The soldiers behind were still full of suspicion, but they dared not say another word. An official! And such a young one at that—surely the only things he knew were poetry, romance, and fancy words—the typical refined, scholarly type.
After a long while, they arrived at a low, sunken mountain hollow. Black Whirlwind suddenly stopped, nuzzled against Fang Zichen twice, and Fang Zichen immediately raised his hand to signal everyone to quiet down.
By now, the sky was blushing red at the horizon, and dawn light had already touched the mountaintops. Everyone could clearly see that in the hollow stood over twenty wooden huts.
This certainly wasn't built by monkeys—there was only one possibility: they'd found the bandits' lair.
Thick branches and leaves on both sides of the hollow completely concealed it. If no one paid close attention, the place would never be noticed—and just moments ago, every single one of them had completely overlooked it too. In fact, during their first sweep of this area, they'd already walked right past it twice without realizing.
The soldiers were now looking at Fang Zichen with genuine admiration, utterly convinced and impressed.
Probably out of absolute confidence—having gone undiscovered for over a decade—the bandits hadn't even posted a lookout. Fang Zichen woke Guaizai, who was groggy and drowsy. But the moment he heard the bad guys' hideout had been found, he jolted awake instantly, grabbed his wooden club, and charged straight into the bandits' den without a second thought.
He was too fast. By the time the soldiers jumped down into the hollow and followed after him, they heard a bone-chilling scream of pain coming from one of the huts. A burly man, bare-chested and clutching his arm, came howling out of the hut—but he'd barely run three meters when the soldiers saw Guaizai chase out after him, leap into the air, and bring his club down on the man's back.
"Still trying to run? Taste Guaizai's club!"
The man let out a miserable shriek and collapsed on the spot, unable to get up.
The wooden club snapped in half.
This was the kind of club the yamen specially used for punishing people—hard as iron. And yet it had broken... just like that.
What incredible strength!
And what grudge could there possibly be to warrant such a merciless strike?
The soldiers stared at the scene, frozen in shock. Earlier they hadn't understood why the prefect would bring along a mere child to hunt bandits. Now they got it—this little one was worth three grown men all on his own.
Fang Zichen handed Guaizai a spare club, then frowned and shouted at the wide-eyed soldiers behind him: "What are you all standing there for? Waiting for them to lie down and tie themselves up for you? If even one gets away, you'll answer to me!"
The soldiers quickly snapped into action. Those bandits who were light sleepers heard the commotion, ran out to check, and were met with dozens of soldiers bearing down on them. Completely caught off guard, they felt as if they were dreaming. Guaizai charged at the front, moving like he was wading through an empty field—one swing, one down; one swing, one down. When some hid inside the huts, he went in after them. Moments later, he emerged dragging a man out by the leg. The man struggled fiercely, desperately trying to crawl back inside, and Guaizai could barely keep his grip. Losing his patience, he swung his club down at the man.
The man howled, clutching his leg and rolling on the ground, no longer able to struggle.
By now, the soldiers were tying people up. Several bandits writhed on the ground, pleading incessantly.
"Officers, please, take me to a medical hall first! I think my leg is broken—it's killing me! Please, just take me to a physician! I can't bear the pain anymore!"
The soldiers watched them, snot and tears streaming down their faces, looking utterly miserable, and silently swallowed.
"These were all done by Young Master Guaizai, right?"
"Yes, he and the prefect were the harshest."
"The prefect made a move too? I didn't even notice."
Someone pointed: "See that one with the hole in his rear? That was the prefect's work."
That bandit must have been someone who liked sleeping naked—he was completely bare, with a bloody hole right through his buttock. The soldier who'd asked glanced over, felt the blood drain from his face, and his scalp instantly tightened.
His companion continued explaining: "That fellow was trying to run, but the prefect was staying behind to protect Young Master Guaizai and didn't dare chase after him, so he just threw his spear."
"......"
Over seventy men captured, and before they'd even finished tying everyone up, a cackling laugh that made one's scalp crawl came from up ahead—gah gah gah.
Zhang Quan followed the sound to the doorway and immediately found the sight unbearable. He turned his head away.
