Chapter Fifty: A Gentleman May Be Killed, But Never Humiliated

“Whoosh, whoosh”—before they could even approach the earthen barricade, a number of bandits had already fallen.

Though the village was surrounded on all sides, the only truly accessible point for assault was a stretch of several dozen paces at the front. After several volleys of arrows, the ground was littered with wounded men; their tattered clothing provided no defense against the Han army’s sharp arrows.

“Stop!” Liu Xiazhi stamped his foot in distress—these were his most capable followers, the ones who had roamed unchecked across the State of Lu, and he could not bear to see them squandered in vain.

They tried probing several more times, but still couldn’t get close.

“Do these Yue people have an endless supply of arrows?” The same thought surfaced in every bandit’s mind, and their actions grew hesitant.

They had encountered fortified settlements before—high walls, deep moats—places they could never breach and could only loot at the outskirts. Yet this humble earthen enclosure was proving even harder to break than those cities, and a stalemate quickly set in.

The bandits relied on boldness in battle, but repeated setbacks soon sapped their morale. Several minor leaders huddled together, whispering in secret.

A head-on assault was clearly impossible—everyone could see that now. No one had expected these Yue tribesmen to be even fiercer than the regular Lu soldiers.

This place was far from the great marshes, outside the reach of the bandits’ power. If they dragged things out, there was a real risk their retreat could be cut off.

Yet to retreat now was something Liu Xiazhi simply couldn’t accept—he had conquered settlements with a thousand households in a single blow, but now, faced with only a few hundred barbarian Yue, he was at a loss. If word of this got out, would it not bring shame to the name of the bandit king Zhi?

As he hesitated, a languid voice called out from behind the barricade—it was Jing Chuo: “You people of Lu are truly weak and helpless. Why don’t you hurry up and leave, and let us go to Teng City to replenish our supplies?”

Su’er couldn’t help but laugh softly. Since marrying, her once-cold demeanor had softened; when she smiled, a new radiance blossomed on her face, sending ripples through the hearts of the distant bandits. Liu Xiazhi’s gaze fixed upon her, his eyes glued and unblinking. Su’er’s expression cooled; she gave a faintly annoyed snort.

Meng Di gently drew Su’er close, knowing the bait had been taken. Jing Chuo might seem flippant, but his mind was quick—he knew Han Zhan’s encirclement would take time, so he deliberately stalled the enemy. Still, Liu Xiazhi’s insolence would not go unpunished; justice would be done on Su’er’s behalf.

As expected, several subordinates gathered around Liu Xiazhi, advising that since the Yue people lacked provisions, they should lay siege for a few days—once the defenders grew too hungry to draw their bows, the victory would be theirs for the taking.

“Very well!” Liu Xiazhi’s eyes gleamed. With beauty and riches before him, how could he not be tempted?

Now resolved, the bandits settled in for a siege, gathering their severely wounded together. Treatment was out of the question; survival depended entirely on luck.

On the heights above, a table had been set at some unknown moment. Meng Di and Ji Ran sat cross-legged, wine cups in hand, casually gesturing toward the bandits outside the village, their manner wholly untroubled. Su’er attended at their side, chatting and laughing, the picture of serenity.

The sight made Liu Xiazhi’s heart burn with fury. He ordered his men to bring out the dry rations and chewed them furiously, but soon found them so tasteless he spat them angrily on the ground, all the while plotting how best to humiliate his foes when the tables turned.

Both sides now waited in uneasy peace, but the one to suffer was Ji Wu, who had come to watch the spectacle. The autumn mosquitoes were large and vicious, swarming his neck relentlessly.

“Are they going to fight or not?” Ji Wu’s plump body squirmed restlessly in the grass, unable to get comfortable.

He was, after all, a scion of the Ji clan; ordinary folk would respectfully call him Young Master Wu. Yet here he was, keeping watch on a handful of Yue tribesmen and feeding the mosquitoes, inwardly cursing Yang Hu for dragging him into this mess.

