Chapter 141: The Bandits

After silently enduring two years of hardship, Zhu Ting had long since grown accustomed to life on Wolf Howl Mountain. She cradled her child in her arms, stepped outside the cabin, and sat on the porch gazing up at the moon. Speaking softly to herself, she wondered how much longer this life would stretch on. Though it was far from what she desired, at least she still had her child for company.

Just then, a rough and swarthy man approached the cabin. His eyes fell on Zhu Ting sitting on the porch, and a crooked smile crept across his face.

“Whose child is this, really? Today they said the little one looks a bit like me. Could it truly be my blood?”

The man strode onto the porch, snatched the child from Zhu Ting’s arms, inspected the little one closely, and then headed straight into the cabin. Zhu Ting knew all too well what he had come for. She followed him inside with a furrowed brow and quietly closed the door behind her.

Though autumn had arrived, on Wolf Howl Mountain, cloaked in night, it felt as if spring was in full bloom. It was at night that the most primal urges of this bandit stronghold rose to the surface.

At the summit, romance was thick in the air. Farther down the mountain, at one of the checkpoints, a handful of petty bandits were on guard. Their duty was to keep watch over the main pass, but even so, they reveled just as heartily as those above.

In the midst of the checkpoint’s stone walls stood a gate, beside which sat a stone chamber.

“Come on, brothers, let’s drain this cup together!”

As darkness fell, the sound of merrymaking and toasts could be heard from the stone chamber by the gate. After several rounds, five of the eight bandits inside were sprawled across the table, dead drunk. Two more swayed unsteadily, while only one remained apart from the rest, sitting against the stone wall, slowly popping peanuts into his mouth one by one.

“Standing night watch is a miserable job—who in their right mind would take it?” grumbled one of the swaying men, raising his bowl of wine before letting out a loud burp and downing the contents in a single gulp. He tossed the empty bowl onto the table and flopped face-down onto the wood.

Seeing this, another half-drunk man chuckled, staggered over to the man eating peanuts, and raised his bowl.

“Come on, Brother Da Jing, let me offer you a cup.”

“Get lost! It’s bad enough you lot are all drunk. If I get drunk too and someone breaks in at night, what then? How would we answer to the chief?” The peanut-eating man snapped, then lifted his leg and kicked the half-drunk man square in the rear.

Though the kick seemed casual, it sent the man stumbling to the far side of the room, right among the six others slumped in drunken sleep.

“Fine, if you won’t drink, you won’t drink… Why so fierce, Brother Da Jing!” the half-drunk man muttered, then poured himself two more cups before collapsing onto the table as well.

Soon, the sound of snoring—like a pen full of pigs—filled the stone chamber as the seven drunken men succumbed to sleep.

The man called Da Jing frowned, let out a soft sigh, and took a wooden stool outside. He leaned against the outer wall, drew a handful of peanuts from his cloth pouch, and gazed up at the night sky as he ate.

Above, a half-moon hung in the sky, surrounded by faintly twinkling stars. As he munched on peanuts and admired the night, the occasional chill wind brushed past. Yet Da Jing, clad only in a thin robe despite the autumn air, did not feel the cold.

His surname was Guo. Since childhood, he had studied martial arts and had once been a notable figure in the martial world of the Great Tang. As the young master of a renowned sect, Guo Da Jing’s future had seemed bright. But when his sect was destroyed by enemies, he narrowly escaped with his life and ended up on Wolf Howl Mountain, reduced to a bandit.

At first, banditry was merely a way to survive. But as time passed, Guo Da Jing came to appreciate the freedom it offered. No longer burdened by the responsibilities of leadership or the strict codes of the righteous sect he once belonged to, he could live as he pleased—unfettered by rules or expectations.

Thus, Guo Da Jing began to fall. From the young master of a noble sect, he became a true outlaw of the greenwood.

The days of banditry were carefree, but after several years, a longing for retirement crept into his heart.

Three years prior, on the official road below the mountain, he had abducted a young lady of wealth and breeding. From the moment he saw her, he was utterly captivated. He brought her back to the mountain, intending to keep her for himself. But she was too beautiful, attracting the attention of all the bandits.

Wolf Howl Mountain had a rule: blessings are shared, hardships borne together; wine is drunk in company, and women are not kept by one alone. Because of this, Guo Da Jing could not claim her for himself. In the end, unable to endure the humiliation, the young lady threw herself from the cliff and ended her life.

From that moment, Guo Da Jing longed to leave Wolf Howl Mountain. But when he first joined the bandits, he had been forced to swallow a poison called the Root Pill, concocted by the mountain’s chief, the Sage of the Earth. Anyone who took the Root Pill had to receive an antidote from the chief every month; without it, their body would dissolve into a pool of blood.

Thus, any who joined the bandits of Wolf Howl Mountain could only leave with the chief’s antidote. Yet in all his years, Guo Da Jing had never heard of anyone obtaining it and escaping.

As time wore on, his desire to leave faded, just as he had given up his identity as young master and abandoned his bitter vendetta, content to rot away on this bandit mountain.

“What meaning is there in such a life? If I could choose again, I’d rather seek vengeance and die by my enemies’ hands than live in such disgrace.”

Resting his head against the wall, gazing into the night sky, Guo Da Jing was filled with regret and sorrow.

But who among us passes through life without regrets? Who does not know sorrow? If one can truly come to terms with these feelings, it is not torment, but a road to growth—a tempering of the soul.

Yet from the look of Guo Da Jing now, he had found no such understanding.

As he sat lamenting beneath the wall, a faint sound drifted from the tall stone barrier not far away.