The first thing he did was share his idea with the former farmers who worked in the livestock yard, and they immediately supported it, especially Lin Bin. He volunteered to bring Zhang Min his meals from the barracks each morning, just so the man wouldn’t have to show up in front of the bandits and stir up more trouble. In return, Zhang Min would take over as night guard for the chicken coops and pigpens for ten days.

  “The less he shows up in the barracks, the better”, Lin Bin told his older brother. “No one will even notice. He’s not exactly an important person”.

  “All right. Live here if you want”, Lin Bo agreed.

  “Perfect”, Zhang Min said, patting him on the shoulder.

  Over the following days, he stayed in the pig yard, sleeping under an open shed, buried in hay. The weather was warm, the breeze carried away the unpleasant smells, and he slept far better in the open air than in the sweat-stinking barracks. Until his wounds fully healed, he didn’t train, just meditated or did light stretching. During the day, he wandered the yard like a bored ghost, pestering the farmers with idle chatter.

  “There’s not even anything to read here. So boring!”

  Behind the row of pigsties lay a small, overgrown field, and in its center stood an old shed. Only its gray roof rose above the sea of grass; even the entrance was hidden behind tall weeds, higher than a man’s head. No one had come here in a long time, the paths had vanished under the overgrowth. From the faint outlines of old garden beds, it seemed that vegetables had once been grown there, but the place had been abandoned for years and fallen into decay.

  The most secluded corner in the whole fortress, thought Zhang Min. No one ever comes here. I could rest or meditate in peace, away from curious eyes.

  He pulled open the shed’s double doors and stepped inside. Sunlight filtered through a small window under the roof, enough to dimly illuminate the space. Rusty tools and broken baskets littered the floor, a wheel-less cart leaned against the wall, and in one corner stood a rotting table with a rusted teapot and a pile of moldy straw that might once have been a bed. Whoever tended this garden had lived here many years ago.

  About three or four meters across, just the right size, Zhang Min noted, glancing around. If I clean it up, it’ll make a perfect place to rest and meditate.

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  After days of boredom and annoying the farmers, he finally found himself something to do. Cleaning out the shed occupied him for several hours, and Zhang Min worked with genuine enthusiasm. First, he threw out all the junk, swept the dirt floor clean, and even wiped the dust and cobwebs from the rafters. Then he opened the doors wide to air the place out. The remains of the old cart he set outside in the sun to dry, where they waited for their uncertain fate.

  “My country house is ready!” Zhang Min grinned.

  Though he spent most of his time in the livestock yard, he still came to the barracks each evening for dinner, so no one would think he’d gone missing, and to quietly test the mood before returning for good. The jeers aimed at him were far fewer now, but respect was still out of reach. According to Lao Yu, they’d only start taking him seriously after he fought side by side with them in a real battle.

  Yeah, no thanks, Zhang Min thought. Their respect isn’t worth risking my neck.

  On his way back to the pigpens after dinner, he occasionally came across useful things left lying around. Soon, the shed had gained a new table, a teapot, a kettle, a pot, several good planks and logs, and even a carpenter’s axe. From some empty grain sacks “borrowed” from the kitchen, he made himself a decent straw mattress.

  Zhang Min disliked the dirt floor, so he leveled it, laid logs across it, and then covered them with planks. The nails took some effort to find, he had to pry them out of abandoned structures, but the result was worth it. The floor creaked a little underfoot, yet it gave the place a completely new feeling.

  “Seems I got carried away,” Zhang Min said, scratching his head. “Better get back to training before I start building something else.”

  Ten days later, following Lao Yu’s advice, he reluctantly returned to the barracks, bandits had begun to notice his disappearances after dinner. Before rumors reached Mo’s assistant, whose reaction no one could predict, it was safer to rejoin the group. Soon, Zhang Min was sleeping again in his old spot, surrounded by the unforgettable stench of his fellow bandits.

  Everything went back to the way it had been. The others seemed to have forgotten the scuffle with the newcomer, and the boy who’d stolen his sword hadn’t shown his face again, nor had his friend. From time to time, Zhang Min caught someone staring at him, but that was all. A few days passed, and he had just begun to relax when two burly men approached him.

  “Hey, Zhang Min!” one of them called out. “You’re coming with us. Tu Hama wants a word.”

  “Who?” Zhang Min asked automatically.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” the bandit replied. Seeing the hesitation on Zhang Min’s face, he added, “You’d better come. Tu Hama’s not a nobody in the Brown Boar crew.”

  “Got it. Lead the way.”

  Under a wide awning in front of the neighboring barracks, several men sat playing some kind of dice or gambling game. At the most prominent seat lounged a tall bandit, clearly the leader of this small group within the Brown Boar gang. He gave Zhang Min a brief, condescending glance, as if looking at an insect, then turned back to the game, making the newcomer wait.