Two days later.
Li Yun followed the Chen brothers to Crane Mountain.
One look at the place left him speechless.
The relative the Chen brothers had mentioned was no ordinary villager. He was a mountain bandit chief who had set up a small stronghold on Crane Mountain.
His name was Li Feihe.
Counting his lieutenants and underlings, he had about thirty-seven or thirty-eight men.
He had even made something of a name for himself around Crane Mountain.
Fortunately, Li Feihe seemed fairly shrewd. Though he was a bandit chief, he did not rob every traveler who passed by.
He robbed those he could and resolutely left the rest alone.
Even when he could rob someone, he rarely made a move. If they were willing to pay a little toll, he generally let them pass without further trouble. He had reached a fairly harmonious understanding with the caravans traveling through Crane Mountain.
The takings were smaller that way, but it was safer.
According to Li Feihe himself, there were no fewer than twenty strongholds of various sizes around Crane Mountain. Every year, one of them got too greedy or too brazen, crossed the wrong person, and was mysteriously wiped out under cover of night.
Only Li Feihe's Flying Crane Stronghold had remained as steady as ever through the four or five years since its founding.
Li Yun did not know what to say after hearing that. The bastard had turned banditry into a hard-earned craft.
Still, Li Yun had seen enough not to find it strange.
In a world of Martial Artists, nothing was more plentiful than Martial Artists. What did the law mean in their eyes? Strength ruled above all, and living as they pleased was all they sought.
Pick any mountain of decent size, and you could find a