My change in mindset served me well as we pushed east from ShanZhou, leaving the corrupt town and its ghosts behind. The road began to climb, snaking its way into the foothills of the Xiao Mountains. The landscape transformed. The open, gentle farmlands and loose forests gave way to a wilder, more imposing world. The road grew steeper, narrower, and less traveled, a dusty ribbon clinging to the sides of towering, pine-clad hills. The travelers we met now were a different breed from the farmers and merchants of the plains. They were mostly hardened men guarding their own caravans, their eyes sharp and wary, or solitary pilgrims who seemed to put their faith in forces I could not see for protection.
I'd taken the quieter times to practice my martial skills. I'd assign Xiao Qi homework and I worked on exercise and drills while he worked on his mind. I'd remember to reserve some time to go over his answers before the sun went down and the light went out.
I hadn't stopped experimenting to try and get Qi to generate and flow, but there must have been something critical I was missing, as despite what I thought was many diverse efforts I didn't feel anything.
At least, with practice my sword skills were smoother. I'd hesitate to call them better, as I didn't have a benchmark when practicing alone, but it lent me a modicum of confidence I hadn't felt in some time.
The Bailiffs' casual warning about this stretch of road echoed in my mind. I passed a few travelers who seemed to confirm this story. They spoke of Black Wind Ridge with fearful respect, telling tales of a brutal bandit leader they called “One-Eyed Xiong,” and his crew of ruthless deserters from the frontier armies. They all warned me of the same place: a narrow gorge, a day's travel into the pass, a perfect natural chokepoint, a place where caravans went in but did not come out.
So I implemented a new travel protocol. I would scout a hundred paces ahead of the cart, if possible moving parallel to the road when terrain afforded it, my senses on high alert.
Xiao Qi and I used a simple signaling system. Two soft calls of a cuckoo meant “all clear,” a signal for him to guide the mule forward. A single, sharp chirp of a sparrow meant “halt immediately and take cover.”
For a day of travel, we moved through the outer woods in a painstakingly slow rhythm of scout and advance.
Early the next day, we entered a section of the pass where the road narrowed significantly, hemmed in by steep, rocky cliffs on one side and a dense, dark forest on the other.
This was a strong candidate for an ambush position so I signaled Xiao Qi and the cart to halt and take cover. I found a small trail that led me to the top of the ridge, giving me a commanding view of the road ahead. I moved deliberately and kept a low profile, my eyes scanning the terrain for any sign of human presence.
My caution paid off.
Down below, coiled in the narrowest part of the gorge like a waiting snake, was an ambush.
A log, the trunk of a pine, had been dragged across the road, blocking it completely. Hidden among the rocks and foliage on both sides of the road, I counted them: Twenty two men.
They were not the frontier soldiers I'd expected, evidently their reputation was somewhat exaggerated, but a motley crew, most armed with crude axes, clubs, and rusty blades. I saw a few with short bows, their posture more bored than tense anticipation.
My eye caught the flint of a blade. On a high, flat rock was a large, powerfully built man with a leather patch over one eye. He held a short, thick dao over his shoulder like a pirate and gestured impatiently to his men, his movements economical and authoritative. He was clearly expecting a target to appear at any moment. This must be One-Eyed Xiong.
I had spotted them before they had any idea I was here. For the better part of an hour, I studied the bandits, my mind cold and analytical.
They were fidgety, undisciplined, and made me wonder how in the world they managed to build up a fearsome reputation.
They seemed to have some sort of organisation, as while another whispered jokes to his neighbor, earning a sharp glare from what appeared to be a squad leader. That must be a thankless job. Their stances were lazy, their attention wandering. They held their weapons like farmers hold tools, not like soldiers hold their lives.
I scanned each one intently, searching for any sign of a martial artist, or the controlled breathing of Qi. There was nothing. They were just men, hardened by a life of violence, but probably possessing no inner power.
One-Eyed Xiong, however, was a different matter. He remained mostly still, perched on his rock, his one good eye was sharp and constantly moving, scanning the road, the cliffs, the trees. He held his dao with an air of familiarity, as if it were a part of his own arm. His posture was solid but he occasionally fidgeted impatiently by flourishing his blade.
