Chapter 102: Mistaking Brigands for Benefactors

Second Arc: Immortal Spirit I

Surrounded by mountains, an emerald lake lay smooth as a mirror.

After two days of steady drizzle, the rain had finally ceased, and Immortal Spirit Village was beginning to stir from the morning mist.

Mrs. Zhu rose before dawn. Her husband still snored like thunder at her side.

The world outside was hushed. Carrying a wooden bucket, she made her way down to the lake. Today, the surface of Immortal Spirit Lake was calm as ever. In the thickets along the bank, tiny pink-and-white blossoms of wild flowers shyly unfurled. Mist veiled the water and sky alike, transforming the scene into something out of an immortal realm.

She stood dazed for a time, lost in the sight, until a string of bubbles broke the lake’s surface nearby. Startled, she seized her bucket and shuffled back up the path.

If other village women had been present, they would have laughed yet again at how little strength she had, as the bucket she would carry was never filled more than eight-tenths.

Passing by the Immortal Spirit Shrine, she glanced in by chance and halted.

The Immortal Spirit Shrine was the finest building in the entire village. It had neatly built white brick walls and green tiles. The tiles were even specially brought in from afar. These features gleamed bright whenever rain washed over them.

There were always only two ancestral tablets within. But now she saw one had split clean in two, its top half fallen onto the offering table.

Perhaps it was the prank of some mischievous child. Mrs. Zhu did not approach for a closer look. She simply carried on home with her water.

Back at the house, she hurried to light the stove, boil water, knead dough, and bake flatbread. Afterward, she went out to the pens behind the house to feed the chickens and pigs.

By then, her two children had awoken. One was two years old, the other four. Dressing them, putting on their shoes, washing their faces all fell to her hands.

When the children cried, her in-laws awoke as well, rubbing their eyes and calling for her to hurry with breakfast.

She served up pickled fish, vegetables, flatbread, and a pot of grain porridge, then carried a basin of warm water into the inner room and roused her husband. “It’s dawn. Father says we’ll harvest the last of the wheat today.”

Her husband grumbled, displeased, and dawdled for another quarter of an hour before finally getting up.

Once she had seen her husband and father-in-law off, Mrs. Zhu let out a long breath and slumped against the doorway to rest.

Her mother-in-law came over and tossed her two garments. “Don’t be lazy. Mend these.”

As the children played nearby, she was halfway through repairing the second piece of clothing when a sudden clamor rose from the village.

She ignored it at first until four or five people came to her door, seized her without explanation, and dragged her away.

Terrified, her mother-in-law hurried after them, only to see her daughter-in-law flung down in front of the shrine.

The village chief’s face was dark as iron. He pointed into the shrine and demanded, “Was this your doing?”

“What?” Zhu blinked in confusion. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Did you break it? That ancestral tablet was whole last night.”

Mrs. Zhu, “It has nothing to do with me. Couldn’t it have been the children?”

“Old Seven!”

At the chief’s call, a scrawny man stepped forward. “This morning, I saw only Mrs. Zhu walking past the shrine.”

Mrs. Zhu shot him a cold look. “You were there as well. Perhaps you’re the one who broke it.”

Old Seven slapped her hard across the face.

The village chief said, “When your husband returns, we’ll have an explanation.”

At his order, two villagers shoved her inside the shrine and locked the door.

Outside, her mother-in-law scolded her for bringing trouble upon the family. Soon enough, even she turned and left.

That evening, the farmers returned from the fields. But this time, they came back alongside a merchant caravan.

The caravan consisted of thirty to forty people, driving ten heavy wagons. The village children ran up, hoping for sweets, but the strangers only spread their hands, expressing that they had nothing to give.

The village chief went forward to greet them. Their leader, a burly man with a booming voice, raised his hand and produced several gleaming ten-tael ingots of silver. “We’d like to spend the night here. We’ll be off at dawn.”

From inside the shrine, peering through the gaps in the brick lattice, Mrs. Zhu watched him. Something about the man felt wrong to her. The coarse roughness of his manner did not suit the silk robe he wore.

The village chief himself initially had doubts. But at the sight of so much money, his worries melted. Seeing that the other party had so much money, what could they possibly covet from a poor village like theirs?

So, the caravan was welcomed, and its members dispersed to lodge in various homes.

With outsiders present, the village chief was unable to raise the issue of the broken ancestral tablet. Family disgrace must not be shown to strangers.

The leader of the caravan asked him, “I’d thought the place where the great ancestor raised his banner would be bustling with prosperity.”

“Those who leave never come back,” the village chief sighed. “They’re all ungrateful wolves.”

“This land is good. It’s peaceful. There are more people here than I expected.” He laughed, his eyes narrowing. Most villages had at most two hundred people. Meanwhile, Immortal Spirit Village boasted over three hundred people and plenty of farmland. “On the way here, I saw all the wheat fields already harvested. You’ve truly worked hard today. Everyone’s back already?”

“Yes, in a few days we can plant rice.” The chief belatedly realized.

How would these strangers know that we worked especially hard today?

“You... how did you—”

The caravan leader suddenly let out a quick series of sharp whistles—one long, two short.

In the quiet of the village, the sound cut through like a blade.

The village chief felt a stab of dread. He shouted, “Men—” but had barely uttered a word before the caravan leader struck him down with a single blow.

All at once, screams and cries erupted across the village.

The able-bodied men snatched up farm tools to resist, only for two hundred armed figures to burst from the surrounding trees, encircling them completely.

The brigands seized the old and the weak as hostages. Faced with such threats, the men dropped their tools.

In scarcely the time it takes to brew tea, the chaos was over.

Unarmed, the entire population of the village—men, women, and children alike—were herded to the clearing before the shrine. Around them stood two to three hundred brigands, glaring like wolves, weapons raised.

Only then did the villagers realize that they had mistaken wolves for benefactors and ushered death into their midst with their own hands.

Just as the caravan leader opened his mouth to speak, a red-tailed peregrine falcon swooped down from the sky and landed on his shoulder. From its beak came human words, “An army is approaching from the southwest. Three to four hundred men, about seven kilometers away.”

The brigands started in alarm. The villagers, on the other hand, nearly burst into tears with joy.

Soldiers! Salvation had come!

One of the brigands cried out, “General, the pursuers are here!”

“If they were pursuers, why would they come from the southwest?” The leader frowned and asked the peregrine falcon, “Are you certain they’re soldiers?”

“They are soldiers. However, their uniforms differ from those we fought at Woling Pass. Their shoulders bear azure armor.” The peregrine falcon added, “Also, there are women among them.”

At that, the leader’s face eased, and he even chuckled. “Since when do pursuers bring women with them?”

His men were still uneasy. “But they’re heading this way! What should we do?”

The leader sneered. “They have people? So do we. What’s there to fear? They must not be allowed to meddle. Send someone to the town to keep watch.”

A trusted aide whispered in his ear. The leader nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Then, he barked new orders to the villagers, “Anyone without children under eleven, step forward.”

The crowd hesitated, none daring to move.

He smiled thinly. “The ones who don’t step forward will regret it.”

At last, many villagers obeyed, shuffling out reluctantly.

The leader herded them down to the water’s edge. Then, without warning, he raised his blade and struck, severing the head of the nearest man.

“Kill them all!”

The villagers screamed. Some tried desperately to resist.

But with women, children, and the elderly among them, what chance did they have against hardened killers?

It was a massacre.

When the last cry was cut off, the waters of Immortal Spirit Lake were already stained red.

Bodies lay scattered, over a hundred in all.