Dong! Dong!
Loud bells echoed through the stockaded village.
The village's young and able-bodied men gathered at the gate.
The village was built against a mountainside, its houses all constructed from bamboo and timber, with a layer of thatch covering their roofs.
Wind lanterns hung one after another beneath the eaves.
Dark clouds loomed over the village, seeming to foretell an approaching storm.
The people wore short tunics and large woven bamboo hats.
Outside the village, dozens of black-clad riders stood in a line.
One burly man on a tall horse held a triangular black flag aloft.
Raised high, it fluttered in the wind.
The village chief was an old man. With two men carrying a chest, he walked up to the riders' leader.
"Here is this year's annual payment."
The leader said nothing, and the atmosphere suddenly fell somewhat silent.
Everyone in the village felt their heart rise into their throat.
Only after a long while did a voice slowly sound.
"This year's payment has gone up. This isn't enough!"
Anger welled up in everyone's hearts, but none dared give voice to it.
The annual payment had already risen three times in a row.
"I'll be back in a few days. Have the payment ready by then!"
With that, the black-clad riders swiftly departed.
After the riders left.
Only then did everyone dare to curse, though they still cautiously lowered their voices.
As though afraid the riders might hear them.
Just then, a slightly youthful voice rang out.
"Are we really going to let them keep oppressing us forever?"
Everyone's gaze converged on a short, dark-skinned boy.
He was not even as tall as the steel fork in his hands.
"There are so many of us! Why should we be afraid of them? We can band together and fight