Chapter Thirty-Two: The First Battle

When the county constable saw the bewildered expressions of his men, he immediately felt a flush of shame and a surge of anger. He was well aware of their limited fighting prowess, yet he had always been confident that dealing with a handful of bandits or marauders would not be an issue.

But now, faced with a real test of their strength, reality delivered him a merciless slap in the face.

So, confronted with this “peaceful” scene, the county constable was momentarily stunned. Regaining his composure, he barked a furious order to attack.

Qi Jun watched the whole affair with a mixture of sadness and bitter amusement. It was pathetic and laughable that an esteemed county constable had to go to such lengths to evade the eyes of those trailing them in order to conduct a raid, only to find that the supposedly formidable Anqiang County Security Troops cowered before a small group of bandits.

Sensing the anger in the constable’s command, the squad leader drew his blade, let out a shout, and charged first at the nearest bandit.

Perhaps, like the constables, the bandit hadn’t expected the authorities to actually draw their weapons. Before he could react to the shift in atmosphere, the squad leader’s blade slid across his neck. There was no time for a sound; eyes wide open, the bandit toppled backward, lifeless.

“They’re serious! Get them!” the bandit’s lieutenant shouted in panic, rallying his lackeys.

The county constables, spurred into action by their leader, realized at last the gravity of the situation. Gritting their teeth, they pressed their attack.

For a moment, the sound of clashing steel rang incessantly, mingled with the screams and wails of the wounded as blades found flesh.

The bandits, outnumbered and outmatched, were soon cut down, their blood pooling on the ground. Several constables were also wounded in the melee, clutching their injuries and crying out in pain.

One scar-faced bandit rolled on the ground, clutching his arm, not yet dead. His right arm had been severed in the chaos, soaking his clothes with blood.

The constables found the sight of his suffering difficult to bear. The squad leader stepped forward, intending to end his misery.

Qi Jun, no stranger to bloodshed in his previous life, was unfazed. To him, a one-armed bandit was hardly a gruesome sight.

“Captain Sun, wait. I have questions for him,” Qi Jun stopped the squad leader.

“Very well. I’ll see to the wounded,” the captain replied, glancing at the bandit as one might a dead dog, then turning away.

Qi Jun hauled the injured bandit to his feet and dragged him before the county constable, who had been watching from the sidelines.

“Sir, it seems these bandits know nothing of our plans. Perhaps we should question him about Panlong Ridge,” Qi Jun said, shoving the bandit forward.

“Tell me everything you know and I’ll spare your life!” the constable threatened coldly.

The wounded man was the bandits’ subordinate leader and still harbored a measure of loyalty to Panlong Ridge. At the mention of attacking their stronghold, he snorted and turned away, eyes squeezed shut, the picture of unyielding defiance.

Qi Jun, well-versed in extracting information from enemies, simply shook his head, then drove his fist into the bandit’s wounded stump. The man curled up, shrieking in agony.

“Have you thought it through?” Qi Jun crouched before him, sneering.

“I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything! Just stop—please!” The bandit’s bravado crumbled instantly under the pain, and he began to sob and beg for mercy.

“How did you know there was a well here? Who ordered you to occupy this spot?” Qi Jun asked, his tone laced with disgust.

“It was the chief of Panlong Ridge who sent us. News of water here has spread to every nearby village—everyone knows. He sent us to collect a water fee,” the bandit replied through gritted teeth, emphasizing the words “Panlong Ridge.”

“The chief? Collecting water fees?” Qi Jun was momentarily taken aback, then slapped the bandit hard. “This isn’t Panlong Ridge. What right do you have to extort money here?”

“We only did as the chief ordered…” the bandit whimpered, clutching his face.

“There are three chiefs at Panlong Ridge: the Red-eyed Hawk, Mountain-Cleaving Leopard, and Bone-Grinding Blade. They have over seven hundred men…” The bandit trembled as he continued, enduring the pain in his arm and cheek. “And… several hundred bushels of grain, twelve horses. The chief keeps all the silver and gold himself—only he knows how much there is and where it’s hidden…”

The county constable’s eyes lit up at this. Over the years, Panlong Ridge’s bandits had amassed a fortune through kidnapping and looting; if all that wealth fell into his hands, he would surely rise through the ranks, never again subject to Prefect Song’s whims.

