Chapter Twenty-Six: Sudden Incident

Yang Zaixing and Yang Hu had no idea what Zhang Xuan was planning. Yang Zaixing wanted to say something to Zhang Xuan, but when the words reached his lips, he held back, thinking Zhang Xuan must have his own reasons and left him be. As for Yang Hu, as long as there was nothing amiss between Yang Zaixing and Zhang Xuan, he saw no need to intervene.

Zhang Yan watched Zhang Xuan's every move. "You're letting me go—isn't there a risk I'll regret it and come after you again?"

"Regret? Why would you regret it? You couldn't kill us now, and with just these few people, you'll have even less chance in the future." Yet as Zhang Xuan spoke, he felt a pang of uncertainty. If this really was Zhang Yan, and he one day rallied a million Black Mountain soldiers, even if each spat just once, he could drown in it. The thought alone was terrifying. "Anyway, now that we've fought and gotten to know each other, let me ask you: why did you choose the life of a bandit? Was there famine in your homeland too? Or did you migrate from the border just in time to be caught in disaster, left with no way to survive?"

"Why, you ask? As you said, there was simply no way to live. These past years, famine struck my home. We couldn't even afford food, and the authorities did nothing. Those so-called noble families, seeing profit in the disaster, bought up all the grain. Ordinary people like us couldn't afford it, and they wouldn't sell it cheaply, either. We dug up roots and ate bark—anything we could find. Later, we tried moving elsewhere, hoping to survive, but everywhere was the same. Eventually, some fellow villagers and I ran into Old Li—the one you killed with the flying spear. He already had a dozen men with him. We had no money and nowhere to go, so I led a few companions and joined them. After that, since I had some martial training—though practicing costs a fortune, and I could only keep up the basics—it was still useful. I'm young, but I treat my brothers well. Over the last year or so, I've built up a bit of a reputation in these parts."

"So what will you do now? The famine seems to be easing a bit," Yang Zaixing interjected, having drawn closer to listen to the conversation.

"Though the famine is a little better now, who knows what the future holds? I'll probably keep on as a bandit. We have to survive, after all. Of course, I'd like to join the army and bring my men along." Zhang Yan glanced at Yang Zaixing and continued, "If I had your skills, I'd definitely become a soldier. But sadly, neither I nor my brothers do. As things stand, we'd just be cannon fodder if we joined up, so why bother? It's easier living as a bandit—free and comfortable. If we meet someone tough, we fall back; most of the time, our numbers let us scrape by. You needn't bother persuading me to quit this life…"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Zhang Xuan said, curling his lip. But as soon as he finished, Yang Zaixing gave him a shove and shot him a glare.

"Big brother, stop pushing me. I won't try to talk him out of it, and the reason is simple—just look at these people and think of their families. In times like these, just staying alive is enough. As for how they survive, if you've never been through famine, never felt the hopelessness of not finding food, you have no right to speak on the matter."

It was almost laughable—how could he, of all people, try to persuade Zhang Yan to stop being a bandit or a robber? He was counting on Zhang Yan to rally his own forces during the Yellow Turban Rebellion, hopefully amassing a million strong Black Mountain Army. That would be a tremendous asset. In this era, population was the very foundation of power—without people, without a base, what could one possibly hope to achieve? But that was all for the future; whether it came to pass remained to be seen.

Yang Zaixing thought over Zhang Xuan's words, then shrugged and said no more.

"But tell me," Zhang Xuan pressed, "aren't you worried the authorities will come after you?"

"You mean those officials? Sometimes they do come, but once we hide up in the mountains, they'll never find us. Just look at our group—apart from a few who look a bit rough, who really looks the part of a bandit? Even if we're caught, all we've done is steal some money, never taken lives. Usually, after a few days in jail, we're let out again."

"Zhang Xuan, look out!" Yang Hu cried suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. In that moment, one of the bandits, knife in hand, charged at Zhang Xuan and Zhang Yan. He was close—so close that everyone was caught entirely off guard.

Zhang Xuan turned just in time to see the man lunging at him, blade raised, only a few steps away. The attacker brought the knife down, and Zhang Xuan, acting on instinct, raised the knife he'd used earlier to cut Zhang Yan's hair to block the blow. There was a sharp crack as the attacker, having gathered his strength for a decisive strike, met Zhang Xuan's hurried, almost unconscious defense. Given his earlier exertions, it was all Zhang Xuan could do to hold off the attack—his hand went numb and felt as though it would split apart. He tried desperately to hold onto his knife, but his grip failed, and the blade slipped from his fingers.

Seeing Zhang Xuan disarmed, the attacker prepared to follow up when suddenly his own knife fell to the ground. Looking down, he realized his wrist had been pierced by a spear. A scream of agony echoed through the forest.

Yang Zaixing had been about to leave Zhang Xuan's side when Yang Hu's warning made him turn back. He saw the attacker upon Zhang Xuan, knife raised. Luckily, Zhang Xuan had a blade to block the first blow, buying precious time. Yang Zaixing had originally intended to knock the attacker's weapon aside, but seeing that Zhang Xuan had managed to defend himself, and that the attacker was focused solely on Zhang Xuan, unaware of his presence, he seized the opportunity and drove his spear through the attacker's wrist. Then, stepping forward, he swung a fist like a sandbag at the attacker's face.

But at that exact moment, the attacker dropped into a crouch, clutching his wounded wrist, and Yang Zaixing's punch struck nothing but air.