A thief came on the thirtieth night.

Just as Luan Yi had predicted. That night, at the hour of the Ox, the darkest moment before dawn, several shadowy figures drifted silently through the village, investigating everything with quiet caution.

They crept into the threshing ground and saw that, beside the twenty-three large carts, the campfires had been extinguished. By the faint moonlight, the guards responsible for watching over the wagons could be seen sprawled around the ashes, sleeping soundly.

The men in black exchanged satisfied glances. Mimicking bird calls, they retreated softly into the dense forest outside the village.

Beneath the shadows of the trees, over a hundred men lay hidden. The black-clad scouts approached their leader and saluted, “Captain Meng, I—”

But the one addressed as Captain Meng cut him off gruffly, “What Captain Meng? When we move, call me Chief. Don’t let anyone overhear you, or you’ll bring trouble to the general if someone complains!”

Quickly, the black-clad man corrected himself. “Chief. My brothers and I have scouted the village. It’s quiet. The villagers are all asleep. The wagons are lined up at the threshing ground, and the guards are in a corner outside, snoring so loud you can hear them from dozens of paces away.”

“Oh?” Captain Meng’s eyes gleamed with pride. “What about those young gentlemen?”

“They’re asleep too! The house is pitch-black. The big fellow who travels with them is dozing in the courtyard. Fast asleep.”

“Excellent!” Captain Meng stroked his unkempt beard. “Well done, Little Six. Once we succeed, I’ll make sure you get an extra share!”

“Thank you, Captain.” Little Six.

“Hm?” Captain Meng’s expression soured in an instant. “Didn’t I just tell you? Don’t call me Captain Meng—call me Chief. To make it clear I reward and punish justly, I’m taking back that extra share you were promised!”

“Uh!” Little Six grumbled inwardly. He can call himself Captain, but won’t let others address him as such… If you’re too stingy to give me more, just say it outright. Why the song and dance about rewards and punishments?

Though he thought it, he dared not say it. Instead, he put on a respectful face. “Thank you, Chief!”

Captain Meng nodded, took the spear handed to him by his attendant, mounted his warhorse, and pointed toward the village. “Move out!”

Behind him, several soldiers mounted up—over twenty cavalry among more than a hundred men. Their warhorses were sturdy, their hooves wrapped and muzzles bridled for silence, and they split into four groups, infiltrating the village noiselessly. In moments, they converged at the threshing ground.

The soldiers caught sight of the ornate carriages and grew wildly excited. Several teams rushed the sleeping guards by the fire, while the rest charged toward the wagons, shouting fiercely, “Kill! Take it all!”

Clambering onto the wagons, they threw open the curtains to find chests stacked inside. Prying open a lid at random, they were dazzled by the gold within, so bright it made their heads spin. “Brothers, it’s gold! All gold!”

“This one too!”

Never had they seen such riches. Frenzy erupted. Some tried to sneak a few gold ingots into their tunics, but others caught on and dragged them down, shouting, “Bastard, who said you could take it first? If anyone gets it, it’s me!”

“Why you? Whoever finds it gets a share.”

The soldiers fought and quarreled, and chaos broke out. Captain Meng shrieked in frustration, “You bunch of fools! Are you rebelling? No one takes anything! Drag it all back first, then we divide it!”

His shouts barely carried five paces before they were drowned out by the uproar. Even those who heard him ignored the order. With such wealth at hand, two gold ingots would set a man up for life—a release from the hardships of soldiering.

As tempers flared, the brawling turned violent. A soldier, mad with greed, drove his spear into the back of another who, just moments before, had been grinning, gold in his arms, lost in dreams of fortune.

“Bastards! Stop that! Anyone caught stealing will be executed!” Captain Meng, seeing the scene spiral out of control, raged, calling his attendants to restore order—anyone caught stealing gold or treasures was to be put to death on the spot.

Just then, he saw someone running toward him at full speed. Looking closely, it was Little Six. Little Six was shouting something, but the chaos was so overwhelming that Captain Meng couldn’t make out a word. Behind him, a dozen soldiers gestured frantically, panic written all over their faces. Meng spurred his horse to meet him and asked, “Little Six! Have the guards been dealt with?”

Little Six, sweating profusely, gasped, “Chief! There are no guards. Those figures… they’re just dummies made of silk!”

“What?” Captain Meng nearly toppled from his horse. “Why didn’t you report sooner?”

“I tried, Chief! But it’s too chaotic here. You couldn’t hear me!”