As I studied their positions, I began to see the flaws in their deployment. They were clustered in groups for mutual support, but to cover all angles of the fairly wide gorge, they had been forced to spread out. My eyes were drawn to a lone archer, positioned about fifty paces further down the gorge from the main group. He was tucked behind a large boulder, clearly positioned as a lookout, meant to be the first to spot and fire upon anyone approaching from the south. His position, however, also left him isolated, separated from his nearest comrade by a thicket of trees and a tumble of rocks.
I had a target: a lone archer, isolated from the main force, a perfect source of information. The bandits continued their patient wait for their real prey, which evidently was supposed to show up some time today, but with a great degree of variability. The sun crept higher in the sky, some bandits were nodding off in the warm sun under what concealed shade they could find. It was time to act.
I tied a handkerchief around my face, bandit style and cursed my lack of foresight in not having changed out of my dark green robes. Using a hunting trick, I removed my boots and went barefoot instead. The feedback I got from my feet would help me avoid making too much noise and my footsteps would be softer anyways. I was careful to use the natural contours of the bluff to mask my approach, never sky lining myself against the ridge as I descended from above. I moved patiently, taking a full ten minutes to cover the hundred or so paces to the archer's position. My breathing was controlled, my steps placed with exacting precision on patches of soft moss and bare earth, avoiding the dry leaves and brittle twigs that could betray my presence. The archer, his eyes fixed intently on some colorful birds, remained completely oblivious.
Finally, I was there, rising like a ghost from the ferns directly behind him. I grabbed him by the neck in a rear naked choke, pulling him close to my chest and brought his head forward, squeezing his diaphragm.
The man gargled a little, but couldn't shout with his diaphragm compressed and brought my heart to my throat, but thankfully he was out in about 10 seconds and his vocalisations relatively quiet all things considered. I let go as soon as he was limp.
I only had a few moments before he woke up so I didn't hesitate. I stuffed a linen sock in his mouth and I bound his hands tightly with the sash of my robe.
Then I froze, listening for any signs someone had heard the scuffle. A distant snore seemed to dispel that notion.
I unsheathed my jiàn. I rested the top of the blade right before his face. The steel quivered, humming softly, a mere inch from his nose.
The bandit blinked his way into consciousness and confusion, his eyes widened in animalistic terror as he took in his situation: he was bound and gagged, and a masked figure loomed over him with a sword planted like a gravestone before his face. I reached forward and pulled the gag from his mouth.
My voice was a menacing growl. “Answer quietly, or your head will find a new home.”
He nodded frantically.
“Who are you waiting for?” I asked.
The bandit, his eyes darting from my masked face to the sword quivering an inch from his nose, trembled uncontrollably. "Who… who are you?" he whimpered, at least it was relatively soft.
I pressed the flat of my blade against his cheek. It was cold as ice, a stark contrast to the sudden, hot terror that flushed his skin. “I ask the questions. Who are you waiting for?”
The words spilled out in a panicked, desperate whisper.
“The magistrate! We're waiting for Magistrate Wu!” I blinked, the magistrate was awfully far from his jurisdiction.
He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the tense silence. “He… he's carrying the road tax silver. All of it. A whole season's worth from ShanZhou and the surrounding counties.”
The story tumbled out, a confession laying the whole treacherous plot bare. “The boss… he says the magistrate has been cheating us, keeping the lion's share of the taxes for himself and the Baron. He says it's time we took our ‘full share'. The plan is to… to kill the magistrate and his personal bodyguards, take the silver, and then tell everyone that ‘bandits on Black Wind Ridge' were responsible. No one would ever know.”
The prisoner stared at me with pleading eyes, having told me everything he knew. A logical flaw in his story pricked at my mind.
“Wait,” I said, my low growl of a voice sharp enough to make him flinch. “You said you'd blame the ‘bandits of Black Wind Ridge.' Are you not the bandits of Black Wind Ridge?”
