8: Chapter 8 The Night Before the Battle

The shrill whistle of arrows piercing the air mingled with the The Scarred Man's roar.

He Shan's arrow was as fast as a shooting star, but just three inches before it reached the throat, it was knocked away by a Ghost-Head Saber that suddenly swept out! With a crisp "clang," the arrow shaft shattered, and wood splinters flew everywhere.

The The Scarred Man reined in his horse and laughed wildly, "That's it?"

Before his voice had even faded, Yan Meng had already led the spear formation forward through the snow. Four men to a row, spears leveled, the tips reflecting the cold light of the torches like a row of moving iron thorns.

The Funiu Gang bandits clearly hadn't expected these mud-legged peasants to dare take the initiative and attack. The front row of riders instinctively pulled their reins, their horses rearing up and neighing while trampling wildly. The back row couldn't stop in time and crashed into them.

In that moment of chaos, Yan Meng had already charged within thirty paces.

"Thrust!"

Four spears shot out together, stabbing into the chest and belly of the nearest horse like venomous snakes. The horse shrieked miserably and collapsed, the rider rolling onto the snowy ground. Before he could get up, he was skewered through the thigh by the villagers following behind with sharpened bamboo poles, blood spraying everywhere.

The The Scarred Man's expression darkened.

"Spread out! Surround and kill them!"

The bandits were seasoned veterans after all, and they quickly stabilized after the initial confusion. Over twenty riders split into two groups to flank from the left and right. The remaining thirty-some men dismounted for foot combat, wielding sabers and axes as they charged with shouts.

He Shan fired another arrow from behind the locust tree at the village entrance, taking down a foot bandit, then shouted, "Retreat! Retreat according to plan!"

Yan Meng didn't linger in the fight; the spear formation retreated, but not in a rout. Instead, they provided mutual cover, advancing and retreating steadily. In groups of four, when the front group retreated, the rear group lunged forward to stab, always keeping the spear tips pointed outward.

The Funiu Gang foot bandits pursued urgently and ran straight into the spear formation, two of them being run through on the spot. The others faltered.

During that pause, the sound of mechanical triggers clicked from the village rooftops.

"Twang! Twang! Twang!"

Three bamboo arrows shot from different directions; though lacking power, their aim was tricky. One nailed a foot bandit's shoulder, one grazed a cheek, and the last hit a horse's rump. The horse bucked wildly in pain, throwing its rider.

Wen Qian and A-Fei each held a bamboo crossbow, lying in wait on the eastern and western rooftops. The other crossbow was in Qin Wan's hands—she had insisted on fighting, and Granny Xue couldn't stop her, so she had to let her.

Of the six arrows for the three crossbows, four were already gone.

"Reload!" Wen Qian whispered sharply, his hands as steady as a rock as he drew another bamboo arrow from his quiver and clicked it into the groove.

A-Fei's hands trembled slightly; it was his first time killing and seeing blood, and his stomach was churning. He gritted his teeth and endured, following Wen Qian's example to cock the string and aim.

Below, the bandits had already broken through the first line of the spear formation's defense.

Yan Meng led his men back into the village alleys. The alleys were narrow and difficult for horses to enter. When the foot bandits chased inside, they ran straight into the second line of defense—Zhong Tiegu leading three men with iron-wrapped clubs, guarding the alley entrance.

"Smash!"

Zhong Tiegu roared, his iron club sweeping across. The lead bandit raised his saber to parry, and the weapons collided with a loud "clang." The bandit's webbing between thumb and forefinger split, and the saber flew from his hand. The iron club's momentum didn't slow as it smashed into his ribs, the sound of breaking bones clearly audible.

The other three also swung their clubs violently. The iron-wrapped clubs were heavy and required no skill, only brute force. In the narrow alley, the Funiu Gang's numerical advantage became a disadvantage; as those in front fell, those behind were blocked, making it impossible to push through for a moment.

The The Scarred Man saw everything clearly from the village entrance, a fierce light flashing in his eyes.

"Set fire! Burn the houses! Force them out!"

Several fire arrows streaked across the night sky, thudding into the thatched roofs. The winter thatch was dry and ignited instantly; within moments, three or four houses were on fire, with thick smoke billowing.

Lu Zhao had been watching the battle from the roof of the ancestral hall. Seeing the fire, he leaped down and sprinted to Zhong Tiegu's side.

"We can't hold the alley entrance anymore," he said rapidly. "Once the smoke rises, they'll definitely flank us from both sides. Retreat to the ancestral hall and form a formation against the walls."

Zhong Tiegu nodded, smashed down a bandit with his club, and led the retreat.

