crossed many bridges and eaten much rice. Du Fuwei was delighted, but worried, “What if they refuse?”

Fu Gongtuo, confident, said, “Leave that to me. I’ll make sure they follow willingly.”

Four thousand four hundred words in this chapter—boldly asking for recommendations, favorites, and rewards. Ha ha.