“No, no, master! Please!” he squeaked, terrified he'd angered me by misspeaking. “Let me explain!”
He took a ragged breath. “The ‘Bandits of Black Wind Ridge'… it's an old name. There was a real gang here, years ago. The army came and wiped them all out. Xiong is smart, see? He took the old name for us. Most of the time, we collect the magistrates taxes. But when a fat merchant comes by…No one ever suspects the magistrate's own people are the ones doing the robbing.”
Ironic, I almost smiled beneath my mask. I noticed the corner of a Fulu talisman poking out from his robe's chest pouch and an idea came to me.
“I see,” I said, my voice dropping another octave, turning into a dangerous hiss that seemed to carry the chill of the forest floor. I leaned down until my masked face was inches from his. “So you're the grandsons making liberal use of my good name… the Black Wind Sword?!”
I came up with the name in a moment, but I'm pretty sure I read it somewhere in a book or a novel.The bandit's eyes, already wide with fear, threatened to pop from his skull as he put the pieces together in his head. The name I just invented, so close to the name of the ridge itself, clicked into place in his superstitious mind with the force of a divine revelation. He was not being held by a man. He had been captured by a ghost. A legend. The master of the ridge himself.
A pathetic whimper escaped his throat, and a dark, wet patch spread rapidly across the front of his trousers.
“The… B-Black Wind… Sword?” he stammered, in abject terror. “B-but… you're a legend! We know your great name well!” An exaggeration surely, something he thought would make me spare his life, he began to blubber, “Please, Great Master Sword! We meant no disrespect! It was Xiong! He's just a brute from the north, he doesn't know the mountain's ways! We didn't know!”
I silenced his panicked babbling with a light, almost gentle, tap of my sword's flat on his head. The metallic touch made him freeze.
“Do you want a chance?” I asked, my voice a low whisper. “To pay for your sins, so I don't have to pay you a… visit… again later?”
He nodded his head so frantically it seemed it might come loose. “Yes! Yes, Great Master Sword! Anything!”
“Good,” I said. “Then your penance begins now. Call your nearest companion over. Silently.”
His eyes darted around. “We… we have a signal,” he whispered eagerly, picking up a rock.
I nodded. With a trembling hand, he tossed the rock towards the small thicket that separated him from the next patch of banditry.
A moment later, a gruff voice whispered from the direction of the gorge, “What is it, Gao? I'm trying to watch the road.”
“Just… just thought I saw something,” my prisoner whispered back, his voice shaky but passable. “Come see.”
I heard the rustle of movement as the second bandit, annoyed but not yet suspicious, made his way toward the sound. He pushed through a thicket of ferns, grumbling, “If this is another squirrel, I'm going to…”
He never finished the sentence. As he stepped into view around the rock that served as Gao's shelter, I moved. He saw a flicker of movement too late, before my arms closed around his neck. He too quickly went limp before crumpling to the ground without a sound. I stuffed my other sock into his mouth.
“Very good,” I said to the terrified bandit as I loosened the rushed knot that was his bond. “Gao, is it? Tie your friend up.”
I held my blade to threaten the newcomer as Gao scrambled to obey, securely binding the man as he slowly regained consciousness. By the time Gao was finished, the unconscious man had gone from confusion, to anger, and then fear. He didn't struggle as his eyes remained locked on the gleaming blade inches from his face.
“Thank you Gao,” I informed him, solidifying his role as an accomplice, before handing him a half tael piece of silver to rub it into the new captive “Serve me well today, and I will even reward you. I want to see what other lies One-Eyed Xiong has been telling you all.”
A shocked Gao's face flushed red and he handled the silver as if it were red hot and he pocketed the silver, no doubt a significant sum for him, unable to meet the captives eyes. For his part, the captive's glare flashed quickly from rage and hurt at the apparent betrayal back to terror when I lightly tapped his head with the flat of my blade.
I looked down at the newly awakened man. “Your friend Gao here tells me Xiong plans to share the magistrate's silver with all of you. A noble leader.” My voice was laced with cold, mocking disbelief. “Is that the truth he told all of you?"
