Chapter 8: The Counterattack

During the journey, Hu San noticed that Zhang of the Longbow was covertly sizing him up from time to time. He deliberately adopted an utterly exhausted appearance, to the point where even traversing such a long mountain path required the chubby Lin Hu to support him.

After walking a while further, illuminated by the burning torches, Hu San took in the scene before him. His heart skipped a beat, and he cast a discreet glance at the visibly anxious Zhang of the Longbow.

His eyes flickered as he looked up at the moon, merging this place with what he remembered from his childhood. A flash of cold resolve passed through his gaze, quickly vanishing into its depths.

“Aiyo! Aiyo!”

After a few more steps, Hu San suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground, dragging Lin Hu along with him in a heap.

The gang of mountain bandits all halted. If an ordinary child had made such a commotion, they’d have booted him without hesitation. But this was Hu San, so the bandits merely exchanged looks, waiting for the Third Chieftain’s word.

During the earlier chaos, several of their horses had disappeared, so now even the Third Chieftain was on foot.

Seeing Hu San clutching his stomach and moaning, the Third Chieftain frowned and strode over, giving Lin Hu a shove aside with his foot. “What's wrong? You can’t handle this short stretch?”

“No!” Hu San replied through chattering teeth, clutching his belly and putting on a pained expression. “Must have eaten too much meat just now. My stomach feels like a raging sea, like my intestines are about to snap!”

At these words, the bandits couldn’t help but glance at one another, then, led by the Third Chieftain, burst into laughter.

“So you really are a rice bucket in your past life! If I’d known you were waiting for this, I wouldn’t have let you eat so much meat. What a waste!”

Recalling the amount of meat Hu San had consumed, the Third Chieftain and the others felt this was only natural. Otherwise, that would have been the real oddity. For a mountain village boy to encounter so much meat for the first time and then go through a fierce struggle, it was a wonder he wasn’t dead from overeating.

It was clear this stomachache was one consequence, and in a while, he’d surely have a bout of diarrhea.

“Get out of here and find a place to relieve yourself. Make sure you pick a spot downwind, so you don’t foul the air here.”

“Yes, thank you, Third Chieftain.” With a hasty reply, Hu San darted into the thicket like a scalded cat.

“That brat!” The Third Chieftain laughed and cursed, then, seeing the pale faces of the new captives, ordered the group to rest until they could continue.

Some of the bandits, also needing to relieve themselves, went to find their own spots. Even Zhang of the Longbow, who had shown no unusual signs on the road, suddenly clutched his stomach and slipped into the woods.

But which of the bandits present were not sharp-eyed? While Lin Hu and the others saw nothing strange in Zhang’s actions, to the bandits, it was a different story.

The Third Chieftain took a tiger-skin cushion from a bundle, tossed it onto a rock, and sat down with legs crossed, gazing into the woods after Hu San, thinking, “This time, it all depends on your fate.”

Deep in the forest, Zhang of the Longbow shed his previous lecherous demeanor, his expression now sharp and alert, showing no intention of relieving himself.

He checked the position of the moon, crouched, and slipped through the undergrowth, circling around until he approached Hu San’s direction.

He carefully searched for traces and found that they had been hastily disguised. Zhang let out a cold chuckle and muttered, “So, still vigilant. Pity, you ate too much. That cover-up is woefully inadequate.”

“Heh, even if you hid it well, in the eyes of a natural-born hunter like me, it’s as plain as day. You ate so much tonight—well, you’ll make a well-fed ghost. Lucky you!”

He grinned, recalling Hu San’s behavior along the way. Given Hu San’s age—eleven or twelve—Zhang of the Longbow didn’t believe he was pretending. Not just Hu San, even Zhang himself was somewhat drained by now.

To think an eleven- or twelve-year-old could endure such a fight and remain full of spirit—Zhang simply couldn’t believe it. Perhaps if it were some young warrior from the royal kingdom or the imperial dynasty, but not a boy from a mountain village.

“This is fate indeed!”

Beside a clearing at the foot of the slope, Hu San stood silently where he ought to have been grimacing from diarrhea. After checking the setup on the ground, he finally relaxed a little.

“Good thing there’s no brown bear caught in the trap, or I’d have no choice but to take on Zhang the Bandit head-on!”

