The sages, with their boundless moral teachings, tirelessly urged the world toward virtue. They wore out their tongues and ached from writing, exhausting countless bamboo slips, yet none of it could rival the blunt, earthy proverbs that resonated so deeply with the people. Phrases like, “If one does not act for oneself, heaven and earth shall destroy you,” or “Men die for wealth, birds for food,” were so catchy, so direct, that they became gospel.
In a secluded hollow surrounded by slopes on three sides, sat five or six men, each with distinct appearances and attire. Not even a single campfire burned among them. In the dead of night, deep in the wilderness, with no women in sight, their intentions were clear—they were not here to discuss righteousness or plot heroic deeds against corruption.
Most among them were notorious horse bandit chieftains. Compared to the petty robbers hiding in corners of the empire, these horsemen were far fiercer. They moved like the wind, their hideouts were elusive, and the authorities found them nearly impossible to capture. Their cavalry skills and cunning were far superior to ordinary outlaws. Among the four bandit leaders present, not all fit the image of rough, brawny men. One man, around thirty years old, had a fair complexion and a refined, scholarly appearance. Dressed in elegant green robes, he gently twirled a finely carved sheep-fat jade pendant between his thumb and index finger. He smiled silently, more aristocratic than any noble scholar.
Beside him sat a rotund man with dark skin, his expression oddly comical. At his hips, resting on either side, were two axes—one a Xuānhuà broadaxe, the other a golden sparrow cleaver. He said nothing, his grin giving him a strangely endearing air.
The other two leaders fit the image of horse bandits more appropriately. Their arms were as thick as a woman’s thighs, and even a slight flex sent bulging muscles rippling. One of them, a middle-aged man with a scar splitting his face in half, pounded his golden-sheathed saber resting across his knees and declared loudly, “Brother Xiao, though this deal was introduced by Song Dia’er, we must be clear on how the spoils are divided. If we don’t settle this now, once the job’s done and the silver isn’t split fairly, we’ll end up fighting among ourselves. That’s not worth it.”
Across from him sat Xiao Qiang, the second-in-command of the Yulong Gang. As the man spoke, spittle flying from his mouth and the stench of stale meat wafting toward him, Xiao Qiang merely furrowed his brow slightly. He exchanged a knowing glance with the scholarly-looking bandit before nodding with a smile.
“Brother Wei, you speak plainly, and rightly so. The goods come from the former arms inspector’s estate in Lingshou. They have connections in Liuxia City and could sell it for thirty-five thousand taels. But for us, we’d be lucky to get twenty-five thousand. Adding in the three thousand from the son of the Zidao Pass deputy commander, we’ll call it twenty-five thousand. Divided among five of us, that’s five thousand each. But I must confess—I won’t be waiting for the goods to be sold. I need to take my share now and return to Beiliang. However, each of you has brought your men along, and I wouldn’t dare to sit as an equal. I’ll take only four thousand taels. What do you think?”
The four bandits conferred briefly, then nodded in agreement, their smiles growing more genuine. After all, few were willing to take less. And without Xiao Qiang’s inside help and Song Dia’er’s connections, they wouldn’t have been able to assemble a group of a hundred riders.
Who wouldn’t dream of leading a hundred horsemen across the borderlands?
But a hundred riders meant a hundred horses—no easy feat. Though wild horses roamed the deserts, even if one stumbled upon a herd of hundreds, taming them into battle-ready steeds was another matter entirely. A horse bandit needed strong, well-trained horses. A horse that shied at the sound of battle or panicked easily was worse than useless. Who in their right mind would charge into battle on such a beast? That was suicide.
Thus, any bandit who understood horse breeding and training was treated like royalty. Buying horses legally in the markets of Beiliang or Beiman required registration with the authorities—an unthinkable risk. Smuggling was equally dangerous, punishable by death. And feeding a hundred men meant feeding nearly two hundred mouths—meat, wine, and regular visits to brothels to keep tempers in check. Managing all that required serious skill.
Hence, in the bandit world, whether leading a mighty horde or a ragged band, any chieftain worth his salt could easily serve as a general in either Beiliang or Beiman.
Song Dia’er, the scholarly-looking bandit, spoke little. He had brought thirty-four riders, the most among the four. Though his force was only middling in strength, his name was well known. Born to a minor noble family in Beiman, he had studied diligently for years, finally earning his degree—only for his fat, greedy older brother to steal it from him. Enraged, Song Dia’er killed both his brother and father, fled with two women who had once been his stepmothers and a chest of gold and silver, and became a horse bandit. Surprisingly, he thrived in this brutal land. Cunning and ruthless, he had wiped out entire bands that crossed him. Though he could easily raise fifty or even seventy men, he kept his force at exactly thirty-six. The three men at his side were among the most vicious, but even together, they could not challenge him without great cost. This was why Xiao Qiang had chosen to betray the Yulong Gang.