The second bandit immediately also began to babble. “Technically yes”, he stopped himself as I raised an eyebrow and my sword arm “I mean No! No! He… he told us that the main haul was for him and his closest brothers! He was going to give the rest of ‘em”, he nodded towards Gao, “a smaller cut! “ A glint of inspiration seemed to flicker across his face as he realised a way to survive the situation “He's cheating them!”
Gao stared at his fellow bandit, his turn to shift from shame to a furious anger. He had been risking his life for a leader who was planning to betray him all along. The confession confirmed it. One-Eyed Xiong was just another greedy master.
“Is there anyone else who might be… interested in hearing this story, Gao?” I asked.
This question snapped his attention back to the moment at hand. He must have seen the path to survival and silver revealed before him. “Yes, Great Master!” he whispered eagerly. “There's Old Man Wei. And the brothers, Jin and Ju! They're strong fighters, but Xiong's favorite lieutenant, Ping Qi” I glanced at our tied captive who frantically shook his head to indicate that this was not in fact him, “beat Ju last week for spilling his wine. They hate Ping, and they fear Xiong.”
“Good,” I said. “Bring them Gao. One at a time. Have them come here and hear this story for themselves. Quietly.”
As Gao scrambled away left in haste I turned to the second bandit and brought myself down to eye level. The man flinched. “Now tell me… your name”
"Wang... Wang Er, Great Master! This worthless one is called Wang Er!"
"You're... also a lieutenant of his, right?" I asked. A reasonable guess, I thought, considering he knew about the uneven loot distribution. I pulled another half tael sized lump of silver out of my chest pocket and fiddled with it as I spoke.
Wang Er's eyes went from the gleaming lump of silver to my masked face and back again. The inference that he was a lieutenant seemed to terrify him more than the sword had.
He shook his head frantically, his whole body squirming against his bonds.
"No! No, Great Lord, not me! A lieutenant? This worthless one is just a farmer's son! I am nothing!" His voice was a panicked rush of words. "I only know because I listen! Ping and the others, they drink and boast in their tents at night! The two of them were both soldiers before, unlike the rest of us."
I follow up with another crucial question: "So tell me Wang Er, how would you like to meet your friends as they show up? As a captive? Or..." He couldn't make out the smile behind my mask as I brought the silver up to his eye level "as a fellow victim?"
His desperate denial subsided at my second question, and the silver came into focus. His breathing hitched. The choice I offered was a lifeline.
"A victim, Great Master," he breathed, the words filled with a desperate, sudden conviction.
"Good, and I'll make you into heroes," I promised with conviction of my own.
One by one, the process was repeated, minus the knocking out part. Gao and Wang Er, my loyal heralds, summoned Old Man Wei and the resentful brothers, Jin and Ju.
Each was brought into my hidden fold, each was shown the truth of their leader's betrayal, and each pledged their temporary allegiance to the “Black Wind Sword” who rewarded them for it in silver. Admittingly my purse was now wearing somewhat thin, but I figured my life was worth more. Each was briefed in turn and returned to their previous positions quietly.
It proved far easier than convincing Gao or Wang Er, and their presence and support quickly had the unhappy bandits hopping on the mutiny bandwagon. I'd remain hidden and step out only after Wang Er introduced the situation.
After a tense couple of hours, thankfully without the magistrate himself showing up to interrupt my plan (it was clear he was to show up today, but when exactly was a mystery to everyone, including Xiong), I was no longer alone. I commanded a small, secret faction within the bandit group: Gao, Wang'er, Old Man Wei, Jin and Ju.
This left 18 of Xiong's loyalists in the gorge, and Xiong himself, hopefully unaware of the rebellion brewing just paces from their positions.
“The plan is simple,” I'd say, my voice a confidential murmur. “We are a third party. When the magistrate's men enter the gorge, Xiong will attack. We do nothing. We wait in the wings for my signal.”
