In a tranquil village nestled in the southwestern lands, it was the middle of the day, and the farmers in the fields anxiously watched as two horses approached from a distance. Seated unsteadily on the horses were two bandits, their clothes tattered but their faces menacing, each clutching a long knife.

The villagers working in the fields saw them from afar and instinctively gathered together， whispering among themselves:

“This is the second time. Last time， these two came swaggering in and demanded the village prepare two bags of grain within the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.”

“These damned scoundrels are like parasites， living off others without any effort!”

“Keep your voice down. Last time， they even injured a villager. The village chief thought it wasn’t worth provoking the bandits over such a small amount of grain， so he sent them away on the spot.”

“I wonder how many of them have come this time?”

“Real bandits wouldn’t come with just one or two people!”

“Could it be like the neighboring village， where they slaughtered everyone?”

In just two short weeks, the bandits had returned. An uneasy feeling spread among the villagers. Why had these villains dared to visit again so soon?

The village chief and a few villagers came out to meet them. The bandits, sitting arrogantly on their horses, spoke,“Chief, we're here to borrow some grain again today.”

“Brave men, didn't we just give you some last time? You see, our village is small and poor, most of us are refugees, we really don't have any surplus grain,” the chief replied.

One of the bandits impatiently waved his knife in the air,“That bit of grain was barely enough for beggars! Our gang has had some conflicts with the Datun Gang recently, and the boss asked us to gather some supplies. I see you have dozens of households here; half a bag of rice per family should do. It's not much, right?!”

The chief's face turned pale. That amounted to more than ten bags of rice—a significant amount.

Just as the chief was about to plead, the other bandit, with a fake smile on his face, said,“Chief, my brothers are impatient. They're not as easygoing as the two of us. They're down at the foot of the mountain, chopping people up. They won't wait long, and we don't want to hear your excuses! Chief, will you help us?”

It wasn't really a question. There was no room for negotiation.

The chief nodded reluctantly.“Fine, come back tomorrow, and I'll try to gather it for you.”

But the bandits wouldn't even give them that time. Interrupting him, they said,“We can't wait until tomorrow. Do it now and have a few people help carry it up the mountain.”

The chief felt a heavy weight in his heart. His lips moved, but he chose to remain silent. With a look of resignation, he signaled for the two men to rest in a communal house in the village while he personally brought them two bowls of fragrant tea.

At the farthest edge of the village lived a poor family, residing in a dilapidated house. Behind the house was a wide river. In the summer, swarms of mosquitoes and flies were everywhere, and in the rain, the house leaked from all sides.

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The mistress of this household was a woman in her thirties, a refugee from another place. In these chaotic times, with fewer people and more deserted land, she had stayed in the village. She worked hard outdoors every day, her skin tanned by the sun.

Her hair was streaked with grey and a bit sparse. She tied it into a simple bun, secured with a rough cloth band to keep it out of her way while working. She wore a plain cotton dress, its color faded but the fabric, clean and fresh with the scent of soapberry.

Her hands, from years of labor, were knobby and muscular. Today, after her work, she silently carried a large bundle of freshly washed clothes to the riverbank, spreading them on the stones to dry under the sun.

With her was a child, a boy was called Little Hong, whom she said was fathered by a man named Hong. The villagers affectionately called him Little Hong.

Little Hong was eight years old, thin but resilient like a sapling growing from a rock crevice. His skin was slightly dark, with a faint blush from the sun. His short black hair was always a bit tousled. His eyes were clear like two bright gemstones, reflecting intelligence and curiosity. Under his eyes were light wheat-colored freckles, like traces of a smile, adding to his charm.

His lips were always pressed tightly together, as if constantly reminding himself not to talk too much. But when he smiled genuinely, the entire village seemed to warm up. Little Hong was somewhat withdrawn and didn't like playing with the other children, but he was very sensible and often went fishing to help out at home. He seemed to have a knack for quickly spotting hidden fish in the river or concealed fruits in the woods. He wore a worn-out short outfit, often getting it dirty with mud, but he would always wash it clean by the end of the day, never letting it stay dirty overnight.

Today, they were both at home, preparing a meal at the stove, with a half-barrel of coarse flour left, making cakes with wild vegetables. The village chief knocked on their door,“Little Hong's mother, the bandits have come to the village again. This is the second time this year, and now they're demanding half a bag of grain from each household. Can you see how much you can spare?”

“Chief, I understand your troubles, but we don't want to give anything,” she replied.

The chief had been getting along smoothly, but he didn't expect resistance here. One of the villagers who had come along became anxious,“It's just half a bag of coarse grain, it's not much. You can't be so stingy, it will bring trouble to you and the village.”

The woman smoothed her hair and respectfully bowed to the chief,“Chief, you know what kind of people they are. Two weeks ago, we gave them a bowl of grain. Today they want half a bag of coarse grain. Next time, they'll want houses, and after that, they'll want the lives of everyone in the village. Their greed is insatiable. Honorable Chief， if you want to gather people to resist， although I can’t fight， I can give all our grain. We can survive on wild vegetables!”

The chief was an honest man. He wanted to argue but, seeing the patches on her clothes, he lowered his head, thought for a moment, and turned to leave.

An hour later, the chief could only gather two bags of rice and two bags of flour, all coarse. The bandits were furious, beating the chief with the backs of their knives. The chief gritted his teeth, kneeling on the ground, silent. The bandits kicked him down and said before leaving,“We'll be back in two days. If we don't see twenty bags of rice, we'll slaughter the village.”

That night, the chief went to the city's yamen but met with no one. An elderly official there told him kindly that the yamen had no resources to spare and couldn't protect a small village in these troubled times. The chief returned and hid the villagers in the mountains for a month before they secretly returned to the village.

At dawn one day, the sky glowed with a faint purple hue, and the remaining stars twinkled in their last moments before daylight. The village was immersed in the scent of livestock and firewood. Everyone was peacefully asleep, even the wolves and livestock. At the village entrance stood a three-meter-high bamboo watchtower, made of thick bamboo, with a square observation platform at the top.

Two villagers responsible for the night watch were dozing off, holding bronze gongs. The watchtower occasionally creaked. At the entrance, there was only a winding path flanked by fields. The nearly ripe rice fields looked like a dark sea, with occasional waves rippling through.

Along the path, two shadowy figures approached, glancing around. As they neared the village entrance, they slowed their pace, making no sound.