“Master, why don’t we head back instead?” one of his men suggested, reading the mood.

Ji Wu was tempted, but the thought of Yang Hu’s authority quickly doused his courage.

“Don’t worry, Master. With us here to watch, nothing will go wrong.”

“You’re right,” Ji Wu finally agreed. “Keep a close eye. There will be a reward when I return.”

He left a few armored guards behind and scampered off toward Teng City.

Outside the village, peace reigned. The bandits, tired from a day’s exertions, grew drowsy. Liu Xiazhi leaned against a rock, feigning sleep.

Suddenly, the chirping of birds came from the undergrowth, the calls echoing one after another.

No, that wasn’t birdsong! Liu Xiazhi sprang to his feet. It was dusk, the trees all around beginning to sway, and the bird calls multiplied.

“Get up, quickly!” Liu Xiazhi drew his sword. Years of plundering had given him an instinctive sense for danger.

A sudden rain of arrows fell from the sky. Many bandits were struck down before they could even stand; the survivors scrambled to retreat.

But the rear was no safer. At some point, the village soldiers had taken their places atop the barricade, and their arrows reaped a bloody harvest.

“Charge!” Liu Xiazhi shouted, leading another desperate attack outward.

But from the grass rose countless soldiers with long spears, advancing step by step.

The Han soldiers, most armed with iron swords, found spears more than sufficient for this kind of fight.

Liu Xiazhi bellowed commands, driving his men into battle, but their crude bronze swords—and some were armed with nothing more than cudgels—stood no chance against the disciplined and sturdy spear formation.

Those who prided themselves on their bravery were skewered and fell to the spearpoints. The encirclement steadily shrank, closing in around the barricade.

Liu Xiazhi, his eyes bloodshot, fought savagely. His bronze sword was no ordinary weapon; he summoned all his strength and managed to fell several Han soldiers.

“Stand aside,” Han Zhan commanded, frowning as he strode forward, iron sword in hand.

Seeing the approaching figure dressed as a leader, Liu Xiazhi’s mind raced—if he could capture this man, perhaps he could still snatch victory or at least make his escape.

Han Zhan saw Liu Xiazhi settle into a defensive stance and grinned, swinging his sword in a casual arc.

Because of Meng Di’s preferences, the swords forged by Gan Jiang were notably heavy, so Han soldiers seldom used them for thrusting, preferring instead to hack like with sabers.

“Hmph, nothing remarkable,” Liu Xiazhi thought to himself as he saw his opponent’s style. This man had brute strength, but his swordsmanship was far inferior.

With a crisp clang, Liu Xiazhi tried to parry, but his bronze sword shattered in two. Agile as he was, he instinctively leapt back, but not quickly enough—the tip of Han Zhan’s sword grazed his face, carving a bloody line from brow to chin.

While Liu Xiazhi was still in shock, Han Zhan kicked him to the ground. Soldiers surged forward, spears leveled at his chest.

By now, only a handful of bandits were still resisting; most cowered on the ground, trembling.

Liu Xiazhi, regaining his senses, shouted his defiance.

“What do you protest?” Meng Di approached, unhurried and composed.

“You relied on magical weapons for victory—what kind of hero are you?” Liu Xiazhi’s heart bled. The bronze sword, extorted from a minor king after much effort, was meant to be an heirloom, yet had proved so utterly useless.

“Very well, take the sword—I’ll duel you myself,” said Su’er, offended by his earlier insolence and eager to teach him a lesson.

“How dare you humiliate me so? To pit me against a woman in combat!” Liu Xiazhi’s face flushed with indignation. “A man can die, but never be shamed. I ask only for death.”

“Chief Liu truly is a hero. But if you defeat Su’er, you may go free,” Meng Di said with a faint smile. This man was of great use; his spirit must be thoroughly subdued before he could be won over.

“Is that a promise?” Liu Xiazhi’s expression changed at once. Years of banditry had taught him better than to cling to empty pride—nothing was more important than survival.