Onward Again

"Fuck, I can't stand this ranking! Now the whole world knows I'm a two-fifty-a goddamn idiot!"

"Wait, no, I'm not an idiot!"

"Shit! What kind of lousy book is this? Is it screwing with me? And where's my verdict? Why am I the only one without one? There goes all my swagger!"

On the way back, Zhao Changhe cursed nonstop. He showed none of the glory of making the Chaos Era Ranking, nor any unease over the resentment it might provoke. Instead, he was hung up on the ugly number and the lack of a single badass verdict.

Wang Dashan and the others watched Zhao Changhe's retreating back with strange expressions, unsure what to make of their eccentric boss.

How could everyone get a verdict? Of the two hundred and fifty people on the Hidden Dragon Ranking, only a handful had one. Nobody knew what determined it, either. Someone with a verdict had once been hacked to death the very next day, so it didn't seem to signify much.

Getting onto the ranking was already good enough... He had made the Chaos Era Ranking at a mere First Level of the Profound Pass. Plenty of people far stronger than him had never made it, yet he was still fretting over two-fifty.

The Hidden Dragon Ranking differed from the Heaven, Earth, and Human Rankings. The latter reflected rankings in current strength; the former didn't quite work that way.

It was a ranking of rising talents, judging the potential their achievements demonstrated. It meant others would struggle to achieve better results under the same conditions, suggesting that this person's prospects were worth anticipating. Hence "Hidden Dragon"-it didn't mean their strength already ranked among the top few hundred in the world.

It was just that higher-level battles were more revealing. However impressive two weaklings pecking at each other might look, it couldn't prove much. Thus, those ranked higher generally had higher cultivation, while those with lower cultivation naturally ranked lower. On the surface, it looked much like a ranking of strength.

Many people couldn't understand that. They would always think, Damn it, you made the ranking at only the first level. Why can't I make it at the third? There are countless people stronger than you. What gives you the right to rank two-fifty? If I beat you into the dirt, shouldn't that spot be mine?

That was why it would bring endless trouble knocking at the door. Otherwise, why would it be called the Book of Troubled Times?

Yet Zhao Changhe was still worrying about whether the number sounded good. Did he not know, or did he genuinely not care...

And there was something else...

Forcing the helmsman to cough up money and grain through this challenge had certainly felt satisfying... But Helmsman Fang had only compromised because he was injured. Once he recovered in a few months, how did Zhao Changhe intend to die?

Wang Dashan and the others kept feeling that the days ahead would be miserable.

Whatever the case, once they returned to the Mountain Stronghold and put everything into storage, they finally had rice for the pot. The bandits didn't care where it had come from or what trouble it might bring later. Every one of them was as delighted as if it were New Year, cheering, "Long live Boss Zhao!"

Zhao Changhe, the recipient of those cheers, rubbed his chin. He knew this wasn't a lasting solution.

Several cartloads of rice seemed like plenty, and the buying power of several hundred taels of silver was nothing to sneeze at. It could purchase a considerable amount of supplies. Even so, it wouldn't sustain a stronghold of several hundred people for long. That was why, despite having reserves before, they had still needed people to rob travelers or hunt beasts. Otherwise, sooner or later, they would eat through their mountain of supplies.

The Mountain Stronghold needed a source of income, generally highway robbery. However unwilling Zhao Changhe was to do it, he couldn't avoid the issue.

The few entries Zhao Changhe had seen in the Book of Troubled Times had all happened to include the date. This time it was Lesser Cold, reminding everyone that the Spring Festival was only twenty-odd days away. Spring would soon arrive...

The coming of spring meant the absence of travelers over the past month or two would begin to change. More travelers and merchants would gradually pass through. Perhaps some already were-he wondered whether people in this world hurried home for New Year.

Maybe not many, but there should be some.

"Boss, what do we do next?" In the stronghold chief's meeting hall, Wang Dashan asked from beside him, "Helmsman Fang was right about one thing. The Sub-Helm currently has no businesses. We're the ones responsible for bringing in money and goods. We can't keep getting money from the Sub-Helm..."

Zhao Changhe lounged sideways in the chief's seat, lazily propping up his forehead. "Spring's coming. People are bound to pass through... First, assign the men to set up checkpoints on the major mountain routes."

Wang Dashan: "?"

Zhao Changhe said lazily, "This mountain road I opened, these trees I planted. If you want to pass this way, leave your passage money. Sure, those lines are pretty corny by now, but isn't that what mountain bandits do?"

"Isn't that just highway robbery?"

"It's a little different from highway robbery, because we're openly setting up checkpoints."

"?"

"And we won't take everything... I thought today's city entry tax was a reasonable amount. Let's charge that. Travelers can pay a little and be on their way."

