On the way back to the barracks, Zhang Ming once again passed by the storage grounds, where the granaries and other supplies for five hundred people were kept. He watched them from a distance with quiet longing. Food did not interest him, only the warehouses holding the stolen goods. Behind the thick walls lay valuables: not necessarily gold or silver, but items that would fetch a good price, and he felt a strong urge to get his hands on them.

  “I could’ve made so much money in a month and a half on campaign… The Zhao Clan pays well…” he muttered without taking his eyes off the storage walls. “And now I’ll return home poorer than when I left. What a disgrace!”

  As if mocking him, the solid buildings swung their wide gates open, and several bandits rolled out a large cart piled high with all kinds of goods. The edges of chests, crates, and small barrels peeked out from beneath rolls of fabric.

  They must have plundered quite a lot. Tch. What a temptation. Maybe fate itself brought me here? It would be impolite to return home empty-handed, Zhang Min mused.

  From a distance, he observed the guards, the workers, and the overseer, a middle-aged man in the long robe of a scholar. According to local tales, this man had passed the state exam for officials, at least the basic one that was held yearly in major cities.

  In Zhang Min’s understanding, the exam was like a diploma of higher education: it allowed one to qualify for a government post, but did not guarantee it. Its chief benefits were tax privileges and other hidden advantages. Educated men were held in respect, and some, like this overseer, had become prisoners of their own learning. From afar, his arrogance was evident, he clearly considered himself above the rest.

  Hmm. Perhaps through this man I could get access to the bandits’ loot? Zhang Min thought. He doesn’t look like a fool. It won’t be easy.

  After a quick survey of the bandit fortress, he returned to the barrack just in time for the arrival of the commander’s aide. A tall, strongly built man looked over the five newcomers as if evaluating goods in a shop, and judging by his expression, was not too pleased.

  “My name is Mo Dushi. I am the right hand of Commander Tan Gui,” he declared, tilting his head slightly back, clearly proud of his position. “Follow me. I’ll show you your new workplace.” Without waiting for a reply, Aide Mo turned and headed toward the road.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Let’s go, boys,” Lin Bo said with a smile, as if long used to such treatment.

  They passed through the stables, by huge barns filled with fodder and hay for the horses, and then came to the stockyard where pigs and chickens were kept. The area stood on a natural rise and was surrounded by a palisade. It wasn’t guarded as strictly as the warehouses of plunder, but entering without permission was forbidden. Any disobedience was punished harshly, as Mo Dushi immediately warned them.

  The previous workers of the stockyard had died—reasons unspecified—so replacements were urgently needed. For a while, common bandits had tended the animals, but they knew little about caring for pigs and chickens, and the livestock numbers began to dwindle.

  “The commander said you know what to do. From now on, handle it yourselves. Do a poor job, and I’ll have your hides,” he warned in an indifferent tone.

  “We won’t fail you, sir!” the peasants bowed with practiced ease, but Zhang Min gave no reaction.

  Fortunately, by that moment the commander’s aide had already turned away, going about his business, ignoring the peasants. Judging by his behavior, he didn’t see them as people at all, just useful tools to be discarded when worn out. Their words, promises, or oaths meant nothing.

  “To work!” Lin Bo turned to the others, not in the least surprised by such treatment. “Let’s show them what we can do! This isn’t our first time.”

  “Right!” the other peasants responded.

  “Zhang Min, if you’re still not recovered, take the day off.”

  “Thank you for your concern, Brother Bo, but I’ll help.”

  Thus began Zhang Min’s life among the mountain bandits. With the first rays of the sun he would rise, wash up, and together with the four peasants head to the stockyard. For the most part he shoveled manure; nothing more was entrusted to him. Once his share of work was done, Zhang Min trained. None of his new friends objected, on the contrary, they enjoyed watching him perform complex movement drills, sweating heavily.

  Dropping into a push-up, Zhang Min pressed once, then pulled his knees to his chest and sprang up, only to drop back down again, over and over in an endless rhythm. Red as a boiled crab, he panted in time with his movements, and the grass around him was speckled with muddy drops. Just watching him made the others feel weary and thirsty.

  “Look at him torturing himself! Tch,” Lu Han shook his bare head. “What for?”

  “He’s studying martial arts. Dreams of becoming strong,” Xiao Bai answered.

  “You want that too?”

  “I don’t know. I could never manage it…”

  Most of Zhang Min’s days passed among the pigs and chickens; sometimes he even slept there, atop one of the haystacks. But whenever he returned to the barrack, he encountered the undisguised contempt of the bandits. They never missed a chance to shove or hit him, to order him around with petty chores like washing their clothes, but they went no further. Following the example of the other peasants, Zhang Min silently endured the mockery, though inside, rage boiled, ready to burst forth.

  Calm down. A fight will only make things worse, he repeated to himself like a mantra. Let this be a test of my will. I won’t give them a reason! … But oh, how I want to smash them with everything I’ve got… Fuuu. Calm…