Everyone retreated into the courtyard of the ancestral hall. The ancestral hall was the only brick and stone building in the village, with thick walls, sturdy doors, and a well in the courtyard. Yan Meng had already set up defenses here, with spears propped on the walls and bamboo crossbows occupying the roof.

The Funiu Gang bandits chased them to the outside of the courtyard but were blocked by the high walls. A few bandits tried to scale the walls, but as soon as their heads appeared, they were poked down by spears.

The The Scarred Man arrived on horseback and sneered at the sight.

"Surround them! I want to see how long you can hold out!"

The bandits spread out, surrounding the ancestral hall so tightly that not a drop of water could leak through. Under the light of the torches, ferocious faces flickered outside the walls, and the sounds of cursing and battering were constant.

Inside the ancestral hall, the atmosphere was oppressive.

They counted their numbers; although the engagement had been brief, three were already heavily wounded and five lightly injured. The heavily wounded lay in a corner of the hall, while Granny Xue used Mafei Soup to dull their pain and applied medicine and bandages. The smell of blood mingled with the smoke, permeating the air.

He Shan had only five arrows left in his quiver. Two of Yan Meng's spears were broken. Zhong Tiegu's iron-wrapped club had a chip in it.

Meanwhile, outside the walls, at least fifty bandits were still in fighting shape.

"They won't attack head-on," Lu Zhao looked around at everyone. "They'll besiege us without fighting, waiting until we run out of food and water, or until the fire spreads here."

"Then what do we do?" a man's voice trembled. "It's death if we charge out, and it's death if we stay here..."

"Shut up!" Yan Meng barked. "We're not at a dead end yet."

Even so, the hand he used to grip his spear was trembling slightly.

Lu Zhao walked into the main hall of the ancestral hall. Inside, the memorial tablets of the ancestors of Yangjiao Ravine were enshrined, with candlelight flickering. He reached out, took down an oil lamp, and walked back into the courtyard.

"Brother He," he said. "Is there a drainage ditch outside the back wall of the ancestral hall?"

He Shan was startled, then his eyes lit up: "There is! It leads to the mountain stream behind. It was dug years ago to guard against bandits, then abandoned, but the channel is still there."

"How wide?"

"Two people can pass side-by-side." He Shan lowered his voice. "Are you thinking of..."

"Not a breakout," Lu Zhao shook his head. "A surprise attack."

He crouched down and used the lamp oil to draw a simple diagram on the ground.

"The bandits are surrounding the hall, focusing all their attention on the front gate and the sides. The area outside the back wall is a steep slope, so they won't guard it heavily. We'll split into three groups: one for a frontal feint to draw attention; one to sneak out through the drainage ditch and circle to their flank and rear to set fires; the third group..."

He paused.

"Will go straight for the The Scarred Man."

Everyone looked at each other.

"How?" Yan Meng asked. "That fellow has at least ten guards around him, and they're on horseback. Charging in is just suicide."

"That's why we need chaos," Lu Zhao said. "When the fire starts, the bandits will surely panic. Amidst the chaos, Brother He will use Chain Arrows to shoot his mount, forcing him to dismount. I'll take two men for a close-range surprise attack. As long as we kill the leader, the rest will be like a dragon without a head, and they might retreat."

"Too risky," Zhong Tiegu shook his head. "If we fail..."

"Staying here is also waiting for death." Lu Zhao looked up, his gaze sweeping over everyone. "Take a gamble, and there might be a way to live. If we don't gamble, it's certain death."

A deathly silence fell over the ancestral hall. Only the shouting outside the walls, the groans of the wounded, and the crackling of the burning houses in the distance could be heard.

After a long time, He Shan was the first to speak.

"I'll go with you."

Yan Meng let out a heavy breath: "Count me in."

Zhong Tiegu gripped his iron club tightly: "I also..."

"You have to stay," Lu Zhao interrupted him. "The frontal feint needs someone to take charge. You have a loud voice; you can intimidate them."

Zhong Tiegu wanted to argue further, but Lu Zhao had already stood up to assign tasks.

"Feint group: Zhong Tiegu will lead ten men, using everything that can make noise—copper basins, iron buckets, firecrackers—to create the illusion of a large-scale breakout. Sneak-out group: He Shan will take three men through the drainage ditch to circle to the east side and set fires. Surprise attack group: myself, Yan Meng, plus two others."

He paused and looked at Master Wen, who had been silent: "Master Wen, you take A-Fei and Qin Wan and guard the roof with bamboo crossbows to provide cover. Remember, only shoot the most threatening targets."

Master Wen nodded heavily.