Hu San had discovered this place at age nine, when it was an old hunter’s bear trap. The hunter was not from Hu San’s village and was killed by bandits when Hu San was ten. Since then, Hu San had forgotten the place, only recalling it now as he arrived and deciding to use it against Zhang the Bandit.

He found all the metal mechanisms intact, though rusted. After a bit of work, Hu San judged their power could still be about sixty percent. Some of the vines and ropes had rotted, but because the spot was sunny and concealed by forest, the metal parts were spared from rusting solid.

He tore a piece from his clothing, cut a slit with his dagger, checked the position above on the mountain, and with a sudden effort produced a loud tearing sound, simultaneously letting out a pained cry.

Finishing, he quickly moved down the slope and slipped into the pit through a hole.

When he was nine, this had been his sole playground, so he knew it well—even once having stolen the old hunter’s wine gourd from a tree. After a wave of bandit violence left many dead, he had avoided this mountain trail.

The hole had originally been for setting spikes and spears, but those were gone now, the branches rotted. Helpless, Hu San could only guard the last line himself.

Meanwhile, Zhang of the Longbow, following Hu San’s tracks, reached halfway up the slope, hesitating until he heard a tearing sound and a cry of pain. His doubts vanished.

A breeze drifted by, and Zhang sniffed the air, catching a whiff of a foul stench, which made him all the more certain of Hu San’s presence below. He didn’t realize the smell came from himself—having grown used to it, the mountain wind and his own expectations convinced him it was Hu San’s diarrhea.

With that, he hesitated no longer and rushed downslope in a straight line. In his mind, a boy in such a state would be easy prey; to avoid complications, he chose to charge headlong, crushing any resistance.

Unaware, Zhang’s foot landed on something soft. Suddenly, three iron spears swung down from the trees, their deadly points aimed straight at him.

As the wind howled, the spear tips came close. Zhang froze for a split second, cold sweat replacing the wine in his veins as fear sobered him instantly.

With no time to wonder who had set the trap, he swung his curved blade, hacking the first spear in midair. Using the momentum, he twisted aside, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow to his chest.

But before he could react further, his foot slipped again. In his shock, a steel cable whipped across, its force enough to cut a man in half if it caught him.

With no time to think, he flung off his longbow, pressed down hard, and using its springiness and his own agility, twisted aside, dodging the lethal cable.

But it wasn’t over. Though the steel cable missed him, it struck a thick tree behind him. With a thunderous crash, as if a switch had been triggered, a barricade studded with wooden spears swung down from above.

In the darkness, Zhang didn’t realize the wooden spears were completely rotten, nor did he dare block the force of the descending barricade. He swung his blade with all his might, turning his body and striking hard at the wooden structure.

A flash of steel sliced through the night—an attack that gathered all Zhang’s strength, a cut that seemed to change the very color of the world.

The decayed barricade couldn’t resist such a blow; there was a crack as the blade cut through. All seemed perfect—except this was not what Zhang had hoped for.

He felt the barricade offer almost no resistance, the blade slicing through soft, rotten wood. In the next instant, the remaining barrier crashed into him.

With a thunderous impact, Zhang tumbled down like a bowling pin, falling straight into the heart of the trap.

Dazed and battered, he felt his body momentarily weightless. A jolt from beneath knocked the wind from his lungs.

Moonlight shone down. Lying on his back at the bottom of the pit, Zhang’s vision swam with stars. He saw a shadow gathering in his field of vision—a black sword that grew larger and larger, then plunged into his chest to the hilt.

The sword was drawn out and stabbed down again. After three or five strikes, the wielder revealed himself in the pale moonlight: a boy’s tender yet determined face appeared before Zhang’s eyes, his lips curved in a seemingly harmless smile, the black sword in his hand dripping blood.

Zhang felt pain in his chest and tried to move, but his strength failed him; he could not will his body to obey, and could only close his eyes, awaiting death.

He knew this boy well—was it not Hu San?

But this scene was nothing like what he had imagined. For a moment, all he could do was stammer, “You… you… you…”

And then, he moved no more.

“Of course it’s me. This battle—I’ve won.”

Hu San’s tone was calm, but his flushed face betrayed inner turmoil. Zhang of the Longbow was the first true threat to his life he had ever faced.

Though perhaps, in the future, it might seem insignificant, for him, it would always remain an indelible memory.

His victory was a narrow one—achieved through a series of life-or-death gambles. Because of Zhang of the Longbow, Hu San’s life had been utterly transformed.