“Scenario one: If the magistrate's bodyguards are winning, if they cut down Xiong's lieutenants, we will rush forth.” My voice was crisp, decisive. “We will ‘rescue' the magistrate from the ‘bandits.' We will be heroes.”
“Scenario two,” I went on, “if Xiong and his men gain the upper hand, we let them. We let them fight the magistrate's guards. We let them grind each other down until they are bloody and exhausted. And when the victors are catching their breath, we strike. We take down the surviving bandits, and we take the silver.” I leave out the part where we don't keep it… for now.
“Master,” Wang Er said, his voice filled with newfound respect. “I understand now. We fight with the winning side.”
Then, we waited. The afternoon sun beat down, its heat trapped in the gorge. The air grew thick and still, heavy with anticipation. The tension was a living thing, tight beneath my ribs. Late in the afternoon, a soft whistle, like the call of a mountain bird, echoed from Xiong's position across the gorge.
Moments later, I saw them. A portly official in rich, emerald-green silks rode a fine, black horse, probably Magistrate Wu. Next to him was a thin clerk dressed in linen robes. They were surrounded by a dozen men: one in black lamellar and another in silver armor, with unusual old fashioned (by Tang standards, those were popular in the Han dynasty) square shields and swords. These were professionals, their movements disciplined, their eyes constantly scanning the cliffs. The fact they wore armor at all hinted they were likely members of a formal military unit.
The rest were nominally dressed as yamen runners, but bore the familiar resemblance to the thugs I'd seen at Shanzhou. These men chatted and held their simple spears casually on their shoulders.
Behind them rumbled a single, heavy wagon, pulled by two strong horses and guarded with a proximity that spoke of its precious cargo. The road tax silver.
As the magistrate's party reached the massive log blocking the road the professionals drew their swords, One-Eyed Xiong rose from his perch on the high rock. He threw his head back and let out a guttural roar that ripped through the valley's stillness.
“TAKE IT ALL!”
The gorge erupted into a cacophony of violence. My count was largely correct, but I'd missed a few further down the road. Moments later, my little squad rendezvoused as planned in the treeline, fifty paces from the action, and out of view.
The magistrate's guards formed a loose circle around the wagon, the laminar armored professional's blades gleamed as they faced the charging wave of bandits. The initial impact was a maelstrom of desperate, close-quarters violence. Two bandits went down in the first few seconds, clutching at their throats to precise strikes. But the sheer weight of attackers was overwhelming.
An arrow caught one guard high in the shoulder, causing him to stagger. He was immediately swarmed by three attackers, and he was dragged down under a flurry of blows. Another guard, felling a bandit in front of him overextended slightly and failed to see a third assailant who cut deep into him from behind with a heavy, rusty ax. The clerk lasted all of a few moments, catching an arrow meant for the magistrate as the larger man ducked behind the smaller one.
The defensive line was quickly broken. The two professionals fought back-to-back with the terrified magistrate cowering behind. It was clear that the silver armored man was the captain of the guard based on the way he bellowed orders. Roaring with bloodlust, One-Eyed Xiong himself strode forward to engage him, his heavy dao cleaving the air.
The captain fought magnificently. He fought not with Xiong's brute force, but with a cold, desperate precision born of years of training. One-Eyed Xiong, roaring, brought his heavy dāo down in a blow meant to split a man in two. The captain caught the crushing impact on the center of his shield, his arm groaning under the strain, the shockwaves rattling his teeth. But his sword arm was already moving. Xiong yanked his blade out for another swing and a bandit left forward to save him, the captain thrust a perfect, economical motion that ran a bandit clean through the gut.
He shoved the dying man from his blade and pivoted, parrying another attacker's wild swing. His sword flashed, cutting a deep, fatal line across the man's throat. A third bandit, seeing an opening, lunged with a spear. The captain didn't even retreat; he stepped into the attack, deflecting the spearhead with the rim of his shield, sidestepping Xiong's feverish overhand slash, and severing the spearman's hands at the wrist with a single, vicious backhand cut before finishing him with a thrust to the heart. He was the seawall that held the tide at bay.
