Ninety-nine

Finally, the Boy Scouts were about to engage in close combat with Mei Qian’s mountain bandits.

“Today, we shall leave Jiangting utterly barren!”

Mei Qian’s troops were all stirred to their savage instincts. After all, what they loved most was neither war nor labor, but plunder. This was the so-called chaotic era. These men delighted in the thrill of killing, the exhilaration of robbery, and the perverse beauty of such acts.

Hearing their leader declare a day off was essentially a license to do as they pleased! Everyone was ablaze with passion, thinking they had a good master who fiercely protected them.

United in purpose, they raised their blades high and brought them crashing down with fierce determination, their morale soaring like a storm. Following Mei Qian’s command, they shouted loudly, their voices shaking the heavens, causing even the skies to tremble.

They sought only to demonstrate their loyalty and might before their leader, never realizing that everyone inside Jiangting had heard their boasts. The villagers perched on rooftops caught sight of the bandits’ grim faces and felt their hatred for these soldiers rise to new heights.

As the saying goes, even a cornered rabbit will bite; how much more so thousands of living men?

If you won’t let us live, then we’ll fight to the bitter end—die if we must. Among them, there were cowards, for Chen Nian was no isolated case. When faced with the choice between life and principle, some would walk through fire and steel, while others sought comfort for a lifetime. Thus, some had already resolved last night.

Once Mei’s troops arrived, they would surrender, informing him that Li Miao had set a trap with thousands of men lying in wait. They warned against entering, urging patience for a couple more days to starve the defenders into submission.

But when faced with this “scorched earth” stance, their initial boldness faltered.

“Damn it, this is a massacre in the making.”

Some quickly changed their minds, choosing to stand with Jiangting to live or die together; others sought to slip away; and some, hardened and resolute, decided to test whether Mei would really behead them like kicking a ball.

Just then, amid Mei Qian’s call to slaughter and rally the troops, a villager stumbled toward him.

Ignoring the harsh shouts of the mountain bandits, the villager charged straight at Mei, who sat astride his steed.

“Great Lord, I surrender! Please accept my surrender!”

Mei said nothing, watching coldly, a sneer in his heart as he waited to hear what the villager would say next.

“There’s an ambush in the city! Li Miao has distributed many weapons; seven or eight thousand men are waiting inside. Don’t enter, or you’ll fall into a trap. But their supplies are low. If you besiege them a few more days, they’ll starve, exhaust themselves...”

“Go to hell!” Mei’s sword whistled through the air, severing the villager’s head before he could finish. The man had expected a minor post for his information—never death.

Those inside the city who were ready to surrender swallowed hard. Mei was ruthless today, refusing any negotiations, intent on wiping out Jiangting in one fell swoop.

Fine. If you won’t accept us as your vassals, then we’ll slaughter you and perish together!

Unbeknownst to Mei, this single stroke only galvanized the city’s defenders, uniting them in fierce enmity, their spirits aflame with common hatred. Their resolve was now unshakable.

Mei, though, was not intentionally cruel; he was furious at being outwitted repeatedly. He thought bitterly of Li Miao’s endless scheming, wondering why the boy must flaunt his intelligence so provocatively—especially against him.

Sending envoys with warnings again and again—was it just to buy time? To delay?

Was he a fool to wait two more days?

Inside, only the old, weak, and sick remained, plus that lone commander. Why grant more time?

What if reinforcements truly came? Who would argue his case then?

Mei sneered.

“I’ve lived decades but always get played by these brats. How am I supposed to survive?”

“No matter what tricks you play, today Jiangting falls. That imperial jade seal is mine, and Li Miao’s head shall make a fine chamber pot! To avenge my brothers’ deaths! Blood debts must be settled with blood!”

Mei pointed with his arm, clenched his fist, and instantly, his troops fell silent.

This is power. This is authority.

Then Mei thrust his fist forward, charging like an invading army, shouting,

“Enter the city!”

Three thousand soldiers marched into the open gates of Jiangting in perfect formation, their hearts set on looting riches, seizing women, and playing emperor.

—

The thunderous footsteps echoed through Jiangting. The three thousand troops entered the main road, then fanned into countless sharp blades poised to pierce the enemy’s heart.

Knowing there were no soldiers inside, Mei no longer worried about the number of enemy fronts and divided his forces to encircle Li Miao and his men heavily.

Why the gates were open and the city so eerily quiet? Mei didn’t care anymore. After being duped multiple times, his mind had finally cleared. He’d learned his lesson.

Simple men tend to oversimplify complex matters; complex men complicate simple ones. Today, Mei was a simple man.

“I just kill. You can do whatever you want! Hmph…”

That was all Mei thought.

The villagers on rooftops and in courtyards held their breath, afraid to even exhale loudly, fearing to awaken these vicious bandits. Everyone was tense, waiting for the perfect moment.

Chen Wusi was no exception. He lay crouched on the edge of a roof, afraid any movement would reveal his position. He watched as the bandits searched through the narrow alleys. The few hundred soldiers moving through these cramped streets could only walk three abreast, stretched out in a long line.

