Chapter 143: Yin Mao Severing the Flood Dragon's Tendon

Hearing the response, Zhou Qing looked at the black dagger in his hand and smiled, for he was quite fond of the name "Ruthless." He tucked the black short blade into his treasure pouch, then raised his foot and pressed a few points on Guo Dajing's body, crippling his mobility. Lifting him as easily as one would a chicken, Zhou Qing carried him into the stone chamber beside the stockade gate.

Once inside, Zhou Qing securely bound the other seven men, still lost in drunken sleep, with dragon sinew. Afterward, he opened the main gate of Wolf Howl Mountain stronghold.

Not far from the gate, Zhu Yidan was hiding behind a large tree, his face etched with fear. But when he saw Zhou Qing appear beyond the gate, his expression shifted, and he hurriedly ran over.

From the look on Zhu Yidan’s face, Zhou Qing could see not just joy but a hint of exhaustion as well. After all, he was only an ordinary child, and it was already deep into the night—weariness was to be expected.

"Little Dan," Zhou Qing said, "there’s been a change of plans about going up the mountain, so I can’t take you with me. See those eight men in the stone chamber? Tonight, you must watch over them carefully. Don’t let a single one leave, or they might raise the alarm."

He gave this reason, leaving Zhu Yidan in the chamber, then strode alone into the night, heading up the mountain.

Zhu Yidan did not object to Zhou Qing’s arrangement. At this hour, fatigue had overtaken him, and he scarcely had the strength to climb the mountain any further. Moreover, the task entrusted to him seemed momentous in his eyes—having a child watch over eight grown men made Zhu Yidan feel proud, for he believed Zhou Qing valued him enough to give him such an important responsibility.

Once Zhou Qing left, the eight bandits bound with dragon sinew turned their eyes to Zhu Yidan, who stood with hands clasped behind his back, glaring fiercely at them with wide, unblinking eyes.

"You little brat with no sense, what are you staring at? Hurry and untie me, or I’ll slap you dead with one hand!" one bandit bellowed, thinking to leverage his ferocity to frighten the boy into freeing him now that Zhou Qing had gone and only the child remained.

But Zhu Yidan was no fool. Far from being cowed, the bandit's words only stoked a fire in his belly.

With a crisp smack, Zhu Yidan raised his small hand and slapped the bandit across the face.

"You old fool, what are you yelling for? If you shout again, I’ll finish you off myself!"

Having delivered a heavy slap, Zhu Yidan felt a sting in his palm, but he walked over to the wall, picked up a broadsword resting there, and grasped it in his hand.

Seeing Zhu Yidan take up the blade, the bandit’s tone changed at once.

"I was wrong, young master! I was only trying to amuse you, truly…"

Fearing the reckless child might stab him, the bandit hurried to flatter and placate him.

"I’ve lived so long and never met my own grandfather, but today, at last, I meet you! Grandfather, my dear little grandfather, I’ve missed you terribly!" another bandit chimed in, seeing Zhu Yidan’s glare shift to him. Driven by the urge to survive, he spoke these words.

Zhu Yidan, being still a child and not overly cunning, burst out laughing at this flattery. He walked over to the bandit, reached out, and patted him on the head as a grandparent might a grandchild, a gesture that carried a certain mischievous delight.

Just then, Zhu Yidan’s stomach gave a loud growl—he had not yet eaten dinner since following Zhou Qing here, so his hunger was only natural.

"Grandpa, look behind the door—there’s a bamboo basket with roast chicken inside. If you’re hungry, help yourself," said a bandit with a sycophantic smile, eager to please.

At these words, Zhu Yidan swallowed hard, patted the bandit’s cheek, and said, "Good boy, my dear grandson."

He turned to the door, lifted the cloth covering the bamboo basket, and found a large bowl with a whole roast chicken inside. Delighted, Zhu Yidan grabbed the chicken, sat on a wooden stool, and began devouring it with gusto.

After several mouthfuls, he grew thirsty and looked for water, but found none in the stone chamber—only wine jars on the table.

Chewing his chicken, Zhu Yidan glanced around the room and finally fixed his gaze on the wine jars.

"Grandpa, are you thirsty? The jars are filled with fine wine," a bandit guessed his intention and encouraged him to drink.

Parched as he was, Zhu Yidan carried the roast chicken to the door and peered into the pitch-black night, hesitated, then returned to the table and picked up a wine jar.

Examining the vessel, Zhu Yidan recalled the village elders’ warnings—wine could inebriate and cause trouble. Yet his thirst was overwhelming. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a large swig.

The aged wine, strong and heady, hit the child hard. Instantly, his head spun, nausea rising like a storm in his stomach.

He doubled over, retched, and vomited up all the roast chicken he’d just swallowed, along with a stream of sour bile. At last, his eyes fluttered shut and he collapsed onto the table, dead drunk.

"Finally, that little brat is quiet," a bandit muttered. "Yin Mao, come over here. There’s a short sword at my waist—use your mouth to get it and try to cut through these weird cords binding us."

Yin Mao, hearing this, wriggled over to the bandit with the sword and gripped the hilt in his teeth.

The bandits’ faces lit with hope as Yin Mao set to work. But after some time sawing at the dragon sinew, their expressions turned grim.

"What in blazes is this stuff? It won’t cut at all!"

Frustrated, Yin Mao spat the short sword aside, complaining bitterly. But as he did, Zhu Yidan—who had collapsed at the table—suddenly sprang to his feet, startling the bandits.

"Grandpa, are you all right?" one called out in alarm.

"Father, your son will avenge you!" Zhu Yidan muttered thickly, paying the bandit no heed as he staggered away from the table.