"Also," Lu Zhao took a small bottle from his robe and handed it to Granny Xue. "This is concentrated Mafei Powder liquid. Coat the arrowheads with it. Those hit won't die, but they will fall unconscious."

Granny Xue took it, her hands trembling slightly, yet she held it firmly.

With everything arranged, Lu Zhao walked to the back wall of the ancestral hall. Sure enough, there was a hidden door on the wall, sealed with wooden boards and covered in dust. He Shan and his men pried it open, revealing the pitch-black channel.

The ditch was damp and smelled of decaying earth. It was about four feet wide and less than five feet high, requiring one to stoop while moving.

He Shan was the first to crawl in, and the other three followed. Soon, their figures disappeared into the darkness.

Lu Zhao retreated to the courtyard and looked at the remaining people.

Sixteen pairs of eyes were watching him. There was fear, determination, bewilderment, and a kind of almost numb calm.

He took a deep breath.

"Everyone," he spoke, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching everyone's ears. "This battle is not for victory, but for survival. If you survive, I will teach you... real skills to make a living and secure your place in the world."

No one responded. But everyone's backs straightened a bit instinctively.

Zhong Tiegu picked up a copper gong and raised an iron hammer.

"Get ready—"

Everyone in the courtyard tightened their grip on their crude weapons. Spears, wood-cutting knives, iron clubs, bamboo spears, and even rakes.

Lu Zhao and Yan Meng exchanged a glance and nodded slightly.

"Clang—!!!"

The copper gong boomed, its sound shaking the night sky.

Almost simultaneously, the front gate of the ancestral hall burst open!

Zhong Tiegu led the charge, brandishing his iron club as he rushed out. The ten men behind him shouted in unison, banging on copper basins and iron buckets, creating a terrifying noise.

The bandits outside the walls were indeed drawn in, shouting as they gathered around.

"Fire!" Master Wen shouted urgently from the roof.

Three bamboo arrows shot out; though they didn't hit anyone, they caused the bandits to falter.

In that instant, from the hidden door in the back wall of the ancestral hall, Lu Zhao and Yan Meng led two sturdy men and quietly slipped out, sticking to the shadows of the wall base as they sprinted eastward.

The eastern side was the weak point of the bandits' encirclement, with only seven or eight men guarding it. Two of them were looking up at the commotion at the front gate; before they could react, Lu Zhao had closed in, his short blade slashing across their throats.

Yan Meng and the other two struck at the same time, quickly dealing with the remaining guards.

The four changed their clothes, picked up torches, and blended into the crowd of bandits.

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

At this moment, the sound of battle roared at the front gate.

Zhong Tiegu led his men in a feigned breakout, engaging the bandits in close-quarters combat.

He swung his iron rod with such force that it whistled, carving a bloody path, yet he deliberately chose not to break through, instead entangling the enemy at the entrance.

The bandits gathered in increasing numbers.

The The Scarred Man was also drawn over, and surrounded by a dozen personal guards, he reined in his horse to observe the battle.

"A bunch of trash!" he cursed.

"Dozens of men can't take down a dozen mud-legged peasants?"

Before his words had faded, a blaze suddenly shot into the sky on the east side!

He Shan had led his men to set fire to several empty houses at the village entrance.

The fire caught the wind and spread rapidly.

Thick smoke billowed out, obscuring vision.

"What is going on?!" the The Scarred Man barked.

"A fire started in the east!" someone exclaimed.

"Fight the fire? Or…"

The bandits were in a flurry.

Some wanted to fight the fire, others wanted to continue the siege, and their formation fell into slight disarray.

Now is the time!

Lu Zhao, hidden among the bandits, hardened his gaze and signaled to Yan Meng.

Yan Meng understood and suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs: "Oh no! There are also ambushers on the west side!"

This shout used the sheer force of a military command, making it exceptionally piercing amidst the chaos.

Many bandits instinctively turned their heads to look west.

The The Scarred Man was also stunned.

In the moment of his Divided Soul—on the roof of the ancestral hall, He Shan, who had been waiting with focused intent, released his bowstring with a thunderous twang!

It was not one arrow, but three!

Using the Linked Arrow technique, the three arrows followed one after another like a meteor chasing the moon, flying straight at the mount beneath the The Scarred Man.

The first arrow struck the horse's eye, the second the horse's neck, and the third the horse's belly!

The horse neighed in agony and reared up, throwing the The Scarred Man from its back.

His personal guards rushed to help him, and the formation fell into utter chaos.

Lu Zhao moved.

His figure like an arrow, he darted out from the crowd with his short blade in hand, lunging straight toward where the The Scarred Man had landed.

Two personal guards swung their blades to intercept him.