“Chief my ass! I’m the Captain!” Meng, furious, lashed Little Six across the face, splitting his cheek open, blood streaming. “You’ve landed me in a trap. I’ll deal with you once we’re back!”

“Spare me, General! What do we do now?” Little Six pleaded.

“What’s there to fear?” Captain Meng gritted his teeth. “I saw them myself—they’ve got barely fifty men. We outnumber them two to one. Nothing to worry about!”

“But they…” Little Six glanced at the soldiers still scrambling for gold, despair in his heart.

“Stop stealing!” Captain Meng stabbed at anyone he saw with his spear.

Suddenly, a gong rang out from the village, and dozens of torches flared nearby. Clubs thudded outside the village, and from the woods east of the threshing ground sprang another hundred torches. With a thunderous roar, someone bellowed, “Kill the bandits!” and the shouts of battle rose all around.

A guilty conscience is a universal trait; like prey before a predator, panic took hold. Seeing themselves surrounded, the soldiers’ courage collapsed. Overcome with terror, they scattered in all directions.

“Idiots! Get back here! Try running, I dare you!” Captain Meng, enraged, began hacking down deserters with his attendants.

Suddenly, a dozen horsemen burst from the village. At their head was a man with steel whiskers and tiger eyes, a fearsome presence—over eight feet tall atop his mount, making the large horse appear small beneath him. He brandished twin short halberds, his voice thunderous and terrifying.

Behind him rode a young warrior clad in snow-white armor, his features handsome and age no more than thirteen or fourteen. Yet, though young, he was nearly seven feet tall and robust. In his hands, the great hammer he wielded was exquisitely carved, but its sheer size was enough to inspire awe and dread. One blow from such a weapon and a man would be pulped.

These two were Dian Wei and Luan Yi. Following them were twelve mounted guards—once servants or tenants of the Luan family, their strength had earned them a place in the household guard under Dian Wei’s rigorous training over the past three years. Now, all were skilled fighters, the only ones among the escort with real weapons. The twelve rode in formation, leveling their halberds as they charged.

Behind Dian Wei, Luan Yi, and their horsemen came the Luan and Xun family retainers, unarmed when they had arrived, but now clutching anything to hand—wooden staffs, hoes, spades, kitchen knives—whatever could serve as a weapon. Though their arms were humble, their loyalty to their masters made them fierce as lions, charging the bandits with murderous intent.

As the retainers armed themselves, the village elders learned of the planned nighttime raid. Though the target was the guests from far-off Yu Province, the experienced elders realized that if the bandits succeeded, their own village would suffer as well.

Here, the rugged spirit of the Guanzhong people shone through. The elders roused the able-bodied men, mustering over twenty young villagers to join forces with the household guards to resist the robbers.

Captain Meng saw the swelling resistance and the terror in his own men’s eyes as discipline collapsed and panic spread. He shouted, “Brothers, retreat with me!” and wheeled his horse to flee.

Luan Yi and his men gave chase, cutting down the fleeing bandits. The threshing ground rang with the clamor of battle. The official soldiers, their helmets and leather armor used to carry off gold and treasures, were in disarray. Ambushed and demoralized, they were no match for the servants armed with farm tools, and soon scattered.

Luan Yi did not bother with the fleeing rabble, but, with Dian Wei and his riders, pursued the leader—Captain Meng.

Their horses were expensive Xiliang warhorses, while Captain Meng’s men rode ordinary Bing Province horses. Having ridden from Hulao Pass through the night, Meng’s mounts were tired, while Luan Yi’s horses were fresh from a night’s rest.

The difference was clear; in moments, the gap closed to less than fifty paces.

Dian Wei hefted his iron halberd, taking aim at the rear of the fleeing group, targeting one of Captain Meng’s personal guards. He hurled the weapon; it struck true, impaling the man through the back. The force flung him more than three meters through the air, lifeless before he hit the ground.

Dian Wei galloped up, leaned down, yanked the halberd free, vaulted back into the saddle, and spurred his horse forward again—all in one fluid, seamless motion.

Luan Yi, meanwhile, took an iron discus from his saddlebag, weighed it thoughtfully, and, using the faint dawn light, hurled it at another horseman. The discus spun through the air in a strange arc, slicing into the man’s neck. The sharp edge cut flesh and muscle, the force shattering his spine. The rider toppled from his mount, his head twisted 180 degrees, the discus buried deep, nearly severing his neck entirely.