This must be the bandits' storehouse. Inside were piled boxes upon boxes of goods—silks, satins, grain, and...
Guaizai had a thick gold chain draped around his neck, and all ten of his short, chubby fingers were covered in gold rings. He looked like a newly-rich upstart, his eyes squeezed shut with laughter.
"Father, we've struck it rich!"
Fang Zichen's heart pounded wildly, his blood boiling with excitement.
He clutched the chest of gold treasures tightly in his arms: "This trip was totally worth it! It's ours now, all ours!"
Zhang Quan quickly interjected: "Sir, these are all stolen goods! We can't take them."
"Why not?" Fang Zichen shot him a glare.
"These are spoils of crime—they should be handed over to the yamen," Zhang Quan said.
"Are you still dreaming?" Fang Zichen asked.
"Sir, you mustn't forget your position!"
Fang Zichen: "......"
"Damn it, you're such a nag." After a moment's silence, Fang Zichen reluctantly stuffed two large gold ingots into his clothes. Guaizai followed his example, hiding the gold chain and rings away as well.
Zhang Quan: "......"
"Sir!" A soldier ran in. "We found thirteen hostages in a small hut further back. Their condition... isn't good. Would you like to go see?"
Of course he would.
That hut sat at the far end of the hollow. A storehouse wouldn't normally be built in such a place, which was why Fang Zichen hadn't searched that direction earlier.
When he reached the hut and saw what was inside, he immediately covered Guaizai's eyes.
Inside were thirteen people—all young women and gers. They had been dressed in very little, likely for convenience, and the marks on their bodies were obvious. Fang Zichen, being a father of three himself, had enough experience to recognize at a glance what these young women and gers had been through.
Looking at their condition, he sighed, had them settled properly, and searched the surrounding area again. In a more distant hollow, he discovered nine bodies in varying stages of decay. The weather was already warm, and they were covered in buzzing flies.
He had one of the captured bandits come to "identify" them. The man said they'd been brought up the mountain earlier, with the intention of having their families pay ransom. When no one came to redeem them within the deadline, they...
Fang Zichen kicked him square in the chest without a word.
These beasts—they aren't even human anymore.
All the excitement and joy from before dissipated, replaced by a heavy weight pressing on his heart. Fang Zichen's anger surged, and he kicked the man several more times.
The man was nearly beaten half to death.
This was only one site. Black Whirlwind later found another—this one had already been buried. They'd barely started digging when a foul stench hit them, the reek so intense it seemed to pierce the sky. The soldiers doing the digging felt their stomachs churn, clamped their hands over their mouths, and ran off to the side to vomit. Fang Zichen, too, turned pale from the stench, nearly passing out. Even back when he'd fished his son out of a latrine, the smell hadn't been this bad. He covered his nose with his sleeve, but he could still smell it—the odor seemed to seep in through every pore.
After three rotating shifts of diggers, they'd gone down about a meter deep, and the jumbled pile of bodies gradually emerged.
Their clothes, buried for years, had lost all color and were stained with fluids from decomposition—filthy and completely unrecognizable.
When they'd dealt with Sun Shangcheng before, they'd also dug up bodies in his backyard. Fang Zichen was already quite familiar with these blackened, rotting, oozing corpses. Now, pinching his nose tightly, he stepped forward to examine them.
The soldiers watched as Fang Zichen "felt" his way through the bodies one by one, getting surprisingly close, and they were deeply impressed by his nerve.
These bodies were all somewhat short in stature. He wasn't a professional coroner, but he could still tell.
He'd initially thought there might be some elderly among them, but now he saw that every one had intact teeth with no missing ones. And from some of the more decayed bodies where bones were already exposed, he could see that the bones at the elbow joints of their upper arms were fully developed, but the shoulder bones hadn't yet fused. Based on what he'd read in books, these people were likely only in their teens to early twenties.
This gang had occupied Longhu Mountain for decades. In the beginning, they had been driven to it by desperation, simply trying to find food. But later on, they had completely lost their humanity.
No wonder that when he'd asked around in town, the common folk had spoken of them with deep hatred, calling them wicked beasts who stopped at nothing.
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