Lu Zhao did not dodge or retreat; he reached out with his left hand, seized one man's wrist, twisted it, snatched his blade, and threw it, striking the other man square in the face.

Simultaneously, he swept his right leg, kicking the man he had disarmed into the air.

His movements were as fast as lightning, and in an instant, he was before the The Scarred Man.

The The Scarred Man had just scrambled to his feet when he saw cold light flashing toward his face and raised his blade in terror to block.

"Clang!"

The blades collided, sparks flying.

The The Scarred Man felt a surge of scorching force travel along the blade, numbing his arm.

He was terrified—this mud-legged peasant actually possessed Internal Energy?!

Lu Zhao was even more shocked.

That strike had utilized thirty percent of his True Qi from the Nine Yang Divine Skill, yet it had only numbed the opponent's arm.

This The Scarred Man's cultivation was not weak!

The two exchanged blade strikes again, clashing seven or eight times in a blink.

The The Scarred Man's swordplay was ferocious, heavy, and powerful, while Lu Zhao relied on his agile footwork and the extreme Yang and rigidity of the Nine Yang True Qi to barely hold his own.

But the surrounding personal guards had recovered, and four or five blades came slashing down simultaneously.

Lu Zhao inwardly cursed, preparing to retreat, when a figure crashed into the fray from the side.

It was Yan Meng.

Holding a broken spear, he stabbed and swept with reckless abandon, forcing back two personal guards.

The other two were entangled by the villagers who arrived shortly after.

"End this quickly!" Yan Meng roared.

Lu Zhao gritted his teeth, the purple Qi in his Dantian surging wildly and pouring entirely into the short blade in his right hand.

The blade began to emit a faint golden-red glow, nearly imperceptible under the firelight, yet it radiated a scorching heat.

The The Scarred Man's expression changed drastically: "You…"

Before he could finish, Lu Zhao slashed down.

This strike had no flourishes, only speed and power.

The blade cut through the air, emitting a sharp whistle.

The The Scarred Man raised his blade to block it head-on.

"Clang—!!!"

The deafening sound was like a bell tolling.

The Ghost-Head Saber in the The Scarred Man's hand was actually cleaved with a deep notch; the webbing between his thumb and index finger split open, dripping blood.

He staggered back, his eyes filled with disbelief.

Lu Zhao did not let up, stepping forward and thrusting the short blade directly at the man's heart.

The The Scarred Man gritted his teeth and turned sideways; the blade grazed his ribs, carving out a bloody gash.

He let out a pained roar, swung his blade back in a horizontal sweep to force Lu Zhao to retreat, and then shouted sharply:

"Retreat! Withdraw first!!"

The personal guards, as if granted amnesty, protected him as they retreated outside the village.

The remaining bandits, seeing their leader defeated and retreating, had no heart left to fight and scattered back.

Zhong Tiegu led his men out from the ancestral hall, pursuing them closely.

The bandits collapsed, leaving behind a dozen corpses as they fled in panic into the mountains.

The fire was still burning, but the snow fell heavier and heavier, gradually suppressing the flames.

On the open ground in front of the ancestral hall, corpses and the wounded lay scattered about.

The snow, stained red with blood, was being covered by fresh snow.

Lu Zhao leaned on his blade, panting, his arms trembling slightly.

That full-power strike just now had drained most of his True Qi; his Dantian felt empty, and his vision was going black.

Yan Meng supported him: "Are you alright?"

Lu Zhao shook his head and looked around.

The survivors of Yangjiao Ravine emerged one after another from the ancestral hall and their hiding places.

Everyone was covered in blood—some from the enemy, some their own.

He Shan returned with the three members of the stealth team; they were all covered in dirt and grime, but their eyes shone with the light of having survived a catastrophe.

Wen Qian and A-Fei climbed down from the roof, and Qin Wan supported Granny Xue as they walked out of the ancestral hall.

Zhong Tiegu counted the number of people.

There were eleven left who could still fight.

Five were severely wounded, and almost everyone had sustained light injuries.

But the Funiu Gang had retreated.

At least for tonight, they had retreated.

The snow grew heavier, burying the stench of blood and the firelight beneath a pure white blanket.

Everyone silently cleaned up the battlefield.

They carried their own wounded into the ancestral hall for treatment and dragged the bandits' corpses outside the village to be buried.

The burning houses could no longer be saved; they could only wait for the fire to burn itself out.

Lu Zhao sat on the threshold of the ancestral hall, watching all this.

His Lingtai suddenly cleared.

A message appeared:

[Destiny achieved: First battle victory]

[Defeated the strong with the weak, repelled the Funiu Gang vanguard, temporarily secured the village.]