Wang Dashan said, "Boss, didn't you say the government troops would come wipe us out... Doing this out in the open..."

"This is our own territory. If government troops come, can't we scram? They can't stay there forever, can they? Look, it's precisely because we have to watch out for government troops that we can't make a big show of it. We can only pull this stuff in our own mountains. You think I enjoy setting up highway tollbooths?"

"..."

"Speaking of government troops, Helmsman Fang may have agreed readily enough, but we still can't count on him... Pick a few sharp fellows to stay in the city. At the slightest rustle of wind or grass, have them come report immediately."

"Yes."

"For everything else, keep hunting beasts for now. It won't bring in much, but it's better than nothing. Oh, right, replace the stronghold's main flag. Write 'Uphold Heaven's Justice' on it. And get a plaque for this hall, too. Call it the Hall of Gathering Heroes."

Wang Dashan's eyes were spinning. He had absolutely no idea what his boss was thinking.

Still, he kept getting the feeling that his boss didn't actually want to plunder at all, that he was putting it off for as long as he could... He didn't know whether he was imagining it. His boss was clearly a ferocious man, a born bandit. How could he not want to rob people...

Hadn't he stolen the saber he was holding right now?

"All right." Zhao Changhe rose to his full height. "I'm going to train. You lot go train, too. Don't fucking lie down and give up just because Instructor Sun left. When government troops come, you'll learn what death means. Dismissed."

After dismissing the meeting, Zhao Changhe headed straight for the herb storehouse to prepare the supplementary medicinal bath described in the Blood Baleful Art.

He had no interest whatsoever in developing the Mountain Stronghold. He really was putting it off one day at a time. He was hiding in North Mang as a bandit chief to cultivate, not to farm and start a rebellion, much less to get endlessly entangled with some lowly Sub-Helm helmsman. How lame was that?

The most obvious privilege of becoming chief was being entitled to snatch himself a stronghold husband... No, being entitled to have servants heat water for his medicinal bath. Wouldn't he be an idiot not to make use of it?

External arts often used medicinal baths as a supplement. That was standard practice. They could stimulate the circulation of blood and qi, as well as improve resistance to blows and other such qualities. It was just that soaking in these baths was generally rather unpleasant.

Zhao Changhe felt that Deputy Helmsman Huang had failed to withstand even one hit from him today because he had hardly trained in this area. Otherwise, a method like the Blood Baleful Art tended to make its practitioners tough-skinned and thick-fleshed. Though it couldn't make them impervious to blades and spears or withstand sharp weapons, it offered considerable advantages against blunt impacts. If Huang had trained properly, how could a single kick have been too much for him?

In fact, the more he practiced, the more he felt the Blood Baleful Art was a formidable cultivation method. Its attacks were savage and domineering, and its defenses were quite good, too. It shone on both fronts. Its mediocre reputation mainly came from its severe drawbacks and all the suffering involved in practicing it. But Zhao Changhe felt that even after acquiring an internal art, he couldn't abandon his external art out of fear of hardship. He had to keep practicing.

Only then would he be cultivating both internally and externally.

Having started so late, how could he rise beyond this two-fifty without putting in twice the effort?

"Hiss! Fuck, just as I thought..." In the chief's quarters, Zhao Changhe soaked in a tub of hot water, baring his teeth and grimacing, almost curling into a ball.

It felt as though millions of needles were stabbing into his skin, inside and out, leaving him aching and itching. Then his blood and qi surged, his head grew hot, and a certain part of him naturally rose like a pillar holding up the heavens.

Well, judging by that effect alone, this medicinal bath was good stuff. No false advertising...

But it was just... so fucking hard to endure. It was hardly any better than when the side effects had first struck. No wonder Deputy Helmsman Huang and the others hadn't trained much with it.

In Zhao Changhe's own mind, beating Deputy Helmsman Huang in three moves wasn't really worth praising. A thousand sails passed beside a sunken boat. In the end, Huang was merely a straggler whose fighting spirit had been worn away by comfort and luxury. He was a warning from the overturned cart ahead; Zhao Changhe couldn't become another sunken boat.

Continuing to train was what truly mattered.

However agonizing this lousy cultivation method was, he had to keep practicing.

Zhao Changhe clenched his teeth and gripped the rim of the tub, struggling to hold on as he circulated the Blood Baleful Art through the pain.

The wooden tub creaked under his grip. At some point, he had actually pressed shallow finger marks into the solid wood.

Would he be able to beat Helmsman Fang once the man recovered in a few months? Zhao Changhe couldn't be bothered to think that far ahead. Whatever happened then, at least he would have done his best.