Robbing the rich to help the poor

"I only ask that my conscience be clear..."

Those five words circled in Zhang Shan's ears like a ghost's whisper, refusing to fade.

He froze where he stood, his blood seeming to congeal.

Those words... Young Master Zhao Long had said them to him too.

How could that be?

How could a bandit chief who killed without a second thought, whose Sha Qi surged to the heavens, say the same thing as that idle but gentle young master?

A coincidence?

It had to be a coincidence!

The thought sprang up wildly as he tried to convince himself.

The world was vast. There had to be more than one person who had said the same thing.

Yes, that had to be it.

Zhang Shan gasped for breath. Waves of pain from the wound beneath his ribs dragged him back from his absurd thoughts. He glanced into the depths of the forest, but that burly figure had long since disappeared.

Then he looked again at the corpses strewn across the ground and the blood and filth covering him.

For some reason, the resolute flame of vengeance for his young master flickered in his heart, as though an unseen wind had dimmed it.

Leaning on his sword, he limped away from that bloody place and headed toward the Azure Yang Temple.

A strange sort of calm returned to Black Wind Mountain.

But the atmosphere in the stronghold grew more oppressive with each passing day.

The soldiers at the foot of the mountain clung on like maggots to a bone, refusing to withdraw.

Every day, they sent out a token squad to curse and taunt the bandits outside One-Line Sky. Every day, rolling stones and a rain of arrows from the mountain drove them back, leaving one or two corpses behind.

It didn't look like an attack on the mountain.

It looked more like a slow bleeding.

Using human lives to wear down Black Wind Mountain's fighting spirit and patience, bit by bit.

In the gathering hall, fewer and fewer bandits drank, while arguments grew more and more frequent.

"Damn it! Two more brothers died! Just to drive off those few dozen cowards at the foot of the mountain!"

"We're running low on food! If this keeps dragging on, we'll starve to death even if the soldiers don't kill us!"

"Second Chief, let's charge down the mountain and fight them to the death!"

Iron-Armed Monkey said nothing, only squeezing the wine bowl in his hand until it creaked.

In the stone chamber behind the hall.

Chen Fan went on living as he always had.

Practicing his saber, drinking water, and exploring the true meaning of life with his three wives.

It was as though the siege beyond the mountain, which had lasted nearly a month, had nothing to do with him.

That afternoon, he had just finished practicing a set of saber techniques when Smiling Tiger, the Third Chief, came rushing in, his face alight with joy. He even forgot to knock.

"Chief! Great news!"

The fat on Smiling Tiger's plump face quivered.

"The soldiers... the soldiers have withdrawn!"

Chen Fan paused as he wiped down his saber.

Withdrawn?

It was a few days earlier than he had expected.

"They finally decided to get lost." He propped his ghost-head saber against the wall, then walked over and sat down at the table.

"How did they withdraw?"

"Hahaha! Chief, you should've seen it! They ran with piss and shit streaming down their legs, throwing away their helmets and armor!" Smiling Tiger gestured excitedly. "The brothers we sent to scout said the camp at the foot of the mountain is empty! That old bastard Zhao De took what was left of his beaten troops and pulled back to the county town overnight!"

The gathering hall had already erupted.

The bandits, who had been under pressure for nearly a month, burst into earth-shaking cheers.

"We won! We won!"

"That old dog Zhao De finally couldn't hold out anymore!"

"Long live the chief!"

Surrounded by the others, Iron-Armed Monkey laughed heartily and raised a jar of wine high.

Smiling Tiger edged closer to Chen Fan and lowered his voice, a gloating smile on his face.

"Chief, guess what? I hear Zhao De had to be carried back!"

"Oh?"

"Heh heh. Our scouts down the mountain found out that old Zhao De was already at the end of his rope. His provisions were exhausted, and his troops' morale was in tatters. Then yesterday, a letter came from his residence saying... saying all three wives that brat Zhao Long left behind had run off!"

Smiling Tiger spoke with a gleeful flourish.

"Not a single one stayed! They even took their dowries and valuables with them! When Zhao De heard, he spat out a mouthful of blood and fainted from anger on the spot! After that, how could those soldiers have any heart left for fighting? They carried their master off and got the hell out overnight!"

