Chapter 68: The Tiger's Waist

After the battle.

Liu Chengzong lay on the ground, the sweat behind his ears soaking into the earth. Sunlight shone through his closed eyelids, warm and tinged with red. He had fought from start to finish, and while adrenaline kept him going during the fight, now that it was over, he was too exhausted to even speak.

“Brother Chengzong.”

Liu Guoneng approached, holding a large ceramic bowl, blocking out the sun with an apologetic smile. “Have some water.”

“Get lost! You’re a real bastard.” Liu Chengzong sat up angrily, pointing at Liu Guoneng. “How could you trust me so much? If you’d brought two more fighters, I wouldn’t be this worn out!”

“Just drink.” Liu Guoneng kept up his ingratiating smile, knowing he’d made a mistake. At the time, he’d noticed from the hillside that there weren’t many enemies on Liu Chengzong’s side, so he’d hurried to block the government troops from escaping elsewhere. He hadn’t expected all the soldiers to charge toward the side with fewer defenders. Nor had he imagined Liu Chengzong would be so formidable—single-handedly taking down half a squad. What impressed Liu Guoneng most was how adept Liu Chengzong was with any weapon; give him anything, and it became a deadly tool in his hands, like a god of war.

“You owe me a new set of clothes,” Liu Chengzong grumbled.

“I’ll pay you back. When this is over, I’ll send for a tailor in the city to make you four sets—spring, summer, autumn, and winter—all with the best materials. Satisfied, mighty general? Here, drink up—there’s salt and sugar in it.”

After a few more gentle words, Liu Chengzong finally took the ceramic bowl, drinking it down in great gulps. There was nothing more refreshing after sweating so much.

Setting the bowl aside, he asked, “Those six guards—did you get anything out of them?”

Liu Guoneng replied grimly, “Centurion Yang is still interrogating them. It seems they really are government troops from the south, under a commander named Chen. They chased Wang Zuogua’s broken forces into these mountains and got lost.”

“How coincidental. I think I’ve heard of this Commander Chen.” Liu Chengzong thought back. His uncle had mentioned that name. When Wang Zuogua attacked Sanyuan and pillaged Yunyang, the government troops stayed put in their camp, watching loyal local militia fight the bandits. The commander of that camp had been a man named Chen.

What did they call that? When the upper beam is crooked, the lower beam will be slanted.

Seeing Liu Guoneng’s troubled face and the villagers’ worried expressions, Liu Chengzong said, “What’s there to think about? First, find out if anyone knows these soldiers are here. If not, dig a pit in the mountains and bury them. Tell the villagers not to hold funerals. If any relatives come looking, just say they fled elsewhere to escape disaster. Treat it as if nothing happened.”

“We can’t report this to the authorities?” At these words, Liu Chengzong got up and headed toward the mountain, calling back, “Go ahead, but remember—if you do, say you killed those men, Liu Guoneng. I was never here.”

Li Wanquing, who had been resting nearby, scrambled to his feet and protested, “How can you be like this? We helped you fight the bandits, and now you’d bring trouble on us by reporting it? Damn, I’m taking those swords with me, I don’t care.” With that, he stripped off his shirt, donned a guard’s mail coat, stuffed five or six sabers under his arm, and ran after Liu Chengzong, shouting, “Wait for me, general! Wait for me!”

Yang Yanchang, watching them leave, sighed to Liu Guoneng, “You know he has rebellious intentions, yet you still talk about reporting to the authorities. If he hadn’t been here today, how many villagers would have died? If you must report, put the blame on me—don’t get those two in trouble.”

After being scolded in turns by all three, Liu Guoneng looked at their departing backs, puzzled. “All I said was to report it—how did it suddenly become my fault? Why are they so agitated?”

Once Liu Guoneng had settled matters in the village, Liu Chengzong and Li Wanquing went up the mountain to gather their belongings and then rode off together, leaving Nanjiashan behind. Before leaving, Li Wanquing didn’t forget to roll up the food and wine on the table to take with him.

At the mountain pass, Li Wanquing said, “Brother General, why don’t you come visit my place? During lunch, I thought you had the right idea—it’s time to train the men.” He thumped his chest. “More than two hundred tax evaders—thanks to you, we’re not short of food for now, but we can’t just sit around forever. If you’re willing to lead us, we’ll fight whoever you say.”

Liu Chengzong thought to himself, since his original plan was to turn bandit after robbing Wang Manor, going to Li Wanquing’s place might not be a bad idea. He smiled, “You’ll fight whoever I choose, Li Bei? Are you sure?”

Li Wanquing hesitated, then said, “Everyone’s afraid of Li Bei, but I’m not. Worst case, I’ll bet my life on it.” He gestured at Liu Chengzong. “As long as you dare, I’ll follow you.”

Liu Chengzong laughed. Li Wanquing was genuine, just as he’d been in the village. He must have struggled with himself before coming—perhaps only intending to deliver a warning, wanting Liu Chengzong to flee when the government troops arrived. But when Liu Chengzong stayed, so did he, gritting his teeth and fighting. Simple-minded, uneducated, loyal, and indecisive—these flaws could be remedied with time and learning. But loyalty, in times like these, could never be cultivated—it only eroded away with hardship. Cruel times might strip a loyal man of his loyalty, but never make a disloyal man steadfast.

He was more likable than Chuang Tatian.

Liu Chengzong said, “There are guests at my place. Why not come with me for now? In a few days, I’ll go back with you and spend some time at your camp.”

Li Wanquing laughed heartily, patting the weapons bundled in his clothes on the horse’s back. “All right! I’ll put these things away, tell the others to mind their own business, and then come with you.”

Li Wanquing was a typical refugee leader—making a name for himself with the authorities in two days, then spending another two days racking up achievements for the record. But in the end, character is proven in times of crisis. If nothing had happened at Nanjiashan, if they’d just shared a meal, Liu Chengzong might have preferred the scholarly Liu Guoneng. But after facing danger together, things were different.

The two of them made a detour to Laohuyao, a barren mountain ravine where a few dozen tax-evading families had taken over abandoned caves. Each family had a small patch of land, though sunlight rarely reached the valley floor; most seeds planted there failed to sprout and had to be dug up again in autumn. It was both a refugee camp and a bandit den, with Li Wanquing as their leader.

He first took Liu Chengzong home to pay respects to his lame father, Old Hunter Li, and coaxed his goiter-afflicted younger brother. Only then did he emerge, looking every bit the local kingpin. Along the way, he picked out five young men, handing each a saber with great pride. “We’re poor here,” he said to Liu Chengzong, “and weapons are hard-earned—swords, spears, bows, and crossbows, just over fifty in total. But with proper training, we’ll be no worse than Chuang Tatian’s men.”

So, they lacked instructors.

Liu Chengzong asked, “Will your men obey my orders?”

“They will! Don’t worry, we may be poor, but we know what’s what.”

“That’s good enough,” Liu Chengzong thought. Heilong Mountain lacked everything except instructors—his uncle could recite entire military training manuals by heart.