Chapter Thirty-Eight: Ambushed Along the Way

For Ding Li, a weapon that suited his hand was naturally a source of delight, but the Zhang Estate’s armory had reached a point where he found it truly hard to part with. The dazzling array of weapons before his eyes made it clear that the world’s arsenal was far richer than the mere eighteen traditional types; even doubling that number would fall short. Among the collection were various styles of crossbows—an item Ding Li coveted. After a brief introduction from Zhang Wu, Ding Li made no pretense of courtesy and took three, one of which was a rare, well-preserved Qin crossbow.

What shocked Ding Li further was the presence of a massive mounted crossbow, said to have a range of two hundred and fifty paces. To Ding Li, this was utterly astonishing. Ordinarily, even handheld crossbows were strictly prohibited by the authorities, yet here in the Zhang Estate, such a formidable siege weapon was kept in secret. Should this ever come to light, everyone in the Zhang family would lose their heads a hundred times over and it still wouldn’t absolve their crime.

They set out just after dawn, with only five companions, but their gear was complete, each man with two horses.

The rough journey exhausted Zhang Wu, but Ding Li, on the other hand, left him in awe. Despite having dozed fitfully all night, Zhang Wu could not believe the man who rode alongside him was the same one who’d gone sleepless, drinking three jars of fine wine. Ding Li’s vigor seemed inexhaustible.

Since leaving the city, Ding Li had frequently strayed from the group, scouting ahead alone and returning to brief Zhang Wu and the others on the road ahead.

By mid-morning, Zhang Wu, after pushing himself all morning, could bear it no longer. He considered stopping for just a short rest, even half an hour’s nap would suffice. But a glance around showed no sign of Ding Li. Forced to press on despite his fatigue, Zhang Wu silently cursed Ding Li for his lack of consideration.

After less than a quarter of an hour, Zhang Wu finally saw Ding Li returning and all but collapsed onto his horse, even slowing his mount deliberately, for he suspected that if he kept up this pace, he might well drop dead from exhaustion.

“Brother Wu, there’s an inn two li ahead by the roadside. Let’s rest there. It’s nearly noon, and the brothers could use a meal,” Ding Li said as soon as he rejoined them, immediately spotting Zhang Wu’s condition and, perhaps fearing he’d refuse to go on, spoke up with particular ‘concern.’

“Come on, Brother Li! Did you drink rooster’s blood before we set out?” Zhang Wu wailed, wanting nothing more than to rest, but the mention of food and drink ahead forced him to spur his horse on, albeit reluctantly.

“If that worked, I’d have shared it with everyone,” Ding Li replied with a faint smile, offering no further explanation. In truth, his mind wandered to days long past, when he’d carried dozens of pounds across the highlands in training that rivaled a marathon. A single sleepless night was nothing now. Even another two would mean little—riding on horseback in this fashion was mere child’s play for him.

“Hmph!” Zhang Wu grunted his dissatisfaction but, knowing they were only two li away, refrained from further complaints, putting his all into reaching the promised rest stop as soon as possible.

Yet after traveling a further four li, there was still no sign of the inn Ding Li had spoken of—indeed, not a soul to be seen. Zhang Wu, irritated, demanded, “Brother Li! Where is this inn you mentioned? We’ve gone at least twice as far as you said!”

“Don’t worry, Brother Wu, it’s just ahead,” Ding Li replied, glancing around sheepishly. “I must have misjudged the distance earlier. It’s close, really!”

“‘Just ahead, just ahead’—it’s always ‘just ahead!’ We’re nearly at Fuxu Town by now!” Zhang Wu snapped, flicking his whip irritably and glaring at Ding Li. “An inn? There’s not even a ghost on this road! Who would open an inn out here and not starve to death?”

“Wait! Stop!” Ding Li suddenly yanked his reins, his face alert as he shot a look at Zhang Wu. He circled his horse in place, brows knitting tightly, and his tone grew grave. “Brother Wu, have you noticed anything?”

“Noticed what?” Zhang Wu, startled by Ding Li’s sudden action, glanced around and, seeing nothing amiss, shrugged dismissively. “What is there to notice? Don’t tell me, Brother Li, you’ve got eagle eyes and spotted a bun shop?”

“Something’s wrong! There’s trouble!” Ding Li ignored the jest, raising a hand for silence as he reached for the Tang saber hanging from his saddle. His left hand, gripping the reins, slid down to grasp the jet-black Qin crossbow at his waist.

