A hundred meters behind, the bandit leader, Wild Horse, gripped the reins tightly, his hoarse whispers ensuring the group moved without drawing any attention from the village. Cautious and shrewd by nature, Wild Horse had thrived in the underworld due to his ability to adapt to changing circumstances.
For days, he and his two subordinates had carefully climbed the hill, observing the night patrols and the village entrance, familiarizing themselves with the layout. The small village, home to about a dozen families, mostly refugees and local farmers, had little to offer, which is why it was often overlooked. If not for Wild Horse's expanding business and recent setbacks in bandit skirmishes, he might never have considered targeting this place.
Everything seemed quiet. The guards, exhausted, had fallen asleep clutching their gongs, with torches flickering in the darkness. Two bandits crept closer, their faces covered with black cloth.
“Brother, do we really need to cover our faces?” the larger of the two asked, puzzled.
“It adds to the mystery. The villagers will be scared as soon as they see us!” the thinner one replied confidently.
“But it's still dark. Can anyone even see us with these masks on?”
“Stop talking and just wear it! No more questions!” The thin bandit pressed his knife against the larger one's neck.
Fear and helplessness filled the larger bandit's eyes as he trembled,“Brother, it's just hard to breathe,” he murmured.
Yesterday's farmer could be today's killer. A farmer who was trembling under the knife yesterday might become a bandit stabbing wildly with a knife today. The two bandits tied ropes to the bamboo house's base and signaled to the others.
Seeing the signal, Wild Horse gave a low command, mounted his horse, and sped up. The sound of hooves, footsteps, and barking dogs shattered the village's tranquility.
The bamboo house shook, waking the villagers inside. As they stood up, the house collapsed with a thunderous crash.
The bandits charged through, their eyes gleaming with excitement and cruelty. They threw torches onto nearby thatched roofs, soon filling the air with terrified screams and naked villagers fleeing their homes.
Wild Horse, with his cold, triangular eyes, led the charge, shouting,“Drive them out of their houses! Kill anyone who resists! Kill anyone who resists!”
Many villagers, awakened by the commotion, grabbed door bars and stepped outside, only to be met with the bandits' gleaming knives. Cries, hoofbeats, and chaos filled the air.
The villagers were driven to the center of the village like livestock， one after another. They all held their heads and squatted on the ground， surrounded by excited bandits. The bandits rode their horses， brandishing sharp sabers in the air to intimidate the captives.
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Despite this， some hunters came out with hunting knives or bows and arrows， although the sabers had the advantage at close range. A brave young hunter， in his nervousness， shot five or six arrows， knocking a bandit off his horse. He then wielded his short knife， fighting and retreating towards the mountains. The bandit， pierced through the chest by an arrow， lay on the ground wailing. An old hunter rushed out from the side， unhesitatingly pulling the bandit off his horse and swiftly stabbing his throat with a short knife.
However， the battle situation changed rapidly. Three horses quickly galloped back from the rear. The old hunter swung his short knife desperately to dodge， but under the chaotic stabs of the bandits’ bamboo spears， he was covered in blood. His final strike was weak and tragic.
The enraged bandits， with the piercing sound of horse hooves and the sharpness of iron knives， echoed through the village like the low moan of death.
The villagers’ hasty resistance was quickly quelled. The cunning bandits chose to attack at dawn when people were still asleep， shouting loudly， “Put down your weapons. We’ll just take some food and leave. No need for unnecessary sacrifices.”
Most villagers， seeing some hunters instantly cut down and blood spraying in the night， were frightened into compliance. The bandits struck and left swiftly， like a gust of wind， shouting continuously， “Everyone come out. We’ll just take some food and leave.”
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At this moment, the washerwoman slowly withdrew from the window, her face pale with fear. She grabbed her son, Little Hong, and fled towards the river behind their house.
Little Hong, already tall for his age, used all his strength to help his mother hide in the reeds by the river.
The autumn reeds, like spears, lined the riverbank, their golden heads swaying in the wind. Some leaves had turned yellow, while others remained green and upright, providing good cover.
Their neighbor, Ah Qiang, and his family were also hiding in the reeds. Little Hong saw Ah Qiang, the tall, thin brother who often protected him, smiling as usual. Little Hong straightened his back in front of his brother.
The two mothers huddled in fear, watching the village's thatched roofs emit black smoke, the sounds of fighting gradually fading.
“Mother, will they leave after taking the food?” Little Hong whispered.
“No!”
“Why not? Didn't they say they'd leave after taking some food?”
“They see we're poor, so they might not kill us,” Ah Qiang's mother speculated.
Little Hong's mother replied slowly,“If you give them a bowl of rice today, they'll want a bag tomorrow. If you kneel today, they'll kill you without hesitation when they see no value in you because there will be no resistance left.”
“Smart bandits wouldn't push us to death all at once. They'd take it slow to ensure a steady supply,” Ah Qiang's mother argued.
“Yes, when times are good, they might not rob too harshly. But when times are bad, they'll show their fangs. Never rely on a bandit's mercy for your safety.”
“Yes, we shouldn't have given them a single grain!”
“Little Hong, remember, in this time, if someone robs you, no matter how nice they sound, never give them anything, or we'll never have peace.”
Little Hong didn't fully understand or agree with her mom, but he knew his mother was wise. In an era where few could read, she had secretly taught him many characters.
Their legs were soon numb from the cold river water.
In the past, the bandits would leave quickly, but this time, they stayed, driving the villagers to the central square.
Then, the bandits began burning the thatched houses one by one, determined to leave nothing behind.
Ah Qiang started shivering from the cold. His mother and Little Hong's mother decided to run along the riverbank to the mountains. Seeing the approaching fire, they hurriedly fled.
Other villagers also escaped, forming a long, thin line towards the mountains. Two bandits spotted them and chased with torches, shouting for them to stop and promising safety if they complied.
The washerwoman's last words to her son were,“Run, don't look back.” She then ran in another direction, shouting and waving a branch to distract the bandits.