Chapter Sixteen: This Road Belongs to Me

Zhang Xuan and his companions moved southward at a leisurely pace, following his rhythm. Along the way, it was unclear whether Old Man Tong was doing it on purpose, or if Zhang Xuan was simply unlucky. Though Zhang Xuan felt he was getting faster with each passing day, he never managed to catch up with the main group at the appointed time. As a result, the job of head cook fell to him all along the route. Zhang Xuan suspected Old Man Tong might be cheating, deliberately ensuring he never arrived on time, but he had no evidence. Asking Yang Zaixing and the others was pointless; Uncle Yang was practically in cahoots with Old Man Tong by now and wouldn't betray him.

What troubled Zhang Xuan further was that his trusty Brother Yang, for reasons unknown, had also decided to join the running group, further disrupting his pace and often needing to be waited for. Still, Zhang Xuan couldn't help but feel secretly pleased. Watching Brother Yang train so earnestly by his side, Zhang Xuan resolved to shape him into a great general, even if he wasn't the famed Yang Zaixing of the Song dynasty. After all, no one is born a hero; greatness is forged, not granted.

Not long after, Yang Hu, seemingly struck by the same odd impulse, also joined the running team. Perhaps the physical constitution of ancient people truly surpassed that of modern folk—a notion that made sense, considering people today are softened by electronics and rarely venture out, whereas in the past, survival depended on physical labor. Yang Zaixing took about three days to nearly match Zhang Xuan’s pace; Yang Hu, even more impressive, managed to keep up after just a day, though Zhang Xuan admittedly eased his efforts to help.

Their daily routine became fixed: the five would rise, eat a simple meal, then Old Man Tong and Uncle Yang would separately instruct Zhang Xuan, Yang Zaixing, and Yang Hu in spear techniques. The morning was spent sparring, always stopping short of true injury. Afterwards, Old Man Tong and Uncle Yang would ride on ahead at a relaxed, sometimes erratic pace, while the three younger men jogged behind, resting as needed. They would discuss their training as they went. Later, the elders would hunt or forage for food, waiting for Zhang Xuan’s group to catch up and prepare the meal, followed by another cycle in the afternoon.

At night, an extra, special session was added: sparring without the usual boundaries of life and death. Old Man Tong would supervise, ready to step in should things go awry. For now, these nightly bouts remained controlled and stopped short of real harm; after all, they were all close, and no one could truly bring themselves to be ruthless. Sometimes, Old Man Tong could only shake his head, knowing his own mercy was, in a way, cruelty—only real experience would leave a lasting impression. He just hoped that lesson would not come at the cost of a life.

And so, the days passed—each one full and purposeful. Zhang Xuan felt a sense of fulfillment despite the absence of phones, computers, his beloved teachers, or the various idol groups and long-legged beauties of modern life. Now, his days were filled with simple, repetitive tasks, but compared to the burdens of his past—balancing odd jobs and overwhelming debt—this simplicity was almost welcome. More importantly, knowing that these days of monotony were helping him build strength for the coming chaos gave him all the motivation he needed.

On one ordinary day, as Old Man Tong and Uncle Yang led the way ahead, Zhang Xuan and the other two jogged behind. Suddenly, they spotted a group of five or six people blocking the road ahead. The strangers approached at once.

“Hey, boys, this road belongs to us, these trees were planted by us—” One of them began, but Zhang Xuan cut him off, “And if you want to pass, you must pay a toll, or is it your life? I forget. Who’d have thought I’d meet a fellow professional out here? Which crew are you with? Let’s get acquainted so we don’t rob each other by mistake next time.”

“We’re not your brothers, so don’t get too familiar. If you’re really in the business, you know the rules: are you going to pay up, or must we persuade you with force? Even if I did know you, my blade doesn’t.” Their leader flashed his knife menacingly.

“Xuan, what do you say? Shall we just knock them down and get going? They look like amateurs—shouldn’t take more than a moment. Old Man Tong and Uncle Yang are waiting, or we’ll be stuck making another fire. Or do you want to play with them first?” Yang Zaixing glanced at the men, then at Zhang Xuan, exchanging a look with Yang Hu, who nodded in readiness.

“Is this all you’ve got? You really think you can take us? Maybe call for reinforcements, otherwise, you’re just cannon fodder,” Zhang Xuan replied, deciding it was best to catch up with the elders quickly.

“Big words for someone so young. Let’s see if your skills match your mouth—boys, get them!” the leader barked, charging forward.

“Is this really necessary? We’re all in the same line of work—why the need for bloodshed?” Zhang Xuan replied, stepping up to meet the attack, with Yang Zaixing and Yang Hu close behind.

The gang hadn’t expected two of these young men to advance fearlessly, even after seeing the drawn blades. On this stretch of road, the sight of a knife usually sent young travelers trembling or even wetting themselves. Rarely did they resist, and if they did, the numbers ensured the gang’s victory. Only when outnumbered would the gangsters keep their distance. But three youngsters, outnumbered, and still charging forward—this was a direct challenge, courting death.

The leader swung his blade at Zhang Xuan, but Zhang Xuan slipped past it easily, taunting, “You swing so slowly—are you hungry? As a fellow professional—no, as your senior—I must advise you: if you’re going to rob people, eat a good meal first. Don’t embarrass us all by being weak. Your own pride is a small thing, but don’t drag down the reputation of all of us!”

“Shut up! Don’t get cocky just because you dodged one swing. One more word, and I’ll show you no mercy!” the leader shouted, eyes blazing.

“Oh? Go ahead, show me. Meanwhile, look around—your friends without blades are nearly all down already. Sometimes numbers aren’t everything, you see? They’re waiting for you to save them,” Zhang Xuan replied, moving with ease amidst the leader’s attacks. Though the recent training had been tough, the results were obvious. Zhang Xuan couldn’t have imagined such a scene in the past.