Zhou Yan rode north for several dozen more li.
As the sun tilted westward, he caught the smell of smoke. There was a village ahead, with plumes of black smoke shooting into the sky.
He reined in his horse and watched for a while.
Several warhorses were tied up at the village entrance, while more than a dozen soldiers in battered armor busied themselves inside.
Sacks of grain were loaded onto carts one by one. Chickens and ducks flapped wildly through the courtyards. Many houses were already on fire, flames licking at the roof beams.
An old man was pinned to the ground as several deserters smashed him again and again with the flats of their blades, cursing as they demanded to know where he had hidden his silver. Beside them, two soldiers dragged out a woman who wailed and cried. A child clung to her leg, only to be kicked away and sent rolling far into the distance.
They were a squad of border army deserters. Their armor was incomplete, their faces covered in ash, and their blades still bore someone's blood.
Zhou Yan frowned, drew his saber, and spurred his horse straight into the village.
The soldier in front had not even turned around before a saber struck the back of his neck. He toppled from his horse, his head severed from his body.
The other two heard the commotion and drew their blades as they rushed over. Zhou Yan leaped from his saddle and unleashed the Mountain-Breaking Fist. One was sent flying outright, while the other crashed into a cart, scattering its sacks of grain across the ground.
"Enemy attack!" a soldier shouted at the top of his lungs.
More than a dozen soldiers stormed out from the houses, fury written across their faces as they raised