No Shame in Making Money in the Mountains

"Whoosh—thwack!"

The stone went wide and struck the tree trunk.

"Ah, so close!"

Another person missed.

Several people tried in succession, but none hit the target. The closest anyone came was making the branch with the bird's nest sway.

Finally, a lean young man pressed his lips together and took careful aim again and again, then suddenly flung a flat stone from his hand!

The stone traced an arc through the air.

Thud.

It clearly grazed the edge of the nest, making it shake violently as a few strands of dry grass drifted down.

"Hit it! He hit it!"

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Qing He Miao clapped with a smile.

"Good! Brother, what an eye you have! Come, claim your prize!"

He opened a plastic bag and gestured for the young man to reach in.

The man was so nervous that his face trembled a little.

He first rubbed his hand hard against the front of his tattered clothes, then looked at the two bags of peanuts and sunflower seeds, both mixed with candy, and examined them to tell them apart.

Taking a deep breath, he chose the peanuts, which looked bigger, and reached into the bag.

When he pulled his hand out, his five fingers were pressed together, clutching as big a handful as he could manage!

"Whoa!"

Having seen with their own eyes that they really could get something tangible, the crowd grew even more excited!

Everyone joined in eagerly, scrambling to find suitable "ammunition" on the ground. Some even shoved one another over a suitably shaped stone.

The unidentified bird's nest had a truly miserable day.

Stones and clods of earth flew at it from all directions, striking it with repeated thuds. It swayed back and forth on the branch, as though it might fall apart at any moment.

Every so often, someone hit it and let out an excited shout, then ran beaming to Qing He Miao and took a handful of prizes from a bag as promised.

There was even one man with astonishing strength in his arm.

After stepping back five paces, he hit it with one stone.

Under the envious gazes of the crowd, he not only grabbed a handful of food but also obtained a cup of fiery baijiu from Qing He Miao.

He tipped his head back and drained it on the spot.

It burned so fiercely that he bared his teeth and grimaced. Alarmed, he could only wonder for a moment what sort of poison he had drunk.

Yet his face glowed red, drawing a chorus of cheers.

Though Qing He Miao had started it all himself,

he was still greatly surprised to see them so jubilant. Caught up in it, he slapped his thigh to keep time and began humming softly:

"It is not that I, the royal one, wear a worried frown. I recall when I ruled Wagang as king, content at heart. The flying-dragon hat sat upon my head. My apricot-yellow python robe came from across the sea..."

What he sang was not an authentic traditional Yu Opera piece,

but "Breaking the Secret Stream," a traditional Peking Opera song he had heard online in a later age.

It was also known as "Double Surrender to Tang," "Double Arrow-Carrying," and "Silver Palace Mountain."

Versions of the story also circulated widely in Sichuan Opera, Gui Opera, Han Opera, Hui Opera, Xiang Opera, Dian Opera, and other forms.

It told how, at the end of the Sui dynasty, Li Mi, leader of Wagang Stockade, lost his followers through suspicion. Qin Qiong, Xu Jiji, and the others surrendered to Tang one after another, leaving only Wang Bodang at his side.

At Wang Bodang's urging, Li Mi disbanded his followers and surrendered to Li Tang. He was granted the title of prince and married Princess Heyang.

Later, Li Mi once again harbored thoughts of rebellion, and both men were shot dead by a hail of arrows.

Now, however, the great Tang had only recently fallen, and the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms had already seen its first dynasty and sixth kingdom.

Truly, that time and place were just like this time and place.

In any case, no one around him had heard the original. They merely found the tune fresh and pleasing, and, paired with the Daoist priest's leisurely thigh-slapping, it had a charm all its own.

Many people looked at him with shining eyes.

At last, when the meal was finished, Qing He Miao handed all the candy left in the bags to the children watching, setting off a small round of cheers and a scramble for it.

The sunflower seeds and peanuts were shared equally among everyone as an "extra snack."

Only the bottle of liquor still had a little left at the bottom.

He did not let anyone else drink it. Instead, he opened the cap and, beneath the crowd's regretful gazes, poured all the remaining liquor into the blazing fire.

"Whoosh!"

The flames suddenly leaped higher, the liquor fumes rising as they gave off even fiercer heat.

With this stuff, a small taste for a bit of fun was enough.

