Chapter Sixty-One: The Ambush (Happy New Year)

“Crossbows!” In that instant, Zhang Wu cried out in alarm, swinging his blade in a backward slash to force back the opponent at his side. He could no longer pursue his foe, but swiftly stepped toward Zhang Mingzhi’s flank, shouting in a deep voice, “Second Brother! Go!”

“Ali, there’s an ambush!” Gripping his staff tightly, Zhang Mingzhi gave it a sudden shake, driving back the two men before him as he hastily retreated, roaring a warning to Ding Li.

A crossbow attack—Ding Li knew all too well that its threat was no less than that of a firearm from a later era. The “bullets” might be more visible, but to dodge while locked in combat was still near impossible. Catching sight of Zhang Mingzhi darting past him, Ding Li swung the butcher’s knife in his hand and hurled it with all his might, then immediately whirled away in retreat.

“Whoosh! Whoosh!”

Almost simultaneously with his withdrawal, two more shrill whistles split the air. The men who had just been raising their weapons to pursue Ding Li fell to the ground, two of them struck down on the spot. Only then did the crowd realize a third force was present. More and more people now noticed that their companions had been killed by crossbow bolts from the shadows. Gazing at the scene before them, they assumed Ding Li and his group had new allies and dared not press forward. Faces blanching in terror, they turned to search for the source—just as several more bolts screamed through the darkness.

Yet this time, the losses among Tiger-Eye’s men were less severe—only three were felled, one killed instantly by a bolt to the back, the other two merely wounded. At last, the crowd began to sense something was amiss: the assassins in the shadows were not targeting them. On the contrary, it became clear the hidden attackers shared the same objective as themselves—they were after the retreating Ding Li’s group.

“Charge! They’re with us!” Without thinking, a short man shouted and suddenly sprinted toward Ding Li, calling his companions to follow. But after only a few steps, he was slammed from behind with such force that his feet left the ground and he sprawled forward, eyes wide with surprise.

Witnessing the chaos, Tiger-Eye burned with rage, cursing the fool under his breath. But he had no time to rein in his panicked men, slipping away to hide at the edge of the fray. Tiger-Eye had not become a local boss by being a fool—he knew his own limits. Brawls might see someone killed by accident, but to kill deliberately, and with forbidden crossbows at that, was not a mess he wished to be caught in.

“Second Brother, watch out!” Hearing the shriek of another bolt, Ding Li, ever watchful, spun and kicked a wooden stool, sending it flying toward Zhang Mingzhi. It seemed aimed at his comrade, but in midair, it intercepted a cold, gleaming arrow.

“Brother Wu! Brother Aguda!” Ding Li, whirling around, snatched up a long bench and swung it before him as a shield, retreating without a backward glance, calling out in a low voice to Zhang Wu behind him.

“Go out the back!” Zhang Mingzhi wasted no words, tossing a nod at Zhang Wu and dashing to Zhang Yurou’s side. Grabbing her arm, he hauled her with him, yelling, “Ali! Hurry!”

Wielding the bench, Ding Li had already blocked four bolts—three were solidly embedded in the wood, the fourth knocked aside. But the concentrated barrage left him scrambling; in the rush, one arrow slashed his left shoulder, blood streaming freely.

Backing away a few more steps, Ding Li gripped the center of the bench and gave it a sharp twist. As it spun before him, he leapt over the butcher’s block, rolling to the ground. Glancing at his bleeding shoulder, he frowned.

Turning to look at Zhang Mingzhi and the others, bent low as they fled, his gaze fell upon a small iron pail beside the block, filled with a viscous liquid—animal fat, no doubt. His eyes flashed. Without hesitation, he grabbed the pail, swung his arm in a wide arc, and hurled it away, then ducked beneath the butcher’s table, flipping it over with all his strength.

With the upended table as cover, Ding Li pushed off, sprinting after Zhang Mingzhi and the others, darting left and right to avoid any bolts from behind.

Suddenly, hearing the telltale whistles again, Ding Li’s eyes turned cold. He sprang toward a nearby campfire he had already marked out, rolling through the flames, ignoring the searing heat, and snatched up a burning stick. Without pause, he spun and flung it.

“Boom!”

The flaming stick landed squarely in the spilled fat, and with a roar, a wall of fire more than five feet wide erupted, completely blocking the assassins’ view. The attackers, though they had already reloaded, could only raise their crossbows and peer into the flames, firing only a few scattered shots, while the rest reserved their strength, cold eyes fixed on the blaze, waiting impassively for their orders.