The two had met in Lingshou, where Song Dia’er, though a bandit, still carried himself like a scholar. During a tour of Beiliang’s scenery, he had met Xiao Qiang, a swordsman of no small skill. The two had formed a bond despite their age difference. Song Dia’er was especially close to Xiao Qiang’s son, Xiao Ling, who had little interest in martial arts but loved books. In the Yulong Gang, Xiao Ling had always felt out of place, but with Song Dia’er, he found a kindred spirit.
Xiao Qiang had originally hoped Song Dia’er would protect him on the journey out of Lingshou, but the events at Zidao Pass changed everything. Song Dia’er, ever perceptive, had struck at Xiao Qiang’s weakness. He subtly suggested that Xiao Ling, with his talents, would make a far better leader than the current heir, Liu Niran. At first, Xiao Qiang had hesitated, torn between loyalty and ambition. But each day he looked at Liu Niran’s cold, unfamiliar face, his resentment grew. When he finally saw Song Dia’er, disguised as a common bandit, signal him with a secret gesture, Xiao Qiang made his decision. Liu Niran, the goods, none of it mattered compared to his son’s future.
Besides, under Xiao Ling’s leadership, with his sharp mind and wide connections, the Yulong Gang would surely rise again. It would be a fitting tribute to the old, stubborn leader who had built the gang but failed to protect it.
The martial world must be left to the young. Old men clinging to power were like clogged toilets—useless. Liu Niran was too soft-hearted, and being a woman, she could never lead. If she married, the Yulong Gang would become her dowry! Not only Xiao Qiang, but all the retired elders would lose heart.
As these thoughts raced through Xiao Qiang’s mind, his resolve hardened. He smiled, “The Yulong Gang has about thirty members. Excluding Liu Niran and the guest warrior Gongsun Yang, their martial strength is weak. Gongsun is skilled in rapid archery, which could harm your riders. But I will kill him myself when the chaos begins.”
Song Dia’er gently held his jade pendant and spoke softly, “We don’t need to rush. For the next few days, we’ll send small groups to harass them, wearing them down. Then I’ll give you some poison to slip into their food. It’s not essential, but if it works, all the better. One hundred riders against thirty? It’ll be a hunt. If they were a major caravan, they might know how to form a defensive line. But with only one cart, even a master strategist couldn’t save them. Poor luck, I suppose.”
The other three leaders exchanged glances, a chill creeping into their eyes.
Song Dia’er suddenly added, “Oh, and the Yulong Gang has about a dozen trained horses. I don’t want them—distribute them among yourselves. But Liu Niran is mine. No discussion.”
The black-bearded, axe-wielding man raised his thumb and grinned, “Brother Song, you truly are a scholar. You love the Rivers and mountains, not the Beauty. Respect!”
The other two rugged men smirked knowingly. In the borderlands, good horses were worth a hundred times more than parents.
When Xiao Qiang looked at Song Dia’er, the latter smiled. They understood each other. Xiao Qiang relaxed, knowing that with Song Dia’er’s cunning, even if Liu Niran survived, she would never return to Lingshou to threaten his son. Song Dia’er prided himself on mastering the hearts of men, and indeed, he had once executed a similar fate. One of the two women who had fled with him had grown jealous of a younger girl he had taken, and had her killed by his men. In front of all his women, he had forced open her mouth with his bare hands and poured poisoned wine down her throat. Her two maids, once enjoying a modest life in the chaos of the borderlands, were handed over to his men for cruel amusement. Within a day, one had gone mad, the other bit her tongue and died.
The other three were no better. In a world of war and chaos, only the ruthless could survive. Those without the will to cut down enemies root and branch, without the strength to sacrifice even their closest, would be crushed underfoot.
The black-bearded man, nicknamed Li Heita, wielded twin axes with only three effective strikes. But if his opponent survived those, he would simply repeat the same three moves with brute force, overwhelming them. Though he betrayed his comrades more readily than anyone, he had once loved truly—his wife. When his enemy captured her and threatened him, he refused. She was violated and killed, her corpse hung like meat outside his camp. Li Heita took revenge, burning his enemy’s entire family alive over a fire, the enemy leader last of all, watching his wife and children die before him, dying of rage.
Thus, in this world, survival meant living by the blade. The hardships and bitterness were beyond imagining. Each man was a villain to the core, yet to someone, they were heroes—true men of the jianghu.
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