Especially given their present circumstances.

Living in a drunken dream might be a pleasure,

but tomorrow they might well be unable to get up and lose their lives in a daze.

It was not worth it for a drink.

In the bitter cold of Beyond the Pass, this had been a common occurrence in the past. There were plenty of such cases on the streets in winter.

If they died, they should not die indirectly by his hand.

As expected of a man who had built up a family estate in ancient times, Huang Wulang was truly punctual.

He had long since gathered the capable members of his clan and explained the plan to work with Qing He Miao in detail.

The potential benefits were quite tempting to them as well.

He soon persuaded them.

Thus, on a night just over ten days after the New Year,

the cold moon cast its clear light over the rolling mountains, as though coating them in a layer of frost.

The mountain wind howled past the mouth of the valley, carrying a piercing chill and sweeping up dry grass and loose snow.

Led by Huang Wulang's men, Qing He Miao and more than sixty able-bodied young men made their way there and lay hidden in silence behind a sheltered hill.

Before setting out, Qing He Miao had watched these men inspect their spears, long sabers, and bowstrings one by one inside the fort.

They were a little short on armor, though.

But quite a few members of the Huang Family wore homemade rattan armor.

He had heard it was woven tightly and firmly from old vines soaked in tung oil, and was no worse than ordinary leather armor.

Qing He Miao was startled by the sight.

These were all genuine able-bodied fighting men.

Indeed, this was an ancient age of chaos: a local strongman alone could muster skilled men equipped like this.

And even this force was after Huang Wulang had taken precautions against Qing He Miao,

leaving some men and equipment behind to guard the fortified stronghold.

"Daoist priest, please look."

Huang Wulang lowered his voice, led Qing He Miao to lie at the edge of the hill, and pointed below.

A narrow mountain path wound along the mountainside. Beyond its outer edge was a steep slope, almost a cliff, strewn with jagged rocks and thick with shrubs.

If someone lost their footing and tumbled down, even if the fall did not kill them, they would have a hard time climbing back up anytime soon, and the commotion would surely alert the nearby target.

Following the mountain path with his gaze, he could just make out the outline of a wooden palisade in a mountain hollow roughly two li away, with the dark silhouettes of several tall watchtowers standing within.

Points of crimson bonfire light were scattered among them, particularly conspicuous in the pitch-black night.

Voices and barking dogs drifted intermittently on the wind.

"That's Mount Luba's stronghold."

Huang Wulang spoke quietly.

"Another small band of bandits originally occupied the place. Last year, Mount Luba came wandering through with his remaining men and took it with only a dozen or so of them. Since then, he's naturally gathered routed soldiers and recruited displaced people. He now has around a hundred men."

As for who had first built the stronghold here, there was no way to find out.

In the vast outlying ranges of the Taihang Mountains, bandit dens were the one thing in plentiful supply during times of chaos.

Qing He Miao gazed at the scattered bonfires, a glimmer of excitement flashing in his eyes as he asked quietly:

"Have you already scouted out their situation?"

"We finished scouting long ago."

Huang Wulang's expression turned grave, and he beckoned over an alert young clansman.

"Give the map to the Daoist priest."

The clansman came over and pulled a piece of tanned hide from inside his clothes.

Huang Wulang took it and handed it to Qing He Miao.

"The residences of the main leaders in the stronghold, and the approximate locations of their weapons, grain, and horses, are all marked on it. The abducted 'hostages' are locked up in a separate jail.

"Anyone keeping watch or standing guard at night, or able to sleep in a building, is one of their own. Daoist priest, you can deal with them as you see fit. Once you've succeeded, you can take the opportunity to set fire to these granaries and stables to throw them into chaos. We'll then break in from the front to support you."

Chapter 51: No Shame in Making Money in the Mountains

Qing He Miao took the hide and studied it by the cold moonlight.

Sure enough, it was the same old recipe.

The hide was covered in crooked lines, circles, and labels, making it look gaudy and cluttered.

Without specialized training, and with the light so dim, he could make no sense at all of a map drawn in this era.

Even so, without the help of a local power, an ordinary person could not have obtained one!

Fortunately, someone was explaining it beside him.

Though the map was rough, the general locations and the actual route to take were now clear.

"Wulang, how about we decide whether to set the fires according to the circumstances?"