“I brought you an oil lamp, just in case,” Zhang Ming said, placing the delicate item on a crate inside the shelter. “But don’t light it unless you must, or you’ll suffocate. Got it?”

  “Uh-huh,” the girls agreed, blinking their big eyes.

  “If I’m gone for a long time, the food supply should last a week or more, so don’t worry.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  God, why do I have to deal with all this? he thought, climbing out and putting the nailed together floorboards back in place.

  Life in the fort was slowly returning to normal, and people began to notice things missing from their homes. Blankets, mats, and other small items had disappeared; the kitchen was short a whole sack of dried fruit and just as much sweet potato. Theft wasn’t uncommon in the fort, but no one had ever stolen parts of houses before. The locals were baffled, staring in confusion at missing walls or holes in their ceilings where the attic hatches had once been. Some even found their doors gone and couldn’t imagine why anyone would need them.

  The mountain bandits weren’t known for attention to detail, so instead of searching for the real culprit or even clues, they began quarreling among themselves, dragging up old grudges. A few superstitious ones blamed ghosts, and soon yellow talismans to ward off spirits appeared on every house. Others claimed the missing items must have been burned by drunken fools who mistook them for firewood. Without their commanders, the bandits ran around the fort like headless chickens.

  “Hahaha, what a great time we had!” Only the shaggy Lao Yu rejoiced; nothing of his had gone missing.

  Fortunately, Zhang Ming had finished all the digging and covered his tracks. The old building full of rusty tools held no interest for anyone, and the overgrown weeds and burdock made it look even duller. Moreover, those responsible for guarding the captives still kept silent about the missing three girls, perhaps they had decided the girls never existed at all.

  Meanwhile Zhang Ming racked his brain over how to escape the bandits’ den together with the three girls. Having spent so much time on the mountain, he now knew the fortress layout perfectly — where he could safely go and where it was better not to show up, where the barracks of the other squads began, and with whom Brown Boar’s relations were the most strained. He inspected the wall from both the inside and outside, just as he had done many times since arriving, and under various pretexts climbed up to the watchtowers, sweeping his gaze over the forest, yet he still couldn’t think of anything worthwhile.

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  “Impossible. Without a diversion, it’s simply impossible,” Zhang Ming rubbed his face with his palms and let out a heavy sigh as he stood on the tower. “I have to distract this whole crowd… so much that they won’t even be able to think about anything else…”

  If the bored bandits learned about an escape, especially one involving captives, they would hunt him down for sport and turn the whole affair into entertainment. Lost deep in troubled thoughts, Zhang Ming tried to behave as he always did, but he constantly sought places from which he could see the old shed. He trained exclusively behind the pigpens and meditated there among the tall grass, like a chained guard dog watching over the captives, though he didn’t realize it himself.

  “Zhang Ming!” a voice called nearby.

  “Huh? I’m here,” he replied, lying on the ground after sword practice.

  “The squad commander’s calling for you. Hurry up!”

  “Huh? Ah, yes, coming,” he said, forcing himself up and trudging after the bandit.

  Suddenly, sweat broke out on his forehead, streams ran down his back, and his palms grew slippery he wiped them on his trousers. Since joining the gang, the squad commander had completely ignored his existence, and now, out of nowhere, he remembered and summoned him. Given recent events, the coincidence was alarming, and Zhang Ming braced himself for the worst.

  If the girls had been found, there’d be an uproar, right? he reassured himself.

  As he walked along the fort’s dirt streets, he listened closely to the sounds and voices around him, searching for any sign of trouble, but everything seemed far too ordinary. The bandits he passed gave him casual, indifferent looks, and when he was led into the squad commander’s house, there was only one person inside.

  “Come in, come in,” Tan Gui waved him over. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor before a low table with a wine jug on it, looking like an easygoing man.

  “Yes, sir,” Zhang Ming replied.

  “Haha, no need to be so formal. Sit down.”

  The commander’s narrowed eyes smiled as though he were greeting an old friend. One sleeve of his robe hung loose, and his strong swordsman’s hand lazily scratched his hairy chest. Apart from the fine sword lying beside him, nothing seemed threatening on the contrary, his friendly demeanor encouraged ease and sincerity. Zhang Min sat down across from him, though not for a moment did he believe this act of camaraderie.

  “Drink with me,” Tan Gui said, pouring wine into a small cup.

  “Thank you! It’s a great honor,” Zhang Ming accepted the cup with both hands, bowing slightly. He relied entirely on the memories of the body’s former owner, who had been skilled in flattery and avoiding trouble.

  “Haha, you’re too polite. I see you train a lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. That’s right. Settling in well with our squad? Satisfied?” Tan Gui asked casually, gazing into his wine.

  “Yes,” Zhang Min nodded.

  “No one’s been giving you trouble?”

  “No. Everyone’s treated me well.”

  The commander shifted his gaze to Zhang Ming, studying him for a while, the friendly smile still on his face. He likely already knew how the squad treated newcomers and about the frequent brawls, and was expecting the usual begging for protection, yet Zhang Ming hadn’t complained at all. If he was just a simple fool who believed in loyalty, that was fine. But Tan Gui didn’t like the overly clever type.

  “You’re that mercenary from the caravan, aren’t you?” he asked calmly, the fake smile vanishing from his face. “Tu Hama saw you among the Zhao clan’s people. You know, martial artists have good memories. So, why are you really here?”