But it could not last. While the captain single-handedly dispatched a fourth and then a fifth bandit, his remaining men fell one by one. The thugs were of little use, each barely better than a bandit themselves. One went down with a spear thrust through his gut.
His black armored companion, though skilled, was not nearly as strong a fighter, and relied heavily on his armor to repel the occasional incoming cut or jab. He'd taken down a fair number of opponents as well, but sustained an early, unlucky cut to the undefended underarm. As the battle wore on, his shield weighed to heavily on him and was pulled away when an axehead caught on its top rim.
Still, he fought on, his back protected by his leader, and defending his leader's rear until he couldn't. A nimble bandit dodged backwards and the black armored guard took one step forward in a hastily step to strike the bandit down and left his back exposed for but an instant. Xiong seized the opportunity and used the thick back of his blade to slam the man's helmet, the blunt force knocking him to the ground, and he didn't get back up.
The captain was truly alone, his face grim with sweat and determination, the ground around him littered with the five men he had already killed. Seven bandits remained, including Xiong, and they now circled him like wolves, their initial frenzy replaced by a wary respect.
His breath came in ragged gasps. A shallow cut bled freely on his forearm, and his shield, splitting with a large crack, must have felt like a slab of lead. His movements were still deadly, but they had lost their explosive speed. He parried a clumsy thrust and dispatched a sixth attacker, but took a dagger slash to his leg for his trouble. A power hit from Xiong's dao shatters his shield in two and the captain rolls away, drawing a dagger from his boot to hold in his offhand.
One-Eyed Xiong bellowed with laughter, seeing his prize finally tiring. He let his men continue to press, content to watch the captain bleed. It was then that one of the bandits saw an easier path to glory. He broke from the circle, his eyes fixed on the quivering form of Magistrate Wu hiding behind the wagon.
The captain saw the move, but the distance was too great. There was no time. In a split-second decision that sealed his fate, he tossed his dagger. The blade spun end over end, a flash of silver light, and buried itself to the hilt in the bandit's back. The man gave a choked cry and collapsed, his fingers just inches from the magistrate's silk robes. Xiong's broad blade mostly severing the captain's dominant hand at his wrist until it hung by a thin stretch of flesh and skin.
One-Eyed Xiong stepped forward, his one good eye gleaming with cruel amusement. "You have fought bravely," he sneered. "But you've run out of tricks."
The captain didn't waste breath on a reply. He lunged, a desperate, final gamble to get inside the deadly reach of the dāo. It was impossibly brave. And utterly futile.
Xiong simply swung with a simple, contemptuous grace. The steel sliced deep into the captain's side. He gasped, in shock, and sank to his knees.
The gorge fell silent, save for the moans of the dying and the heavy, gasping breath of the victors.
One-Eyed Xiong, his arm bleeding from a deep gash and his face splattered with gore, turned his one good eye to the last man standing: his patron. Magistrate Wu scrambled out from behind the wagon, his fine robes covered in dust, his face contorted in disbelief and terror.
“Xiong! You traitorous dog!” he screamed, his voice a high-pitched shriek. “I'll have you executed! I'll have your family…”
With a contemptuous laugh, One-Eyed Xiong strode forward, the blood dripping from his blade. “You'll have nothing, you fat pig. You just collected our silver for us.”
He didn't even wait for a reply. With a single, brutal backhand swing of his blood-soaked blade, he silenced the magistrate's pleas forever.
The battle was over. But the victory had been costly. Of the bandits who started the fight, only five remained standing, including a wounded but triumphant One-Eyed Xiong. They were exhausted, bleeding, and utterly consumed by their victory. They laughed, clapped each other on the back, and turned their greedy eyes to the prize, the heavy wagon full of silver.
One-Eyed Xiong stood over the corpse of his former patron, his one good eye gleaming with avarice as he turned to the prize. His four remaining men, wounded and splattered with gore, staggered towards the wagon, their discipline forgotten in the bloody, triumphant haze. They had won. They were rich. And in that moment of supreme confidence, they were at their most vulnerable.
The perfect moment.
