Chapter 88: Luring Disaster

That night, Chu Danqing and the others found a ruined temple and lit a bonfire to rest.

“A single Seven-Disc Path has thirteen separate bandit strongholds, big and small,” Zhao Mingqian said, staring at the mountain map, his scalp prickling.

Today alone, they cleared five bandit strongholds.

“Seven-Disc Path isn’t even the worst—real major bandits gather in the Pingdou Mountain route,” Xiong Zhigang drank some juice, sounding weary: “There are at least thirty thousand bandits there.”

“Luckily, these bandits all act independently and often fight each other; otherwise, they’d have already overturned the heavens.”

Chu Danqing gained new insight into the bandits’ widespread presence.

Thirty thousand lawless outlaws gathered in one place—whether they swept together or coiled into a single rope—would be a massive problem.

"Won't you exterminate them?" Chu Danqing asked.

Xiong Zhigang grew morose at the question.

“It’s easier to get things done when you have someone in the court,” he said.

The meaning was clear: they had tried to exterminate them before, but never succeeded.

“Holy shit, with all these internal and external crises, how’s the emperor still sitting comfortably?” Chu Danqing was stunned.

If anyone shouted, “Are kings and generals born to rule?” the Tai Chang Empire would collapse overnight.

“Chu Mr., watch your tongue,” Xiong Zhigang warned Chu Danqing: “The Jishi Factory excels at punishing men for their words.”

Chu Danqing didn’t expose this self-deception; instead, he changed the subject.

“Master Xiong, I see you writing and sketching every day—what are you doing?” Chu Danqing asked.

“I’m drafting a military strategy—my years of campaigning and pacification, to help others defend against enemies in the future,” Xiong Zhigang didn’t hide it, handing his manuscript to Chu Danqing.

Chu Danqing took it, flipped through a few pages, and lost interest.

After returning it, he said: “Writing a book isn’t easy. Master Xiong, you’re truly skilled.”

The two continued chatting half-heartedly; Zhao Mingqian and Dabao huddled together watching cartoons.

“Little Chu, this morning, the white man and horse arrived,” Dabao sensed movement first, but showed no defensive posture.

“They’re probably circling back—doesn’t seem like they’re targeting Master Xiong,” Chu Danqing said.

“Right, if they meant to strike, they’d have acted earlier,” Zhao Mingqian agreed.

Xiong Zhigang added: “But he’s definitely carrying trouble.”

Hooves clattered; the white-clad youth dismounted at the temple entrance: “You three are dishonorable—leading villains to the path.”

He entered the ruined temple, leading his horse, only to find everyone calm, as if expecting him.

His attempt to intimidate failed utterly.

Dabao dropped his tablet and stood, baring his claws with a ferocious glare.

“Trying to scare us, huh?” Chu Danqing stood too, ordering Dabao: “Beat him.”

Dabao waited for exactly that command—he lunged the moment it was given.

The white-clad youth’s pupils shrank; he twisted aside, but too slow—he was pinned down by Dabao.

“Ow! Ow! Stop! It’s a misunderstanding!” the youth howled under Dabao’s blows.

Begging did no good—Dabao didn’t listen.

When finished, the youth was bruised, swollen, and filthy—his white robes now gray with dirt.

Xiong Zhigang stepped forward, grabbed the youth by the collar, and hauled him up.

“No, no—I just wanted a place to rest. This temple’s perfect,” the youth hurried to explain.

Without the earlier intimidation, Xiong Zhigang might have believed he was just passing through—but before even seeing them, the youth had already declared it was them.

That meant he’d tracked their trail.

“You’re diverting trouble our way, right?” Xiong Zhigang stared into his eyes.

He’d already guessed the full sequence.

The Western Sichuan Killers had blown up the dam, blocking the Seven-Disc Path; this youth, outnumbered and hunted, had turned back.

He’d seen everything in his decades of battle.

To play tricks under his nose—did he think Xiong Zhigang was made of mud?

“Again, many people, the one,” Dabao spoke first.

“Kill this bastard!” Zhao Mingqian drew his longsword, ready to pierce the youth through.

He was already furious; now, just as he was about to rest, someone came to provoke him—he couldn’t tolerate it.

“Young brother speaks truly—this man’s no good,” came a voice at the temple door: the man who’d asked for directions that morning arrived with his men.

He nodded in agreement upon hearing Zhao Mingqian’s words.

“Big Brother, I delivered what you wanted—why kill the messenger after the mill’s ground?” the youth’s eyes darted, speaking quickly.

But the man wasn’t a fool—he wouldn’t believe anything the youth said.

Seeing this, the youth gritted his teeth, whipped out a hooked chain from his sleeve, latched it to the saddle, and yanked it over.

He peeled back the outer layer, revealing a gleaming golden interior.

“This golden saddle is my offering, Big Brother—why go this far?” the youth didn’t finish; Chu Danqing cut him off.

“Well, now we’ve got three thousand taels of gold,” Chu Danqing muttered.

At those words, the men were triggered—their gazes locked onto Xiong Zhigang.

“You’re the great villain Xiong Zhigang!” the man laughed: “Fate’s handed me this windfall today.”

“First the golden saddle, now gold.”

The white-clad youth was stunned—he hadn’t realized the man holding him was the infamous bandit Xiong Zhigang.

“Xiong Zhigang, I only want wealth,” the man gestured; his men tensed: “Hand it over, and today we pretend we never met.”

“If you’re bandits,” Chu Danqing turned to the white-clad youth: “Then what are you?”

“Black eats black?” Chu Danqing decided the youth wasn’t good either.

“I’m a man, not a ‘what,’” the youth replied bluntly.

Before more could be said, the men attacked.

“Watch out—he’s the Mountain Ape Zhu Ding; his Push-Mountain Palm has few equals,” the youth cried out.

If these bandits won, his own life was forfeit.

Then came a deafening tiger’s roar, making ears ring and vision blur.

A mottled tiger, limping, stepped slowly from behind Chu Danqing.

“Push-Mountain Palm? What’s to fear? If they had Tiger-Taming Fist or something like it, I’d have to think about who to pick to kill them.” As Chu Danqing spoke, the Zhanji Tiger lunged.

Dabao, unwilling to be outdone, activated his Rending Claws and struck simultaneously.

(End of Chapter)