One sunny day, Zhang Ming was meditating in the shade of a broad tree when, beyond the fortress walls, the sound of drums and the long blare of a horn echoed through the air. He thought they were under attack, so he broke off his training and hurried toward the barracks to find out what was happening. The entire fortress had erupted into motion, like a disturbed anthill. People ran through the narrow streets, shouting and bustling about, but most of them were heading toward the gates.

  Among the crowd, Zhang Ming spotted someone he knew. Catching the man by the arm, he questioned him about the commotion. It turned out no one had attacked the fortress, the chieftain had returned after a long absence with his unit, bringing along an important guest. They had wagons full of goods, clearly not bought, and promised to hold a grand feast. The faces of the fortress residents gleamed with happiness and greed alike. Not wishing to get caught in the chaos, Zhang Ming climbed onto the roof of one of the houses to watch from above.

  Through the wide-open gates rode a squad of horsemen, dressed far better than all the other bandits combined. At their head was a large, bearded man in leather armor. To his right sat a man in a black robe, the fabric clearly expensive. Behind them followed a long line of ox-drawn wagons, and on either side walked more bandits, some carrying the Earth Dragon banners. The crowd greeted them with cheers and shouts.

  This can’t be good. I can feel that the peaceful life here will end soon, Zhang Ming thought.

  After the wagons, a large group of captives was driven through the gate, mostly women and girls. Exhausted and broken, they could barely move their feet. The coarse ropes had rubbed their wrists raw and long since turned crimson with blood. None dared lift their heads, too afraid to draw the attention of their tormentors; their eyes, filled with fear and helplessness, were fixed on the ground. Not long ago, they had lived their lives laughing, grieving, working, even knowing moments of happiness, but the bandits had come and destroyed everything, simply because they wanted to, because they could.

  “What the hell…” Zhang Ming muttered, his brow furrowing.

  The sight of the miserable captives made his heart tighten. The women’s suffering echoed within him, each falling tear cutting deeper than all the blows he’d ever taken from the bandits. He had known this world was cruel, he had prepared himself for it, but he had never truly seen it with his own eyes. The stench of blood struck his nose, the cacophony of sounds fused into a grotesque march of death: moans, the creak of wagons, laughter, and shouts, all blending together.

  Something inside Zhang Ming snapped like a taut string. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white. His eyes burned with fury as he glared at those tormenting the captives, imagining himself tearing them apart with his bare hands, striking again and again until the flesh turned to pulp.

  “Hey!” Lao Yu’s voice called out. “What are you doing up there?”

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  “Huh? What?” Zhang Ming snapped out of his thoughts. “I’m coming down,” he said, jumping from the roof.

  “What was that look just now?” the shaggy drunk squinted at him.

  “Nothing.”

  “I could’ve sworn I saw bloodlust. You got a death wish or something?”

  “You’ve been with this gang a long time, haven’t you?” Zhang Ming interrupted. “Does this kind of thing happen often?”

  “If you mean the captives, this isn’t the first time,” Lao Yu said after a brief pause. “What’s it to you?”

  “What’ll happen to them?”

  “Why do you care? Forget it. Don’t even think about it. They’ve got nothing to do with you. Outsiders.”

  “So nothing good, then…” Zhang Ming said quietly, studying him and suddenly it struck him that the shaggy drunk was a bandit too. What kind of man is he really? How many innocent people has he killed?

  The flash of anger passed. Clarity returned to Zhang Ming’s mind. He couldn’t afford compassion, much less interference, he had neither the strength nor the power. His own life hung by a thread; any one of the leaders or their lieutenants could end it on a whim.

  Casting one last glance at the line of bloodied captives, Zhang Ming patted the shaggy drunk on the shoulder and went toward the old shed on the abandoned field, where he tried to calm his heart and forget what he’d seen through meditation. His own reaction to the women’s suffering surprised him—he had never thought of himself as compassionate. Quite the opposite: indifferent. He’d never rushed to help anyone unless there was something to gain.

  “How stupid. Why did I get angry all of a sudden?” he laughed at himself. “They’re nobodies, not even from my world. Just forget it. Forget it, you saw nothing,” but the captives wouldn’t leave his mind, and on top of that they reminded him of the two girls who had stayed behind in Baohe. “Damn it! How much time has even passed? I need to check how they’re doing…”

  Meanwhile, the fortress buzzed with life like a swarm of ants. People hurried back and forth, the air filled with the rumble of wheels, chatter, clanking weapons, and neighing horses. Wagons were driven to the storage sheds for unloading, while horses and livestock were led to the stables to be unhitched and fed. There were never enough hands for the work.

  Lin Bo came to the old shed and asked Zhang Ming to help at the stables. He didn’t refuse—and soon was drawn into the whirlwind of activity. Alongside the stablehands, he cleaned the sweaty horses, shoveled manure after feeding, and carried water, listening to the bandits chatter excitedly about the coming feast. None of them, however, said a single word about the captives, as if they didn’t exist.

  “A feast to celebrate the chief’s return with spoils,” Lin Bo mentioned casually. “You’d better not skip it.”

  “What’s with that warning?” Zhang Ming asked.

  “Old Yu said the way you looked at… well, you know. Best show up, just in case someone gets the wrong idea.”

  “Hmph,” Zhang Ming grunted and nodded.

  “When everyone gets drunk, I’ll rob the storehouse and then leave,” he pondered. “They won’t notice I’m gone for a day; I can run along the road. After that, I’ll just go at random. I hope the beasts don’t eat me. Damn. I didn’t have quite enough time to prepare.”

  By evening, when the sun dipped toward the horizon and the first stars appeared in the sky, preparations for the feast were complete. In the spacious square at the center of the fortress, tables had been set up, torches placed, and campfires lit. Around them, the banners of the Earth Dragon Fortress fluttered atop tall poles. From the kitchens wafted the rich aroma of roasted meat and other dishes, and large jugs of wine had been brought out from the storehouses. The bandits were already drooling in anticipation.