Chapter 87: Mountain Bandits

“Yo! Quite the lively scene here!”

Everyone turned toward the source of the voice.

A group of burly men, holding torches, quickly approached.

Most of them carried clubs, a few had blades, and every one of them had gleaming daggers strapped to their legs, reflecting a chilling light.

The mountain villagers tensed.

Uncle An recognized the newcomers and immediately knew things were bad. He hurried forward with a smile.

“Ah, Third Chief! You see, if you needed anything, just say the word, no need to come all the way here yourself. Such trouble for you…”

Behind him, the villagers noticed his hand signal. The men surged forward, appearing to rise in greeting but actually forming a tight barrier, blocking Yan Lao’er and his companions from view.

Qi Si and Qi Wu were about to stand up for a better look when Yan Lao’er yanked them down.

“Stay down,” he whispered. “Pack up quickly. Hu Da and I will go to the kids. Once you’re ready, come find us.”

He repeated, sternly, “Whatever you do, don’t stand up.”

Those two were too tall—standing up would make them too obvious.

Yan Yu reacted even faster.

The moment she sensed outsiders, she shoved the iron pot out of sight.

Hearing the words “Third Chief” made her even more alert, hastily bundling up the herbs they had just traded for.

Er Tie and San Tie worked together, so by the time Yan Lao’er came over, they had already packed everything.

Qi Si and Qi Wu moved fast too. The group huddled together, ears strained to catch the conversation up front.

—

“Old An, seems like a lot of people have been coming through that canyon lately, huh? Word is, you folks have started doing some roadside business, eh? Not bad. These days, the bold thrive while the timid starve. How’s it going? Everything smooth? If anyone doesn’t know their place, just let them through and send word to us at Cloud-Piercing Stronghold. We’ll make sure they learn their lesson real quick.”

“The year’s been tough… we… we had no other choice…” Uncle An stammered nervously.

“Psh! What are you afraid of? I ain’t from the authorities. We all live by the blade. Your little side business doesn’t even catch my eye. But…” The man paused, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes.

The villagers shivered under his gaze, unsure why these bandits had come.

“My big brother says that even bandits have rules. You lot went and set up shop in the mountains without so much as a heads-up. That won’t do.”

Uncle An’s eyes widened. “We… set up shop?”

The Third Chief continued as if he hadn’t heard, “Since we’ve been neighbors for years, and you at least have some sense, my big brother says you can join us. If we’re one family, there’s no need to stand on ceremony. The other mountain gangs around here all bow to Cloud-Piercing Stronghold—they wouldn’t dare object.

“But if you don’t want to join…”

His voice turned cold.

“Then we’ll do things by the rules.”

“One by one, you’ll have to visit each stronghold, introduce yourselves properly, and let everyone know there’s a new gang in town.”

Uncle An panicked. “Third Chief, we were wrong! We were ignorant! We truly didn’t know! You know us—we’re just simple folks who dig in the dirt for a living! How could we do anything else? Please, we swear, we’ll stay put in the mountains. We won’t come down again, ever!”

“There are only two roads to take,” the Third Chief sneered. “Think carefully and don’t keep my big brother waiting too long.”

He laughed coldly. “If we weren’t short on men right now, this kind of opportunity wouldn’t have fallen to you. You should ask around—our Cloud-Piercing Stronghold is the most feared name in all of Leshan. Don’t be ungrateful.”

By now, his expression was downright sinister, the threat in his words making everyone’s skin crawl.

He took a few steps forward, and the crowd instinctively backed away—only to stumble over a few people crouching behind them.

Someone nearly fell, letting out a startled cry before quickly silencing themselves.

The Third Chief’s face darkened as he strode over, eyes sharp with suspicion.

He waved impatiently at the villagers blocking his way.

“Move.”

They hesitated, unwilling to give way, shuffling awkwardly without truly parting.

Irritated, the Third Chief signaled his men. Several lackeys rushed in, swinging their clubs to scatter the crowd.

In the commotion, Yan Lao’er—carrying several bundles—was exposed.

He let out a nervous chuckle, sitting on the ground, and scrambled to stand.

“Lost my footing, slipped.” He grinned obsequiously, bowing deeply.

The Third Chief frowned, sizing him up. “Who are you? You don’t look like you’re from this mountain.”

“Greetings, Third Chief! I’m just a traveling peddler, passing through. I don’t come by often, so I haven’t had the honor of meeting you before.”

Yan Lao’er’s smile deepened the wrinkles on his face. As he tried stepping forward, he tripped—his bundles spilling open, scattering herbs everywhere.

“Leg’s numb. Sorry, sorry!” He hurriedly gathered the herbs, as if afraid someone would snatch them.

The Third Chief sneered.

“Just some mountain goods—not worth much.”

“So this whole fuss was just over a peddler, huh?” He asked casually, “What do you have that’s worth trading?”

Uncle An jumped in. “Hurry up and show the Third Chief what you’ve brought.”

The villagers obediently pulled out their meager trades: old clothes, straw sandals, rough ceramic bowls, headbands, clay pots, shoe insoles, small straw hats…

What a pile of junk.

The Third Chief scanned the items with a single glance—worthless scraps.

Looks like they do know how things work in the mountains. If they had anything valuable, these poor bastards wouldn’t have been able to trade for it.

“You heard what I said, right?”

Yan Lao’er bowed so low he was nearly a shrimp. “I didn’t quite catch that, sir. What did you say?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just don’t go running your mouth. If I hear even a whisper outside, no matter where you hide, I’ll drag you out.”

He snorted coldly. Yan Lao’er bowed lower. “Understood, understood! I won’t say a word!”

“You’ve got guts, coming up here to trade. If you ever get your hands on something special, have Old An bring you to our stronghold.”

He shot a glance at his men.

Several lackeys grabbed Yan Lao’er, shaking out his bundles and patting him down.

Yan Lao’er trembled—

But not like most people. Instead of shaking all over, he subtly shook his head.

A small but persistent motion.

His eyes didn’t dare stray.

Praying that his daughter understood his exaggerated body language.

Yan Yu did indeed understand. She nodded at Er Tie and San Tie, then rushed forward—throwing her arms around Uncle Hu Da’s leg.

Er Tie and San Tie exchanged looks, their teeth aching as they each clung to Qi Si and Qi Wu.

Three grown men, suddenly trapped by three little ones—unable to move.