Mo Dushi quickly gathered fourteen volunteers, the men whose hands itched to swing their weapons or who still harbored hopes of easy loot. Scouting always carried risks, but it also meant reaching the prize first and claiming something valuable before anyone else. Many cast envious looks toward Tu Hama’s group, while Zhang Ming would have gladly traded places with them if he could. Unfortunately, Tang Gui had assigned him here, and any objection would have cost him his skin.

  Don’t fail me, brother… he thought, running a hand over the sword at his waist.

  The preparations took little time. Before long, two dozen bandits moved deeper into the forest, heading toward the source of the smoke. They traveled quickly, their formation loose, yet Tu Hama never took his eyes off Zhang Ming, his hand resting on his sword hilt. He had only eight loyal men left; the rest were down with fever. Stopping the detested newcomer, who had already stepped into the realm of body tempering, had become far more difficult.

  No matter how badly he wanted to tear out Zhang Ming’s heart, Tu Hama did not strike. He feared drawing Mo Dushi’s chosen men into a fight or giving their quarry a chance to slip away. With a glance, he ordered his lackeys to take up their bows and loose arrows at the slightest suspicious movement. At first, they tried to surround Zhang Ming, but he shifted positions constantly, falling back, moving ahead, slipping from one side to the other, until they were forced to abandon the idea.

  Before long, Mo Dushi’s men noticed the tension within the group and began exchanging dark looks. During a short halt, several of them approached Tu Hama to ask what was going on and how it might affect the task. They argued and spoke at length. In the end, they agreed not to interfere, but the way they looked at Tu Hama had changed, there was no longer the same respect.

  Zhang Ming’s nerves were drawn tight as a bowstring. Keeping his face calm, he chewed on a piece of stale flatbread and washed it down with water, all the while expecting an attack at any moment. He was ready to hear the ring of steel leaving its sheath or the scrape of an arrow being drawn from a quiver. It felt as though he could simply flee, but he waited.

  Not yet, he told himself, though his heart thundered in his chest like a war drum, whether from fear of death or anticipation of battle, he could not say.

  When the rest ended and the group set out again, his focus narrowed to footsteps, the rustle of bushes, the sound of breathing around him. Zhang Ming did not know who would strike first or with what weapon; whether it would be a sword, an axe, or an arrow in the back. In his mind, he rehearsed his response: where he would leap, how he would move, and whose head would fall first.

  I’m going to sell my life dearly, you bastards, he thought, eyes glinting bloodthirstily through his tangled hair. Coming this far, I’ve already used up all my luck… I can feel it… death’s breath… it’s cold.

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  “Village! There’s a village!” one of the bandits ahead shouted excitedly.

  “Ha! A big one! Twenty houses at least!”

  “Women!”

  “Wine!”

  “Food!”

  “Take whatever you want!” Zhang Min yelled over his shoulder and bolted forward at full speed.

  While the bandits gawked at the houses visible beyond the trees, Zhang Min covered several meters in a single breath and broke through their encirclement. No one expected such speed from him. After a moment of confusion, half the bandits rushed after him without waiting for orders. A few arrows hissed through the air but struck tree trunks with dull thuds.

  “Don’t let him get away!” Tu Hama finally barked, then hissed through clenched teeth, face twisted with hatred: “You bastard! Son of a bitch! How much longer are you going to humiliate me?! You won’t die easy!” His sword came free of its scabbard with a metallic clang.

  Bursting from the forest edge, Zhang Min sprinted across the open field separating the village from the trees, ran straight up the low palisade wall, grabbed the edge with his hands, and vaulted over, just as arrows whistled toward his back. Without stopping, he dashed from yard to yard, right before the terrified eyes of the villagers. Timing had saved him from Tu Hama’s clutches, now all that remained was to survive.

  “Bandits! Bandits attacking! Alarm!” he shouted as he ran, weaving between houses, sheds, and other buildings.

  Chaos erupted in the forest village. Bandits scrambled over one another, tumbling over the palisade as they forced their way inside. Women screamed at the sight of strangers; startled livestock bellowed; chickens scattered with loud clucks; dogs barked furiously. The noise frightened birds from the trees. Some men, armed with axes or pitchforks, ran into the streets, only to freeze when they saw the swarm of bandits pouring in.

  Hiding in tall grass behind one of the houses, Zhang Min kept a sharp eye on the road, waiting for Tu Hama’s men to appear. They had split into smaller groups, combing through the village. The bandits feared the poor peasants so little that they acted like owners, barging into courtyards, breaking into houses, taking whatever they wanted, and beating anyone who tried to stop them. Villagers were dragged outside and forced to kneel.

  Three bandits entered the yard where Zhang Min was hiding. Not noticing him among the tall grass, they stormed into the house. One grabbed a loaf of bread prepared for lunch and began chewing, tossing things around as he went, overturning baskets, rifling through cupboards, even smashing jars and dishes. Another held the unlucky woman of the house by the hair, trying to tear her clothes off while groping her body, as the third beat her husband senseless.

  The woman screamed in pain and humiliation, for that received a blow to the face. With a lecherous grin, the bandit began to loosen his pants, only to look down in shock and see a blade protruding from his gut. Blood dripped from the steel tip onto the floor. He tried to scream, but a strong hand clamped over his mouth. The woman froze, her voice trapped in her throat, staring in horror at the scene before her. Tears ran down her pale face, mixing with the blood that wasn’t her own.

  Hearing the sudden silence, the bandit rummaging through the chest turned around, only for two strong hands to seize his head and twist it sharply until his neck snapped. His body hit the floor with a dull thud. The one beating the husband stiffened, sensing a predator nearby but too afraid to look back. A chill crawled over his skin; his hair stood on end. Then the world spun before his eyes and the last thing he saw was his own body, headless on the floor.

  “Nineteen left,” Zhang Min muttered, scanning the room.