On a dark, windy night, in the main hall of the rear courtyard of the Wang family estate, a faintly chilly breeze slipped through the poorly sealed doors and windows, stirring the dim yellow candlelight and making the gathered shadows sway and flicker. The atmosphere was grave.
Wang Yan was still wearing only a white undershirt, his hair hanging loose. He took a sip of tea and looked at the burly man kneeling on the floor, his body covered in dried dark-red blood.
"You said the river bandits refused payment and started killing the moment they boarded?"
"Yes, Young Master. Five small boats came, perhaps twenty men or so—not that many more than us. We should have been able to hold them off. So Steward Zhao went up to speak with them and offer them silver so both sides could go their separate ways in peace. But I don't know what was said. Their leader cut Steward Zhao down with a single slash, then shouted and led his men at us. It happened too fast. The brothers reacted too slowly and couldn't beat them. Two men died, and everyone lost their nerve and jumped into the river to save themselves. This humble one fought for quite a while, but seeing all the brothers jump into the river, I had no choice but to follow. If I hadn't been a decent swimmer, I fear there wouldn't even have been anyone left to report this to you, Young Master."
"What do you think those men were?"
"How could this humble one tell? They may have been desperate men forced into banditry, or they may have belonged to the grain transport system. They just saw that our ship was small and our numbers few, thought we were easy prey, and figured they could