Chapter Seventeen: Gathering of the Ancient Sage

They did not clear away the corpses in and around the village; they didn't even dare to have a proper meal. Once they had tidied up the battlefield, they pushed seventeen heavy carts into the mountain valley and resumed their long journey.

From then on, no one rode horses. The seventeen severely overloaded carts were harnessed to the warhorses, slowing the entire group even further.

Liu Chengzong and his companions felt deeply conflicted about the local authorities. On the one hand, most of them hoped the government still maintained enough control over its territory; on the other, they dreaded running into garrison troops dispatched from the towns to quell uprisings.

The result was that, whether they encountered government troops or not, they were always ill at ease.

Horsepower alone could not budge the heavy carts. By nightfall, they finally reached a village called Lao Jun Market. Everyone was rubbing their rope-burned shoulders, their bodies so weary they could muster no more strength.

“Officers, you must be tired from your journey. Please have some hot soup.” An old man from the village diligently boiled water, calling his sons to bring it to the border soldiers. His clothes were blackened by the stove smoke, and as he approached, he stooped slightly. A half-white, half-black towel lay across his shoulder. He sighed, “It's been a long time since so many people have passed through Lao Jun Market.”

In these times, soldiers were not regarded with the same warmth as in later generations. To the common folk, seeing soldiers was an ill omen, worse even than running into bandits. Only marauding rebels were considered more dreadful.

The mountain bandits were not afraid of being reported to the authorities, confident that no one would dare. They rarely killed, and sometimes, to ensure future tribute, the bandit chiefs would even mark out their territory to protect the local villages from other gangs.

Soldiers were different. Wherever they went, they demanded provisions, and if displeased, were quick to display severed heads on their saddles as trophies.

Because soldiers feared being reported to their superiors, they would leave no witnesses.

Yet the old man, the last resident of Lao Jun Market, was unafraid. He warmly called for his two sons—young lads—to chop wood and boil water, showing no lack of courage.

“Elder, I remember the market was lively just a couple of years ago. How is it—” Liu Chengzong took the steaming bowl, finding it almost too hot to hold. He quickly set it on the ground before him and asked, “Is your family the only one left in the village?”

“They’ve all gone. Only this old man remains.” The elder smiled and pointed to himself. “I was the temple caretaker at Lao Jun Temple, grew up watching over the incense offerings. Where could I possibly run? When it's time to be buried, so be it.”

“Have you been here before, Officer? Are you a local?”

“Yes, a local.” Liu Chengzong nodded, pointing south. “Have you ever been to Black Dragon King Temple Mountain, Elder?”

“Black Dragon King Temple Mountain...” The old man furrowed his brows, trying to recall. Before he could remember, one of the boys passing by with soup interjected, “Father, a few years back you went to the county seat on service for the government, passed by Black Dragon Mountain, and told me the story.”

Hearing the boy call his father “Da,” Liu Chengzong glanced over, surprised. He had assumed the two young men were the old man’s grandsons, not his sons.

Prompted by his son’s words, the old man remembered. “Yes, it’s forty li away. A few years ago, I could still do service for the court, but my legs aren’t what they used to be. Haven’t left home in years.”

Liu Chengzong sighed and nodded. “Yes, forty li—since we’ve burned your firewood, let’s eat meat together tonight.”

Forty li—forty li from home sounded close, but the walk was grueling.

They had horse meat, from the only casualty of the day’s battle—a warhorse maimed by a bandit’s blade. Unable to walk, the soldiers had to slaughter it. The bandit who struck it was a rare kind of brave.

Few dared face a charging sow, let alone a horse, which was swifter and heavier, and always accompanied by two others and a rider wielding a saber with ill intentions.

It took uncommon valor to stand up to cavalry, even with a formation nearby.

Fortunately, only forty li remained. Had they continued at this pace for another three or five days, more horses would likely have dropped dead from exhaustion.

Their spoils of war were simply too much.

The old man’s younger son, passing by Liu Chengzong, heard talk of meat for supper. His eyes lit up, and he noticed the filthy young boy nearby secretly swallowing his saliva.

But for the elder, this news brought worry. His gaze toward the soldiers grew troubled, and he withdrew to the courtyard to boil water, no longer daring to linger by Liu Chengzong’s side.

In the distance, hoofbeats echoed. Liu Chengzu, who had been setting up sentries, returned leading his horse. After greeting his men in the scattered courtyards, he approached his brother.

He sat down easily beside the fire, clearly having surveyed the terrain and posted the night watch. He picked up a stick and poked at the flames. “Have Sixteen feed the Red Flag well tonight. Tomorrow we head home.”

Liu Chengzong looked up. In the firelight, half of his brother’s face was cast in shadow, but the worry was evident. “Don’t worry, brother. Look at this village—not even a single household has suffered at the hands of bandits. They didn’t pass through here.”

“Whitewater King Er, Monk Wang of Yanchuan, Tiger the Black Fiend of Luochuan, and Purple Gold Liang are all in Yichuan. Zuo Gua, Flying Mountain Tiger, and Big Red Wolf are likely headed that way too,” he recalled the information his brother had shared at Yuhe Fort a few days prior, mentally mapping out the movements of the contemporary revolutionaries. “As for Han Chaozai in Qingyang and Zhou Dawang in Wudu, they’re still far away. Home should be safe.”

“You’ve calculated it all rather clearly,” Liu Chengzu replied with a soft laugh. “But what about Master Gao? He’s right in Ansai.”

By “Master Gao,” he meant Gao Yingxiang, who had taught the brothers practical combat and horse appraisal in the Mizhi County jail.

The brothers only knew that Gao Yingxiang had raised a force, but his reputation was small, and his numbers few. He never attacked county seats, so no one knew his current whereabouts.

Since last year, bandits, rebels, and marauders had sprung up all over northern Shaanxi like swarms of locusts. Only Gao Yingxiang was someone the Liu brothers took pains to avoid.

Partly because of past acquaintance and grievances; partly because they knew Gao Yingxiang’s troops were formidable, in a different league from the likes of White Eagle.

Mount Longwang Temple lay at the border of Qingjian, Fushi, and Ansai counties. If Gao Yingxiang was still in Ansai, their old home was not safe.

Once the thought arose, worry was inevitable.

His brother’s question left Liu Chengzong at a loss. Just then, he saw the boy carrying a kettle pass by and called out, “Hey, kid, come here. What’s your name?”

The temple caretaker’s son was startled, remembering Liu Chengzong as the one who had spoken of meat for supper. He looked left and right before pointing at himself with a grimy finger. “Officer, are you calling... me?”

Thinking he might get to eat meat, the boy’s whole being was alight with excitement. His eyes shone, and his skinny back stood ramrod straight. “Reporting to you, Officer, my name is Temple-born. My name is Chang Miaosheng!”

Liu Chengzong chuckled at the boy’s earnestness, turning to his brother. “That’s a good name. Let him have some meat, too. Miaosheng, tell me—have any bandits passed through the south these past two years?”

It was indeed a good name; it even told where the boy had been born. He looked no older than Sixteen, but was quick-witted, and knew Liu was asking about Black Dragon King Temple.

“Bandits? Officer, it’s all barren mountains around here. No wealthy families, so the bandits never come; and I haven’t heard of any trouble at Black Dragon King Temple.”

As Chang Miaosheng spoke, Liu Chengzong saw his brother rise and call for Cao Yao to serve the boy a bowl of horse meat soup. Then he turned back to Liu and said, “Tomorrow we return home. If all goes well, have the tenants and village militia bring the oxen to meet us and haul the carts back.”