Chapter Twenty-Three: Swift as the Wind, Relentless as the Journey

The bandits made their way back to their lair, while Liaochan kept track of them from a distance with his spiritual sense. To his surprise, he discovered that their hideout was not nearby; the bandits marched deep into the night before stopping to rest, and still showed no signs of nearing their base.

Liaochan had underestimated the journey. The mountain paths were treacherous—manageable for people, but much harder for the donkey. With no other choice, Liaochan concealed himself, flew ahead, and secretly marked one of the bandits with a spiritual imprint, then ceased his pursuit. He led the donkey and Yunhua away, only emerging from the mountain paths by noon the next day.

He found a roadside inn and arranged for Yunhua and the donkey to stay there. After confirming the inn was not a den of thieves, he left alone in search of the bandits’ hideout, ignoring Yunhua’s angry glare.

Freed from burdens, Liaochan could now stand atop the clouds and watch the bandits returning to their nest, struggling over mountains like ants. Their lair was more than a hundred miles from the site of their robbery—a distance that, in Liaochan’s eyes, suggested they not only avoided trouble near home, but refused to touch even a blade of grass on their own mountain. He glanced down at the stockade perched on a dangerous peak and surmised that these were no ordinary bandits. The location was treacherous enough, but it lacked both water and fields. If the authorities besieged them, they would die of hunger and thirst. Yet the stockade still stood—an enigma that piqued Liaochan’s curiosity.

Unbeknownst to Liaochan, who hovered above the clouds, the fortress below was already in chaos. As more and more bandits returned, the chief summoned the second and fourth lieutenants, as well as the strategist known as White Fan, to the Hall of Righteous Assembly.

“You all know our men have returned,” the chief said, seated on the northernmost tiger-skin chair. “This time, Third Brother’s lost his life, and in a most inexplicable way. What do you make of it?”

“Word is, Third Brother ran into someone tough,” the fourth lieutenant replied. “The fellow moved like the wind, deadly with every strike. With over a hundred brothers trading blows, one man slaughtered thirty of us, Third Brother included. Is that even human?”

“They must be lying, afraid of punishment,” the second lieutenant snapped, slamming the table. “Third’s skills were second to none. How could one man kill him with a single blow?” He grieved most for Third Brother, for the two had been closest.

“Strategist, what’s your take?” the chief asked, turning to the man with the white fan.

“Believe only half of what you hear,” White Fan replied, drawing out his words. “They certainly met a formidable foe, but I don't believe a single man could be that powerful. We’ve at least heard of every famous name in the martial world—no one fits this description. They say he was only in his twenties. How is that possible? Unless he’s a celestial being.”

“The strategist makes sense,” the chief nodded. Just as he was about to ask what they should do next, a voice echoed through the hall: “Your guess is correct.”

Liaochan revealed himself in the hall, glancing at the leading figures. “There are rules, even among thieves. I’d turn a blind eye to your ways, but you slaughter the innocent. That, I cannot ignore.”

The chief, strategist, and the two lieutenants were terrified, staring in disbelief at Liaochan, who had appeared out of thin air. “How did you get in here? Are you man or ghost?”

“I am a man; you are the ghosts. As for how I entered—ask the King of Hell when you meet him, after your lair is reduced to corpses!” Liaochan spared them no time for answers. He wielded his sword, stepping to the strategist’s side and, with a swift stroke, took his head. Even as the strategist’s lips still moved, his life was ended.

“Courting death!” roared the remaining chiefs, drawing their weapons and charging. But Liaochan, with a light step, dodged the chief’s blade, then, with a backward sweep, severed the chief’s head as well. The second and fourth lieutenants, seeing this, lost all courage. They scrambled out of the hall, rolling and crawling, shouting for reinforcements.

Liaochan proceeded unhurriedly. Outside, the bandits, roused by their leaders’ cries, brandished their weapons and surged forth, only to be stunned by the sight of the two fleeing lieutenants. Just as they were about to question the commotion, they saw Liaochan strolling out from the hall as if on a leisurely walk. Those who had already witnessed Liaochan in action froze in terror, and chaos erupted among the crowd—some fierce enough to attack, others seeking to flee. Liaochan, however, was unconcerned; he had already set an array around the stockade. Not one of these desperate men would escape.

Blood stained the mountain stronghold. Not a single soul from the thousand-odd bandits survived. Liaochan sheathed his sword, gathered the vast stores of gold, silver, goods, and grain, and, following the code regarding ill-gotten gains, kept none for himself, storing everything in his cosmic pouch. He returned to the hall, took up the chief’s head, and began the Soul-Searching Art.

That night, flames consumed the largest and most brutal stronghold in Henan—Qiyun Stockade—reducing everything to ash. Two days later, the heads of more than forty prominent gentry from Henan and Hubei vanished overnight. Beside every corpse lay letters revealing collusion with Qiyun Stockade, murder, looting, and plots to blockade the mountain road and monopolize trade. The officials of Henan and Hubei were thrown into turmoil; even the common folk speculated wildly. The governor of Henan, faced with a heap of incriminating evidence, fretted himself white-haired.

Having completed his task, Liaochan quietly left, leading his donkey and disciple onward toward the capital.

“Master, did you kill all those bandits?” Yunhua was clearly not a gentle soul; hearing her master had slain so many, she was delighted.

“Yes, I did,” Liaochan replied.

“There must have been a lot of gold and treasure in that stockade,” Yunhua said, her tone full of implication.

“Don’t even think about it. You eat and drink at my expense, and now you want a share of the spoils?” Liaochan eyed her warily, sensing a troubling tendency.

“Think about it, poor little Fox lost her mother young and, tagging along with me, rarely even gets to eat meat—just fruits and vegetables every day. Aren’t foxes supposed to eat chickens? I ought to buy her a chicken. And look at me—grown up now, and without money, life is awfully inconvenient. I need to buy women’s things; I can’t always ask you to pay, can I?”

Liaochan’s head ached. He had already distributed all the loot to the poor along the way. What money could there be left?

“Master, with money one can travel the world; without it, not a step is possible. As your disciple, I can’t let you lose face…”

Beneath the setting sun, Liaochan suddenly felt his own shadow stretching long and longer…