Lei Jingzhe crouched by the pigpen, bowl in hand. Starving all day, he stuffed every last bit of the scarce cornmeal into his mouth and swallowed it down greedily. Beside him squatted a subordinate, a kid roughly Ding Tao’s age, but built like a young ox, eating with the same voracious intensity as Lei Jingzhe.
A head popped through the open kitchen window, a spatula tapping the edge of the pot. “There’s some broth left—want it? If so, come quick and get it!”
“Eat, eat, eat!” Li Xiong shouted, still chewing his cornmeal. He scrambled toward the window, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, stretching his bowl toward the pot, eyes glued to the thin broth.
“You’ve got quite an appetite,” said the cook, scraping the pot bottom. “If your brother had found a steady job, you wouldn’t be this starved!”
“My brother’s meant for big things!” Li Xiong said. Seeing the broth spilling over the pot’s edge, he wiped a circle with his finger and licked it clean.
The cook, a sturdy man, tugged his apron to wipe sweat from his brow. Seeing Li Xiong’s chubby, energetic face, he even dabbed at it for him, grumbling, “Your face is as black as the pot bottom. No one at home looks after you. Eh, what’s keeping you busy all day? Help the kid a bit!”
Lei Jingzhe gave the cook a simple, hearty smile, still chewing on some pickles. Li Xiong ran over, eager to please, and poured the broth into Lei Jingzhe’s bowl. “Brother, eat!”
“Good boy!” Lei Jingzhe didn’t hesitate and drank it in one gulp. He then looked at the sun overhead, sweat streaming down his face. Squinting against the glare, he shifted his feet and muttered, “Damn it!”
“Damn it,” Li Xiong echoed, standing to shield his brother from the sun.
Lei Jingzhe propped his arms on his knees. “What’s it like outside?”
Li Xiong craned his neck and whispered, “Still checking!”
Frustration darkened Lei Jingzhe’s face. Sweat ran down the back of his neck, revealing a scorpion tattoo. Since fleeing Cizhou, he’d scattered his men, taking only the foolish young boy he had raised himself, hiding along the roads in the towns while watching the imperial troops being drawn out. He waited for Xiao Chiyu to lose patience and scatter his forces—but instead, Xiao Chiyu was calm, setting fire along the way, making everyone uneasy.
“Brother, the imperial reward is so small,” Li Xiong said, puzzled, sweat soaking him. “Barely enough for the men to buy a drink. Why do so many still go?”
“Because it’s small,” Lei Jingzhe’s bright eyes gleamed under dripping brows. “The price is just right.”
If Xiao Chiyu had set the reward at several taels of silver, commoners might hesitate to spy for him. In recent years, Zhongbo had been plagued by disasters, bandits running rampant. High prices meant high risk, often life-threatening. But a few copper coins? Anyone spotting bandits and reporting to the troops could act unseen. Spending a few copper coins was normal, and if the bandits sought revenge later, they’d never find anyone.
“What should we do then?” Li Xiong asked, sweat pouring. “Brother, maybe… we just fight! There are only twenty thousand of them!”
Lei Jingzhe, equally tense, fully understood Xiao Chiyu’s intent: to force them into action, to make hiding impossible. But he knew his men—all raised fighting in the eastern provinces—were undisciplined, inexperienced against a trained army. Abandoning their advantage meant slaughter against the well-equipped troops. Yet staying hidden wasn’t a solution either. Could his men, used to shouting orders and rough life, stay disciplined?
Sweat dripping, Lei Jingzhe stared at the dirt under his feet. “This guy’s tricky. He won’t play by the rules of morality. I bet he left the north undefended, forcing us toward it. He knows it’s Li Bei in the north—he’s gambling that we won’t dare go.”
Damn it!
Lei Jingzhe spat in frustration.
He really didn’t dare go!
“Wait another night,” he suddenly stood. “Go, tell the Six-Ears to alert our brothers in town tonight. If the situation worsens, we retreat—at worst, back to Luoshan. I’ve got the energy to wear down Xiao Chiyu!”
Xiao Chiyu ate his meal—several steamed buns and pickles—sitting on the post where horses were tied. Soldiers handed villagers notes to redeem copper coins for intelligence.
“Master,” Dantai Hu approached. “He really is something—scattering people everywhere. How do we handle it? We can’t knock on every door.”
“He’s a bandit chief; naturally, he has his methods,” Xiao Chiyu said, scratching the eagle on his shoulder. “Even Li Bei’s Haidong Qing can quickly relay messages.”
“We’ve caught quite a few,” Dantai Hu said. “How should we deal with them?”
“Kill them,” Xiao Chiyu said.
Dantai Hu glanced at the captives, then at Xiao Chiyu. “But some are from good families… all killed?”
Xiao Chiyu looked at him. “If they went to Luoshan under Lei Jingzhe, they should have expected this day. I’m here to suppress bandits, not show mercy. Tell me—everyone mouths that they’re from good families. Who can you trust?”
Dantai Hu fell silent.
Xiao Chiyu stood, looking at Meng Fei Li, and said, “I know you thought of Bian Sha cavalry. But Hu, don’t misuse morality. You’ve been enlisted long enough—you shouldn’t need me to spell this out. Can’t you figure it out yourself?”
Dantai Hu bowed, hesitant.
“Stand,” Xiao Chiyu patted his shoulder. “You’re a commander now, not a guard at the Denzhou city gate. Don’t misplace yourself.”
Xiao Chiyu was generous, but exacting. His close guards knew the boundaries of authority. Previously, when Chen Yang ignored things, he made it far harsher than any whipping. But guards and commanders were different—hence why Chen Yang wasn’t assigned to lead troops, despite being a fierce warrior under Xiao Jiming.
Xiao Chiyu’s tone remained calm; Dantai Hu’s guilty expression revealed he already understood. No one could read Xiao Chiyu’s true emotions, yet in his relaxed voice, self-reflection had already begun.