“They’re here,” Chen whispered, signaling to those around him to prepare.

Suddenly, an old man beside him wobbled and nearly fell, but was caught just in time. Dust fell from the roof, landing on the ground below.

The old man and those nearby flattened themselves against the rooftop, daring not to breathe.

The bandits below jumped in fright and glanced upward, but all they saw was blue sky and white clouds.

“What the hell? Ghosts or what?” a soldier cursed.

“Don’t make a fuss over nothing. Who knows what wind blew that dust down? You should mind your own business,” someone retorted.

The leader on horseback laughed, “It’s nothing. Even if the roof collapsed and didn’t crush us, it’s no big deal. Brothers, the real business is to bring Li Miao’s head. That’s a great achievement! Once we kill him, Jiangting’s ours—loot, do whatever we want. Sound good?”

His eyes gleamed with filthy ambition, as if he already smelled the spoils.

“Keep your eyes peeled. Find Li Miao and kill him. Rank up a few levels, got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

The leader spurred his horse to Chen Wusi’s eaves, riding slowly. Chen focused intently. Behind him, more soldiers filled the alley, pushing deep inside.

“Now!”

Chen rose suddenly. His axe gleamed with the first light of dawn as he hurled it at the leader’s head, slicing through the air with a dreadful howl.

“Die, Songshan bandits! You asked for this!” Chen snarled.

At once, the rooftop dwellers stood and heaved down heavy sacks they’d lain on all night.

“Die, you bastards trying to break Jiangting!”

A middle-aged woman, weaker but fierce, threw down shattered pottery and clutched the last pair of scissors in the house, hurling them below.

The old man, frail but still able, lifted a hammer and silently sent it crashing down.

Children, brave and resolute, shot pebbles with slingshots into the bandits’ eyes.

The strong dragged plows from their fields up to the rooftops and smashed them down with brutal force, cracking skulls and drawing blood.

Instantly, a storm of hammers, scissors, axes, pots, and plows rained down. The bandits were battered senseless. Within moments, a third of the hundreds below lay sprawled on the ground.

The leader, confused by the sudden onslaught, looked up just as a shadow fell over his head.

An axe descended like a mountain.

Startled, sweat beading on his back, the leader leapt from his horse with practiced skill to dodge.

“Hmph!”

He tried to act tough, but then countless sacks slammed down around him. The axe struck the horse, which panicked and bolted wildly through the narrow alley, trampling men underfoot.

“Ahh!” The leader was buried beneath a sack and stomped repeatedly by the crazed horse, lungs crushed.

Some bandits reacted quickly, pressing against walls to avoid the flying barrage; others were flung skyward. Confused and caught off guard, they were thrown into chaos.

Dark clouds gathered overhead as pots, pans, tables, and chairs rained down in a wild assault.

The leader fell, and with his death, the bandits lost their command, standing dumbfounded and helpless.

From the holes in their hideouts, the defenders watched the carnage.

A whistle sounded, and spears and bamboo rods stabbed out from the small openings.

“Puncture! Puncture!”

Flesh was pierced again and again. Within moments, half the bandits lay dead, and the survivors were paralyzed with fear.

They were used to robbing others—never being slaughtered like this.

These household items were usually necessities, now hurled as deadly weapons. They dared not catch them—it was a matter of life and death.

“Run!”

A shout rang out as the bandits fled the alleys like moths drawn to flame, desperate to escape the hellish trap.

Little did they know, outside awaited their doom.

Such scenes of riot and destruction echoed through every street and alleyway of Jiangting, the crashing, shouting, and cursing shaking the entire city.

The townsfolk, never having witnessed such a spectacle, reveled in seeing the bandits beaten to tears, their morale soaring. Their fear vanished as they pounded relentlessly from above.

The notorious Songshan bandits, feared throughout Huainan, were thrown into disarray in this small town by the flying pots and pans, tables and chairs...

They were stunned.

The battered soldiers fled wildly like weasels with their tails stepped on.

The brutal street fight left Mei’s troops shattered; all began racing desperately to the alley exits.

Stunned, they lost all composure, no longer the fierce force they had been outside—like two different men.

“Ma Dan, we haven’t even fought properly yet! The battle hasn’t started, and we’re being trapped in the alleys!”

Mei’s soldiers were speechless; what kind of tactic was this? No generals to fight, no encirclement—just chaos. The leader had promised a decisive battle, but this was a sham.

“Whatever, we’re almost dead anyway! Let’s just run!”

Unaware, the sacks falling from above were filled with earth. The soil came from pits dug at the alley’s far end, concealed and waiting.

Soon, another grim act unfolded as many soldiers plunged into these camouflaged pits, tumbling helplessly, wailing in pain.

Though none died instantly—Li Miao had no time to place iron spikes—they were rendered useless, unable to continue fighting or capture Li Miao.

The phrase “every citizen a soldier” once uttered by Li Miao became reality.

Mei Qian’s three thousand battle-hardened troops suffered nearly fifty percent casualties in a fight they never expected.

Two thousand years before the Chinese resisted the invaders, the Songshan bandits first tasted the terror of a people’s fierce resolve to defend their homeland.