Little Hong stood there， paralyzed， as if in a daze， watching his mother die. Time seemed to slow， each second slipping away， a moment she had fought to give him. His body felt rigid， and when his legs gave out， he crumpled to the ground. Silent tears streamed down his face， unstoppable.

Around him， chaos reigned. Horses galloped past， dust filled the air， villagers fled into the mountains， others were driven into the river， and some were trampled underfoot， their cries mingling with the bedlam. Little Hong remained motionless， rooted to the spot.

Just then， thin and wiry A-Qiang reappeared， grabbing Little Hong and dragging him toward the mountains. Little Hong stumbled， his mind foggy， his body unsteady. The pounding of hooves grew louder. He was snatched up by bandits， with A-Qiang， also struggling， being caught alongside him. They were thrown into a cattle cart.

Little Hong felt weak and drained of all strength， unable to bring himself to look at the bodies in the ravine. More cattle carts， usually used for grain， were filled with children， women， and a few surviving men who were made to drive the carts. The once bustling village now had only a handful of survivors.

The bandits were clearly experienced in such raids， operating swiftly and in perfect harmony. Half a day later， the cattle carts were flanked by bandits at the front and rear. Their leader， riding slowly， inspected his spoils， blood still dripping from his saber， which he wiped indifferently on his boot before revealing its sharp edge again.

They traveled the entire day， moving further from the village until no signs of civilization were visible. The midday sun beat down， making everyone drowsy. The bandits， too， were growing hungry and thirsty. When they reached a small grove beside a hill， the leader ordered a rest.

The captives were given a little water， taking turns to drink. As the bandit leader moved away， a young child began to sob softly， followed by another， and soon， the cart was filled with the sounds of crying. The youngest boy， his face smeared with mud， snot， and tears， wept the loudest. The realization that he was now alone， his entire family gone， weighed heavily on him. Normally， his mother would comfort him， but now， surrounded by other grieving children， no one paid him any attention.

Suddenly， a sharp spear thrust through the back of the weeping boy's head and out of his gaping mouth. His small body stiffened in pain， then collapsed onto the wooden floor of the cart. Wild Horse shouted，"Anyone else makes a noise， and you'll be next."

Blood spattered onto the faces of the nearby children. Their tears continued to flow silently， their fear rendering them mute and motionless. They realized， in that terrifying silence， that there would be no one to comfort or protect them anymore. The air was deathly still， broken only by the sound of blood dripping from the spear.

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Wild Horse， satisfied with the effect， cast a cold glance at the other carts before leaving the boy's body where it lay， blood pooling beneath it. Another bandit， nicknamed Chubby， came over， sorrow etched on his face. He picked up the dead child and buried him by the roadside. When he returned， he looked at the other children with pity."Poor kids，" he said，"there's no need for this. If you have any problems， just tell Uncle. I'll help you." He handed each child a piece of coarse bread. The children looked at him with gratitude.

"Uncle， I need to pee，" one child said timidly."Come， Uncle will take you，" Chubby replied， lifting the child down to relieve himself by the roadside.

Throughout the journey， the villagers became the bandits' entertainment. During breaks， villagers were forced to balance fruit on their heads while the bandits， riding at full speed， sliced them in half. Some bandits were not skilled， and their swords would cut into the villagers' scalps. Those who collapsed in terror were tied to stakes and made to continue the gruesome game. One villager， trying to escape， was caught and cut in two， his body a horrifying spectacle that silenced the remaining villagers.

The bandit leader reprimanded the impulsive bandit， then turned to the villagers with a kind demeanor."Cooperate， and there will be food and drink at our destination. We'll part ways after we're paid. But I despise runners. We're a team now， and breaking the rules means death. Don't blame us for what happens then."

The villagers nodded fearfully， not daring to meet his gaze. In those dark times， the bandits， their boots stained with blood， turned the villagers into pawns in their brutal games. Initially， the bandits only urged them to keep moving， but one brave villager， a bit bolder than the rest， seized a chance to escape while relieving himself. Crawling through the underbrush， he hoped for freedom. His dream was shattered by the sound of hooves. The bandits trampled him， leaving him a broken corpse.

The bandits， angered by their leader's scolding， vented their frustration by tying the dead villager's leg to a rope and dragging him back to the carts， his body disintegrating before the horrified eyes of the others. The villagers， eyes closed， remained silent， too terrified to utter a sound.

In those dark days， the horse bandits， those blood-stained villains under iron hooves， turned the villagers into pawns in their cruel game.

At first， the horse bandits only urged them forward， keeping a close eye on anyone who might try to escape.

One day， a brave villager， slightly bolder than the others， found an opportunity. When he noticed no one was watching while he was in the bushes， he carefully tiptoed deeper into the undergrowth and crawled away， hoping to escape this nightmare and return to a world of freedom.

However， his happiness was short-lived as the sound of hooves shattered his illusion.

When he stood up in fear and tried to run， the horse bandits’ hooves followed closely behind. In that terrifying moment， his body was trampled， bones and flesh torn apart， and his life ended under the cruelty.

Finally， the horse bandits， scolded by their leader， vented their anger by tying the dead villager’s legs to a rope and dragging him back to the cart.

The horse bandits deliberately made the horse gallop back and forth， and in front of the other villagers， the escapee’s body was torn to pieces， leaving a bloody mess.

Most of the villagers closed their eyes， and no one dared to make a sound.