“Scared? Move it, idiot!” the crooked-nosed man barked. “You just caught me off guard last time, got it? Hey! Someone, give him a wooden sword!”

  “A wooden one? So, they still can’t kill me?” thought Zhang Min. “Perfect.”

  “You’re a thief! You stole my sword and got what you deserved,” he pointed at the loudmouthed bandit.

  “What? Shut your lying mouth!” the crooked-nosed man glanced around at the onlookers. “Don’t wanna come here? Fine, I’ll come to you!”

  “Oh!” when the man came within three paces, Zhang Min bowed deeply to the empty space behind him. “Long life to captain Tan Gui!” he shouted loudly.

  “What—?” The crooked-nosed man turned his head just in time to take a crushing blow to the jaw. He dropped like a post, a thin stream of drool spilling from his open mouth.

  A dead silence fell before the barrack. Only the rustle of the forest, the creak of the old roof, and the chirping of crickets could be heard. The bandits’ crooked grins froze on their faces, none of them had expected such a turn of events. Meanwhile, Zhang Min bent down, picked up the stick that had fallen from the man’s hands, and swung it a few times through the air, testing the weight.

  “Trickery! Coward’s trick!” the crowd finally came to life, shouting at the top of their lungs.

  “Ha-ha-ha, old Lun kicked an iron wall!” some jeered, looking at the unconscious man.

  “How dare you use your dog’s mouth to speak the captain’s name?” others shouted angrily. “You’re too insolent, rookie!”

  “What are you standing for? Hit him! Or are you ready to lose all your face?” yelled a third group.

  The noise drew even more people, and another brawl nearly broke out. Fights weren’t rare here, but this one, a newcomer challenging an established bandit, stirred up every hot-headed man in sight. Zhang Min began to suspect they’d all just gang up and beat him senseless, but instead, no one interfered. A wide circle formed around him and the man with the braid an impromptu arena. The people wanted a show. The newcomer’s first real fight had caught everyone’s attention.

  “Ha-ha-ha! Well done, Brother Min!” shouted the shaggy Lao Yu, raising his gourd flask high. His wine-reddened eyes scanned the crowd. “The rookie’s one of us now! I want to see a fair fight!”

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  “That’s right, that’s right!” echoed a bald man who looked like a destitute monk.

  “Good thing I shared that wine with him. At least someone’s on my side, that’s already progress,” thought Zhang Min. “In the future, I’ll have to pour even more into that bottomless gourd.”

  Meanwhile, the fighter with the braid felt humiliated. His jaw clenched, brows furrowed into a single angry line. Without warning, he lunged at Zhang Min, swinging for his hands to knock the stick away. But he missed. Their wooden weapons collided with a thunderous crack, and a furious exchange began.

  “That’s it!” the crowd roared in excitement. “Hit him harder! Smash his head! I want blood! Finish the bastard!” It was impossible to tell whom they were cheering for.

  The bandit pressed forward, showing his seasoned combat experience, while Zhang Min gave ground, barely parrying or dodging in time. From time to time, the opponent’s wooden blade struck home, biting into flesh, but Zhang Min refused to yield to the pain. He kept moving constantly, never letting any single hit land cleanly enough to finish him. The bandit grew angry, made mistakes, the newcomer’s endurance and defiance infuriated him. With a real sword, he would have won long ago.

  In the midst of the duel, Zhang Min suddenly dived low, sweeping the man’s legs and sending him sprawling, but the spectators immediately pulled them apart, shouting about breaking the rules. The fight was supposed to stay on their feet, a rough imitation of a formal sword duel. After a long exchange of blows, both were bruised and battered. The bandit with the braid was gasping for air, his chest heaving, while blood ran from Zhang Min’s forehead, blinding one eye and dripping to the ground. Two fingers on his left hand and part of his forearm were completely numb, as if severed, yet he fought on.

  “Ooooh!” the sight of blood drove the crowd into a frenzy, like a pack of starving wolves. They shouted over one another, howled and jeered; eyes that had once been dull and lifeless now burned with sudden interest.

  Zhang Min may have lacked skill and experience, but physically, he outmatched opponent in every way. His endurance proved greater, and soon the tide turned. When the braided bandit finally ran out of breath, Zhang Min swung wide, knocking the weapon from his hands. The next strike smashed straight toward his face. The man dodged, stumbled, and took a kick to the ribs, bending double just in time to meet Zhang Min’s knee with his jaw.

  “Enough!” a familiar voice thundered behind the crowd. “Break it up!”

  The bandits stepped aside, letting a broad-shouldered man in his forties pass through. Several others grabbed Zhang Min by the arms, forcing him to his knees. The crowd went quiet at once. Lao Yu slipped back into the barrack; Lin Bo pretended to be invisible and tried to vanish behind others’ backs. The friend of the crooked-nosed man staggered to feet, using wooden sword for support, and wiped the blood from his broken face.

  “If those swords were real, I would’ve…” he began.

  “Silence,” Mo Dushi ordered curtly, his eyes sweeping over the scene. “Take the rookie with me. He’s to receive ten lashes with the staff. And take that one too,” he pointed at the crooked-nosed man still drooling on the ground. “That’s enough. Disperse!”