Chapter Twenty-Three: The Great Chief
The group of bandits stared at Yang Zaixing, having already dismissed Zhang Xuan from their minds, and now no one dared step forward, afraid they would be the next to bid this world farewell. At this moment, Yang Hu had also fallen into the bandits’ encirclement, but all they could do was surround him. Yang Hu was simply too ferocious—even though he didn’t kill, it felt as if a single blow from him would break several bones, so no one dared approach. Now, two circles had formed, with the bandits merely pacing around the periphery, making for an awkward standoff.
Seizing the moment while the bandits hesitated, Zhang Xuan and Yang Zaixing regrouped. Zhang Xuan held up five fingers to Yang Zaixing, raising an eyebrow in a playful challenge, as if to say, “Big brother, I think I’ve killed more than you.” Yang Zaixing shot him a sidelong glance, sneered coldly, and said nothing, his eyes fixed on the bandits around them. The only thing giving Yang Zaixing a measure of relief was that many of the bandits were unarmed—some wielded firewood cleavers, others hoes, or even sharpened sticks. Altogether, their weapons were a motley assortment.
Seeing Yang Zaixing ignore his provocation, Zhang Xuan shrugged, took a deep breath, and asked solemnly, “Big brother, what do you think—how likely are we to drive them off?”
“Maybe eighty percent,” Yang Zaixing replied. “They’re too scattered, lack any training, and their weapons are all over the place. Driving them off shouldn’t be too hard, as long as we have enough stamina left. Our surprise attack took out quite a few, but there are still a lot left. That sudden burst just now took a lot out of me. Fortunately, running with you lately has improved my endurance a bit—otherwise, we’d have to run for it. Let’s rest while they’re hesitant, or we’ll be at a disadvantage.” Indeed, everyone’s strength has its limits. Don’t be fooled by tales of single warriors mowing down thousands—any normal person, even if opponents stood still for the slaughter, would be exhausted by the tenth. All the more so for children of eleven or twelve. Luckily, Yang Zaixing was no ordinary child—a touch of innate strength honed by relentless practice had pushed him beyond ordinary limits, though Zhang Xuan still had a ways to go.
The two sides remained deadlocked. Just then, Swallow, Boss Li, and Boss Chen stepped forward. They glanced over their men and saw the fear in their eyes. It was understandable—these men had always been the ones robbing others, and often their raids wen