Seeing this, Zhang Wu dropped his complaints, his face turning serious as he drew his own weapon and scanned the surroundings warily. Suddenly, he growled, “Killing intent!”

A split second later, the air was pierced by sharp, whistling sounds—a volley of arrows shot from the woods on either side of the road, cold flashes slicing through the air, sending a chill through everyone present.

“Watch out!” Ding Li barked, flinging himself sideways to hang off his horse’s broad flank for cover. Zhang Wu was equally swift, using his mount as a shield.

The other five men were not so quick. Two, eyes wide in confusion, were struck in the chest by cold, iron-tipped crossbow bolts before they could react. The remaining three fared slightly better—though slow, they were luckier; one took a bolt through the right arm, the pain searing, but at least he still lived.

“Run!” Seizing the momentary lull between volleys, Ding Li abandoned his horse, drew his Tang saber and crossbow, and launched himself onto his spare mount, spurring it forward at a full gallop.

“Go!” Zhang Wu was right behind him, casting a pained look at his fallen companions before mounting up and shouting at the remaining three.

The three survivors scrambled in panic, especially the wounded one, who quickly fell behind, terror etched on his face as he desperately urged his mount on—only to be struck by a second wave of arrows.

This time, the attack was lighter, for from the woods emerged black-clad, masked riders, each aiming a loaded crossbow at the fleeing men as they advanced.

A scream rang out—the wounded man tumbled from his horse, his body soon obscured by the dust. Another agonized cry: one of Zhang Wu’s companions slid from the saddle, not dead yet, but coughing blood, struggling to crawl forward. After moving barely a foot, he collapsed, face twisted in fear and unwillingness, pressed into the dust.

“Into the woods!” Hearing the screams and the relentless whistle of arrows behind him, Ding Li’s brow furrowed. He knew that to continue fleeing down the road was to serve as a living target. Glancing at the nearby trees, he decisively turned his horse and shouted to Zhang Wu.

Suddenly, a sharp sound sliced the air by Ding Li’s ear. Without hesitation, he flung himself from the saddle toward the roadside. He felt a cold sting on his back—his thin outer garment ripped open, flesh splitting as a hot stream of blood trickled out.

“Damn it! What rotten luck!” Gritting his teeth through the pain, Ding Li hit the ground running, ducked into the woods, and cursed under his breath as he tore off a strip of cloth and quickly bound his wound. He had no intention of bleeding out and dying here in vain.

No sooner had he finished than a louder volley of arrows whistled past. Instinctively, he hefted his saber and retreated a few steps, just as a figure crashed through the underbrush—Zhang Wu, following in his wake, tumbled to the ground in front of him.

“Brother Li! Why did you dodge? Couldn’t you have helped me up?” Zhang Wu complained, grimacing as he got to his feet.

“You’re too heavy, Brother Wu! You’d crush me!” Ding Li grinned, making light of their predicament, which drew a reluctant laugh from Zhang Wu despite himself.

“All five are dead!” Zhang Wu picked up his fallen saber, glanced outside the trees with a heavy sigh, then forced a bitter smile and asked, “Brother Li, what now? Do we run, or try to fight our way out?”

“Is that even a question? Fighting our way out would make us sitting ducks!” Ding Li shot him a glare, straightening up and wincing as his wound pulled. He gestured to the injury, saying, “See? If I’d been a second slower, I’d be dead, not just scratched! Going out there is suicide.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Zhang Wu muttered, suddenly aware of how indecisive he had become. He glanced at Ding Li in confusion.

“Don’t look at me! We can’t outrun them on foot—they have horses and we don’t. Besides, there are too many of them!” Ding Li moved gingerly, adjusting to the pain, and motioned for Zhang Wu to follow as he retreated deeper into the forest, saber and crossbow in hand.

“What, then? We can’t run, we can’t fight—what do we do?” Zhang Wu’s voice faltered. Though a prominent figure in Canton Prefecture, he was powerless now. The black-clad assassins clearly cared nothing for his status—perhaps it was he they were after all along.

“They’re coming!” Ding Li paused, his expression tightening, and quickened his pace, whispering, “Fall back! Meeting them head-on means certain death. Don’t forget, every one of them has a crossbow!”

“Wait until everyone’s together, then enter! Push forward slowly—don’t leave a single patch unchecked. Alive or dead, we must find them!” came a chilling command from outside the woods, followed by the rustle of movement. Zhang Wu, frozen with indecision, shuddered and hurried after Ding Li, glancing nervously behind him, dreading that the black-clad men would burst in at any moment.