Moreover, the chief of Panlong Ridge had long maintained unspeakable ties with Prefect Song—a fact that was practically an open secret in Anqiang’s bureaucracy. But to bring Song down, concrete evidence was essential.

“If we take Panlong Ridge and find that evidence, toppling Song Xi will be child’s play,” Feng Qinian mused, stroking his beard and narrowing his eyes, already picturing the prefect begging for mercy at his feet.

Qi Jun saw through the constable’s ambitions and could only sigh inwardly. At first, unfamiliar with the constables’ true combat abilities, he had assumed each one could handle at least three bandits.

But the recent skirmish had laid bare the harsh reality: despite their overwhelming numbers, the constables had managed to get eight men wounded—two of them seriously—while only fighting five bandits. Such casualty rates were simply astonishing.

He quickly abandoned any notion of using a tactic where the vanguard would charge while the rear provided covering fire. With such poor discipline, if the front line collapsed, the rest would surely rout as well, leading to total disaster.

“Two hundred against seven hundred—how can this battle be fought…” Qi Jun frowned, lost in thought.

The constables, however, were celebrating their small victory, already fantasizing about how they would divide the spoils once Panlong Ridge fell, as if the outcome were a foregone conclusion.

The county constable, oblivious to Qi Jun’s worried expression, finally noticed the hand-pump well beside the thatched hut.

Curious, he walked over and pressed it, watching a thin stream of water gush forth. Delighted, he pumped the handle a few more times, offering words of praise.

“This must be your doing, Mr. Qi?” he asked, cupping some sweet, clear water to his lips.

“It was the villagers who did the real work. I merely contributed a little effort,” Qi Jun replied.

He wasn’t being modest—he truly believed the villagers deserved the credit for digging the well, as he had only chosen a few sites for them. Their contribution was by far the greatest.

Just then, another cry—a woman’s desperate wailing—echoed from behind the hut. The constables immediately spread out, weapons drawn, facing the darkness.

Two figures emerged from the shadows, one carrying a struggling woman over his shoulder. She was the source of the cries.

“What’s the fun in guarding a shabby hut? We’re in for a good time tonight!” one bandit chortled.

“Scar gets first go, as always. We’ll have our turn after,” the other replied.

“I got a good look earlier—this lass is a real beauty! Quite a handful, too—she scratched my hand bloody…”

“You can’t even…” The second bandit was still talking when he suddenly froze, staring ahead.

These two were with the gang guarding the well. Bored, they’d gone off to the village and, spotting the girl returning home, seized her, ignoring her screams and resistance.

“Why aren’t you moving? We’re here, aren’t we?” The one carrying the girl looked up, only to be paralyzed with fear at the sight of the armed constables.

A sharp twang cut through the air. An arbalest bolt buried itself in the first bandit’s forehead. He felt a hot trickle of blood and collapsed, eyes wide.

Qi Jun harbored a particular loathing for those who preyed upon women. His anger at the bandits’ well extortion had yet to subside. Without hesitation, he had taken a crossbow from a constable’s saddle, loaded it, and dispatched the first bandit with a single shot.

The second, terrified, dropped the girl and fled. Qi Jun did not let him escape; nocking another bolt, he fired, striking the bandit down after a few paces.

Only then did the constables and their leader turn, astonished, to look at Qi Jun. His decisiveness and accuracy forced them to reassess the quiet scholar in their midst.

Some among them had thought Qi Jun was merely a protégé of the county constable, but now, for the first time, they truly respected him.

The county constable gave Qi Jun an approving look and signaled the squad leader to investigate.

The captain untied the terrified girl and helped her to her feet. After verifying that both bandits were dead, he led the shaken girl over.

Qi Jun recognized her immediately and exclaimed in shock, “Yuniang? Why is it you…”