Thirty: Reflection

"Big brother, I swear you sound more and more like me these days. Your words are so enigmatic and profound—truly, proximity breeds similarity! Stick with me, and you’ll keep climbing to new heights. Ha ha!" Zhang Xuan finished, laughing shamelessly.

Yang Zaixing listened to his words, his face darkening. He had seen shameless people before, but never anyone quite so bold. Was there really anyone who could boast about themselves so brazenly? This self-praise was truly lacking in finesse.

"Besides, after reflecting on everything that happened today, I realize I underestimated it all. Maybe it’s because dealing with Boss Chen and the others this morning was too easy, so I let my guard down. After that ordeal this afternoon, I see the gap between myself, you, and Brother Hu. When we get back, I’ll train even harder—extra sessions, no less! And next time you two spar, don’t hold back. If I can’t get out of bed the next day, so be it. These pains now are for a better future. Also, when we encounter crowds like today, let’s not be ashamed to run—what if they’re all experts? If that happens, there’s nowhere to argue our case, right, big brother?" Zhang Xuan crossed his arms, leaned against a tree, and gazed skyward at a forty-five-degree angle, contemplating how he would intensify his training.

Yang Zaixing was moved by Zhang Xuan’s earlier words, but the more he listened, the more something felt off. Some natures simply cannot change. He realized there was nothing to worry about Zhang Xuan; this kid, despite his age, saw things clearer than anyone. Yang Zaixing found a tree and leaned against it. Only now did he feel the ache all over his body, as if every joint was about to fall apart. Just as Zhang Xuan said, he wasn’t satisfied with his own performance that afternoon either. He had expected to handle these bandits with ease, but the fight was against men with no systematic training, wielding all manner of odd weapons—some hardly weapons at all. The battle felt stifling. When he got home, he’d have to train harder. If, as Zhang Xuan said, they ever faced real masters, even without outsiders to worry about, just the people in his own household would someday pose a challenge. If he were surrounded by them, what would he do?

Yang Hu watched Yang Zaixing and Zhang Xuan, their clothes stained with blood and sweat, faces smeared with blood, both leaning against trees, utterly exhausted. Unconsciously, Yang Hu clenched his fists.

A few bandits watched Zhang Xuan and Yang Zaixing resting by the trees and exchanged meaningful glances. Approaching Zhang Yan, they spoke earnestly, "Yan, their attention is nowhere near us. Now’s our chance—should we avenge our fallen brothers?"

Zhang Yan glanced at them, then at Zhang Xuan and the others. They were indeed resting, only Yang Hu stood guard. Zhang Yan hesitated. It was a perfect opportunity for revenge, but Zhang Xuan had just spared him. Would betraying that mercy be too dishonorable? How could he face others in the future?

The bandits seemed to sense Zhang Yan’s doubts. One said, "Don’t worry, Yan. You don’t need to get involved. Just wait here, we’ll handle it. We’ll approach them under the guise of gratitude, and when the moment’s right, strike. Understood?" The others nodded.

"And remember," the man continued, "if we fail, the consequences are ours alone. No need to drag the rest of the brothers into this."

Zhang Yan shook his head. "Don’t go—not today, at least. We couldn’t handle them even with our numbers. Not to put you down, but you few won’t succeed." The lead bandit was clearly displeased, about to protest, but Zhang Yan pressed on, "I know, you think a sneak attack might work, right? Just as they ambushed us, catching us off guard? But are you sure they’re only three? They don’t seem ordinary—their composure is uncanny. I suspect they have people backing them, perhaps watching from nearby, only intervening if necessary. I have that feeling. Besides, I’ve lost too many brothers already; I don’t want to lose you too. Let’s stop. After we return, let’s train harder. Revenge can wait ten years. Let them pray they never fall into our hands."

The other bandits, hearing Zhang Yan’s words, considered them. One said, "I think I heard them mention Elder Tong and Uncle Yang earlier—could those be their backers?" Zhang Yan shook his head. "I don’t know. At least Uncle Yang and Yang Zaixing share a surname; there’s a possibility." The bandits looked at Zhang Xuan and Yang Zaixing, then at Yang Hu, then scanned the surroundings. They decided Zhang Yan made sense: revenge could wait, train hard, and someday, if fate brought them together, make them suffer unbearably.

"Let’s disperse. Tell the others—don’t seek revenge. After we bury our dead, we’ll convene; I have things to say." The bandits nodded and scattered. Thus, the planned attack on Zhang Xuan, Yang Zaixing, and Yang Hu ended in its infancy.

Once the bandits had mostly finished burying their fallen, Zhang Xuan stood, walked toward Zhang Yan, and Yang Zaixing followed. Yang Hu, seeing the other two approach, joined them.

Zhang Yan, busy overseeing the bandits, was alerted by a nearby comrade to their approach. "Do you need something?" Zhang Yan asked, uncertain of their intent.

Zhang Xuan stepped forward, standing before Zhang Yan. The other bandits paused, watching anxiously, fearing Zhang Xuan might harm their leader. Their worries proved unfounded. Zhang Xuan patted Zhang Yan’s shoulder and said, "Since you’ve chosen this path, stick to it. But remember—survival is what matters most. Dead, you have nothing. Treat your brothers well, especially those who share your hardships. I believe you’ll make a name for yourself in these times. We’re leaving. Remember me—don’t forget my name. I’m Zhang Xuan. If you’re bent on revenge, don’t bother; you’ll never have the chance. Farewell."