Chen Fan's hand stopped halfway to his mouth, the teacup in it.

Liu Ruyan, Su Qingyu, Lin Wan'er...

Those three wives had just run off like that?

What a pity.

The identity of Zhao Long was, after all, a thing of the past.

Perhaps it's for the best. Those three wives had hard lives too.

He hadn't expected Zhao Long's death to benefit so many people.

At least eighty percent of the people in Qinghe County were probably clapping and cheering.

Black Wind Mountain's victory had come about somewhat comically, but it was a victory all the same.

That night, a victory feast was laid out in the gathering hall.

The hundred-odd surviving bandits brought out the last of their food and good wine. They ate great mouthfuls of meat and drank wine by the bowlful, celebrating their hard-won victory.

Amid the clamor and frenzy, Chen Fan sat alone in the great tiger-skin chair at the head of the hall, sipping his wine now and then.

"Chief."

Smiling Tiger came over with a bowl of wine. His face was flushed with drink, but his little eyes were full of sober calculation.

"The brothers suffered heavy casualties this time." He sighed. "We had over two hundred men, and now only a hundred and thirty-odd are still standing. The food on the mountain is nearly gone too."

Chen Fan said nothing, only looking at him.

"Chief, what I mean is, we need to find a way to recover our losses soon." Smiling Tiger lowered his voice further. "Once the brothers have rested for a few days, we should go down the mountain and pull off a big job!"

"The nearby villages have just finished their autumn harvest. Every last one of them is dripping with fat..."

Iron-Armed Monkey staggered over too, shouting with a drunken slur, "That's right! Let's pull off a damn job! Rob them until we've made back everything we lost this past month! Grain! Silver! And women!"

When the bandits heard that, they all joined in the uproar, their eyes gleaming with greed.

This was the life they knew.

Chen Fan drained the last of the wine in his bowl and brought it down hard on the table.

Bang!

The noisy gathering hall fell silent in an instant.

Every eye turned to him.

"We can go down the mountain."

Chen Fan spoke in a rough voice that echoed through the cavern.

Excited, vicious grins spread across the bandits' faces.

"But," Chen Fan continued, changing tack.

"Starting today, Black Wind Mountain has a new rule."

He rose to his feet, his burly frame casting an enormous shadow over everyone present.

"If we're going to rob anyone, we'll rob those rich households without a shred of mercy, those wicked gentry who hide behind high walls and hoard more grain than they could eat in several lifetimes."

"As for the poor common folk, you're not to touch so much as a needle or a thread."

The cavern fell deathly silent.

Every bandit froze, their smiles stiffening on their faces as though they had just heard some fantastic tale.

Chen Fan ignored their reactions and continued.

"Half the grain we take is to be handed out on the spot to the nearby refugees."

"Rob the rich to help the poor?"

Iron-Armed Monkey was the first to react. He stared wide-eyed, as though he didn't recognize the man before him.

"Big Brother! Haven't you had too much to drink? We're bandits! Robbers! We're not running a charity!"

"Why should we share what we risk our lives to get with those dirt-scratching peasants?"

A chorus of agreement followed his words.

"That's right, Chief! That's not how it's done!"

"What kind of bandits do that?"

Chen Fan offered no explanation.

He merely picked up the ghost-head saber propped against his chair, slowly.

He walked up to Iron-Armed Monkey and rested the enormous blade on his shoulder.

"My word is the rule."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a chilling severity that brooked no resistance.

"Who has a problem with that?"

Everyone lowered their heads, none daring to utter a word of dissent.

On Black Wind Mountain, the chief's word was law.

An Eighth Rank martial artist was an absolute power; no one would think of defying him.

Seeing this, Chen Fan nodded in satisfaction.

Although he had seized the body of Black Wind Baleful Intent, a bandit chief,

he had no wish to sink into the same mire as the bandits.

He had principles of his own. Having received nine years of compulsory education, he couldn't bring himself to plunder the common people.

Robbing the rich to help the poor, on the other hand, interested him greatly.

Whoever had money, he'd earn it from them.