With the textile factory closed and the construction site halted, Xihewan village, bustling for months, suddenly fell silent, reverting to its former lifeless state.
The smiles on the villagers’ faces vanished, replaced by sighs and grim expressions whenever they met.
“Damn bandits” replaced “Have you eaten?” as the greeting in Xihewan and Guanjiawan.
Everyone knew the Iron Can Mountain bandits were to blame.
Just as life was getting better, the bandits ruined everything.
Rumours spread that Jin Feng might take the spinning wheels and leave Xihewan to set up a factory in Jinchuan or the prefectural city, where there were no bandits.
This rumour panicked the villagers. The two village heads visited Jin Feng’s house countless times to seek news.
But Jin Feng and Manchun were holed up in the iron workshop, with Guan Xiaorou delivering meals. He didn’t even come out to sleep. The village heads, anxious but helpless, took turns guarding the workshop door, waiting for Jin Feng to emerge.
Instead of Jin Feng, they got news of bandits entering the village.
“Bandits are here?” Liu Qingyuan leapt from his stool as if burned. “Where are they? How many?”
Normally, bandits came for tribute grain after the autumn harvest. It was only summer, so their arrival spelled trouble.
“Six or seven, almost at the village entrance,” a villager reported.
The village head ran off.
Shortly after, Jin Feng emerged from the iron workshop.
“Sir, you were spot on. You said the bandits would come in a day or two, and here they are,” Tie Niu said, giving Jin Feng a thumbs-up. “I’ll fetch Brother Liang and the others from the back hills.”
“Good, but stay hidden behind the courtyard walls. Don’t let the bandits see you. No one moves without my order,” Jin Feng instructed.
“Got it,” Tie Niu said, grabbing his blade and running to the back hills.
At the village entrance, six bandits swaggered in, carrying large blades.
The already quiet village was now deserted, with villagers hiding indoors, peeking through door cracks.
Their eyes blazed with anger, but no one dared step out.
Even the naughtiest children hid silently in cellars or on roof beams.
“Big Boss, why are you here now?” Liu Qingyuan jogged over, bowing and scraping.
Other villagers could hide, but as village head, he couldn’t.
“Old man, we heard Xihewan produced a big shot who’s made you all live well. Iron Can Mountain is so poor we can’t even eat. We want this big shot to give us some pointers,” the bandit leader said, eyeing the village head. “Where’s this big shot? Take me to meet him.”
“This…” The village head’s eyebrows twitched.
He’d guessed the bandits were likely here for Jin Feng.
His worst fear had come true.
He worried the bandits might harm Jin Feng, making him the sinner of Xihewan and Guanjiawan, but he didn’t dare defy them.
Before he could respond, the bandit leader, impatient, kicked him in the waist. “You old fool, I told you to lead the way. Why are you dawdling? Think I can’t find the place if I chop you down?”
“Big Boss, follow me,” Liu Qingyuan said, stumbling from the kick but getting up to lead the way silently.
He knew the bandit was right. Xihewan was small, and the textile factory and iron workshop were obvious. Even without him, the bandits would find them.
At least he could try to mediate.
They entered the iron workshop courtyard, where Jin Feng sat quietly at the entrance.
“Well, you must be Jin Feng,” the bandit leader said, stepping forward and thrusting his face provocatively close. “A big shot, cool as a cucumber, eh?”
“Has anyone told you your breath stinks?” Jin Feng shifted aside, his face showing only disgust, no fear.
It wasn’t bravado. Jin Feng knew at least ten crossbows were aimed at the leader’s head from the shadows.
With Zhang Liang’s marksmanship, the leader had no chance to harm him.
“Gutsy!” The bandit leader, unaware he’d just brushed past death, plopped down across from Jin Feng, grabbing a kettle from the table to pour himself water. “You know why we’re here, don’t you?”
“I do,” Jin Feng nodded. “You’re here to negotiate.”
“No, you don’t get to negotiate with Iron Can Mountain,” the leader said, shaking his head. “I’m here to tell you what to do. Do it right, you live. Do it wrong, you die.”
Bandits loved to intimidate, using bravado to overwhelm opponents, a tactic unchanged for millennia. Even in the 21st century, gang fights started with trash talk.
The leader, chosen by Iron Can Mountain to threaten Jin Feng, was a master at this game.
He was genuinely confident, unaware that to Jin Feng, he looked like a clown.
“Go on, tell me what you want us to do,” Jin Feng said, sipping from his cup calmly.
“I heard you made a new spinning wheel and set up some textile workshop. Look, we’re all farmers here. Why mess with a workshop, making everyone lose interest in farming? Our big boss says you’re to personally deliver all the spinning wheels to Iron Can Mountain. Stick to farming from now on and forget this nonsense,” the leader said, emphasizing “personally.” He pointed at the chimney behind Jin Feng. “Oh, and tear down that filthy chimney and the brick kiln. They’re polluting the place and ruining the village’s feng shui.”
“Your appetite’s pretty big,” Jin Feng said, laughing in disbelief.
He’d thought the bandits just wanted a spinning wheel to copy.
Instead, they demanded all the wheels, delivered by him personally.
And they forbade him from making more wheels, building kilns, or smelting iron.
Jin Feng, a mere scholar, had gathered support through these ventures.
The bandits’ demands weren’t just greedy; they were clearly meant to ruin him.
The village head, standing nearby, turned ashen.
The bandits’ terms didn’t just cut off Jin Feng’s path but crushed the hopes of all Xihewan.
“I can’t agree to your terms,” Jin Feng said with a scoff, shaking his head. “Go back, talk it over with your big boss, and then come negotiate.”