Thanks to Ding Li's rearguard, Zhang Mingzhi and the others retreated without further threat. Ding Li soon caught up, and under the moonlight, they hurried down the narrow alleyways—only to quickly discover they were lost.

“Damn it! This must be that bastard Cao’s doing!” Zhang Wu stopped, bent double and panting. Earlier, because Aguda was unconscious, Zhang Wu had been forced to carry him. Though Ding Li had taken over, Zhang Wu’s torn leg still made every step a struggle.

“This kid won’t wake up so easily,” Ding Li said, glancing at the slumped Aguda on his shoulder, and shook his head at Zhang Mingzhi. The blow he’d given Aguda hadn’t been heavy, but there was no way he’d recover in just a few minutes. Ding Li regretted his action now, but hadn’t anticipated the chaos that followed.

Zhang Mingzhi, face ashen and breathing hard, was seething. This was the second time the Cao clan had attacked him so openly, far beyond his limit for patience. After a moment’s thought, he assigned tasks in a low, tense voice: “Wu, you and I will take Aguda and go. Ali, you protect my sister. Once we’re out of this area, we’ll regroup! No way are we dying here!”

His brows knit even tighter as he turned to Ding Li, his gaze deep and meaningful. “Ali! No matter what, protect my sister! And if I remember right, once we get out and head north, we’ll reach a Zhang family trading house. We can take shelter there.”

“Understood, Second Brother!” Given the urgency, Ding Li didn’t waste time, nodding solemnly. Setting Aguda down by the wall, he warned, “Second Brother, Brother Wu! By my count, there were at least fifteen ambushers, maybe more, and likely reinforcements! Be careful!”

“We know!” Zhang Mingzhi had also estimated the number of attackers by the waves of crossbow fire. He nodded gravely and strode toward Aguda, calling over his shoulder to Zhang Yurou, “Sister, go with Ali! You’ll be safer with him!”

“Shouyi, you…” Zhang Yurou, still shaken—this was murder, not a brawl—began to speak, but saw Zhang Wu signaling her to remain silent. Biting her lip, she nodded, her pale face set with determination, and said with concern, “Be careful, both of you. Wu, let’s go!”

Without another word, Ding Li jerked his head at Zhang Yurou, clapped Zhang Wu on the shoulder, and took her hand, giving her no chance to protest as he set off at a run.

Jerked into motion, Zhang Yurou winced at the pain in her wrist but then felt a surge of relief. The strength of the hand gripping hers radiated warmth and a sense of security she couldn’t put into words. She remembered Zhang Mingzhi’s advice—indeed, she felt safe with Ding Li.

“Wu, can you keep going?” With Aguda slung over his back, Zhang Mingzhi managed a faint smile. Without his sister, he seemed less burdened, and he glanced at Zhang Wu’s wounds with a pointed question.

“What are you saying, Second Brother? Just a scratch! I’ll live!” The warmth in Zhang Wu’s heart eased his pain. He shrugged, grinned carelessly, then looked at the lifeless Aguda and sighed with a trace of bitterness. “Still, never thought it’d be you carrying him under these circumstances.”

“What’s the difference? If I were hurt, you’d do the same.” Zhang Mingzhi smiled lightly, comforted by Zhang Wu’s words, then jerked his head and fixed his gaze on the route opposite to Ding Li’s group. “Let’s go! Split up!”

Not long after Zhang Mingzhi left, a swarm of black-clad figures burst onto the scene, many masked with black cloth. But the two in the lead, their faces like frost, could not have hidden their cold features even if masked.

“Cao You, take your men that way. I’ll go this way,” ordered one of them—Cao Hai, who had attacked Ding Li and Zhang Wu earlier that day. He still wielded his heavy crossbow, the bolt at the ready glinting with a cold blue light in the moonlight.

“Understood! Be careful,” Cao You replied without hesitation, starting forward but then pausing, giving Cao Hai a meaningful look. “Cao Hai, the young master’s orders are clear. Let’s make an extra effort—by tomorrow, we want the news to spread: the young heir of the Zhang Trading House, dead and sunk at Fuxu, his corpse lost to the South Sea!”

“Indeed,” Cao Hai replied, his icy eyes narrowing. His voice was as cold as the crossbow he held: “Dead at Fuxu, sunk to the South Sea—let it be so.”