[Lingtai opened on its own, received the method of "Martial Art Enlightenment" — can guide Qi and blood to awaken the wisdom root of mortal martial arts.]

He closed his eyes, feeling the wisp of purple Qi in his Dantian slowly recovering; as it circulated, it seemed to have grown a fraction stronger.

Footsteps came from behind.

Zhong Tiegu walked over, sat down beside him, and handed him a ladle of water.

"Drink some."

Lu Zhao took it and drank it all in one gulp.

The water was cold, making him shiver.

"What do we do next?" Zhong Tiegu asked, his voice hoarse.

"The Funiu Gang has suffered a loss and won't let it go. By tomorrow at the latest, their main force will surely arrive."

Lu Zhao did not answer immediately.

He watched the snowflakes drifting in the night sky and suddenly asked:

"Brother Zhong, you say iron must be tempered a thousand times to become steel."

"Yes."

"Is it the same for people?"

Zhong Tiegu was stunned, then immediately understood what he meant and nodded heavily.

"Yes."

Lu Zhao stood up and walked into the courtyard of the ancestral hall.

The survivors were all gathered here, some sitting, some standing, looking at him in silence.

"We won tonight." He began, his voice not loud, but it carried across the courtyard.

"But this was only the first battle. The Funiu Gang will not give up, and the Liu Family is watching like a tiger. In this world, there is no place of peace."

The crowd remained silent.

"If you want to survive, risking your life alone is not enough," Lu Zhao continued.

"You must have real skills. Starting tomorrow, I will teach everyone martial arts."

A stir ran through the crowd.

"Martial arts?" someone hesitated.

"We don't have Spiritual Roots…"

"We aren't cultivating immortality, just martial arts," Lu Zhao said.

"Train your muscles and bones, train your Qi and blood, and train to keep a breath of air in your chest that never dissipates. Train until, when you have a blade in your hand, you dare to strike at anyone who oppresses you."

He paused.

"Those who are willing to learn, stay. Those who are not, do as you please."

No one moved.

After a long while, He Shan was the first to step forward.

"I'll learn."

Yan Meng followed: "Count me in."

Zhong Tiegu grinned: "Hands used to forging iron are perfect for practicing fist techniques."

Wen Qian, Qin Wan, A-Fei… one after another, they stood out.

Finally, even Old Sun, leaning on his cane, trembled as he moved half a step forward.

"I… I'll learn too. My legs are ruined, but my hands can still move."

Lu Zhao looked at these faces and suddenly felt something surging in his chest.

He took a deep breath.

"Good."

"Then from now on, there are no hunters, blacksmiths, herb gatherers, or teachers in Yangjiao Ravine."

"There are only Martial Artists."

The night was deep, and the snow fell without a sound.

The ancestral hall was brightly lit by candles, reflecting the faint light that had reignited in everyone's eyes.

Meanwhile, in the study of the Liu Family mansion in Black Mountain City, Liu Three-Knives toyed with the blood-stained map in his hand, listening to a subordinate's report.

"Yangjiao Ravine repelled the Funiu Gang's vanguard; over a dozen people died, and Scar-faced Li was heavily wounded and defeated."

Liu Three-Knives narrowed his triangular eyes.

"That kid… really has some skill."

He put down the map, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.

"Keep scouting. Wait until they and the Funiu Gang are both battered and exhausted, then we will make our move."

"Yes."

The subordinate retreated.

Liu Three-Knives walked to the window, gazing at the snowflakes drifting in the night sky, his lips curling into a cold sneer.

When the snipe and the clam fight, the fisherman gains.

He understood this principle.

He was determined to eat the meat that was Yangjiao Ravine.

As for that kid who could dispel the backlash… if he truly had ability, he would take him for his own use.

If he refused, then he would be buried in the snow along with Yangjiao Ravine.

He clenched his fist; the feeling of warmth in his palm was still there.

He wanted the antidote.

He also wanted their lives.

On this windy, snowy night, the human heart was colder than the snow.

In the ancestral hall of Yangjiao Ravine, Lu Zhao was using a piece of charcoal to draw the most basic diagram of Qi and blood circulation on the floor.

The first lesson began with understanding one's own body.

From tonight on, this group of people who had always faced the loess and turned their backs to the sky would embark on a path that no one had ever walked before.

The path of Martial Arts.

In the dead of night, as Lu Zhao was explaining the key points of Qi and blood, the door of the ancestral hall was suddenly pushed open.

Old Mo stood in the doorway, covered in snow, and pulled several rusted metal shards from his tattered bag, rasping: "These things might be of some use."