The village chief split the young men into two groups, one to bury the bodies outside the village, the other to patrol with weapons.
Despite having only one arm, Zhang Liang, a battlefield veteran, was assigned to the patrol group.
The hunter noticed Zhang Liang staring at the body and nudged him. “Liangzi, what’s got you dazed? Let’s go.”
“Oh, right,” Zhang Liang snapped out of it, seeing Jin Feng swarmed by women. Suppressing his unease, he grabbed his firewood knife and followed the hunter.
“Jin Feng, how many people are you looking to hire?”
“Can my girl come? She spins fast, doesn’t need wages, just food.”
“Jin Feng, when will you have the new spinning wheels ready?”
The women bombarded him with questions.
They didn’t care that two people had just died in the courtyard, with blood still wet on the ground.
Death was common enough. The living had to keep living.
In ten days or so, the wild greens would be gone, leaving them with nothing to do.
No work meant no income.
They weren’t afraid of hard work or dead bodies, only of going hungry.
Jin Feng promised to make spinning wheels quickly, ensuring work for everyone, and the women left satisfied.
Some diligent women, hoping to impress Jin Feng, grabbed hoes before leaving, carefully covering the bloodstains with soil.
“Darling, with your hand like this, how will you make spinning wheels?” Guan Xiaorou asked worriedly once the women were gone.
“I can’t do it myself, but I can find others,” Jin Feng said. “The town’s carpenter is skilled enough.”
“No way. Spinning wheels can’t be shared. You have to make them,” Tang Dongdong objected immediately.
“Dongdong, even if I do nothing but make spinning wheels, how many could I make?” Jin Feng said. “To take down the Zhou family, I can’t do it alone. We’ll need help eventually. Once we earn enough, I’ll go to the city and buy some carpenters to make them.”
“Buy carpenters?” Jin Feng thought he’d misheard.
“Of course. The city has brokers for human trade, some sell themselves due to family crimes or urgent need for money,” Tang Dongdong explained. “Carpenters are rare, but if you ask around, you’ll find them.”
Jin Feng’s mind conjured scenes from historical dramas of people selling themselves to bury their parents.
“Won’t bought carpenters leak secrets?” he asked.
“With a bond of servitude, their lives are yours. If they leak secrets, you can kill them, and the authorities won’t care,” Tang Dongdong said. “But carpenters are skilled, so they’re expensive, and you’d need to pay taxes on them. We can’t afford that yet.”
“Dongdong, how about this,” Jin Feng suggested. “We don’t let one carpenter make the whole wheel. We give them the trickier parts to make, then I assemble them. It saves effort and keeps the secret. What do you think?”
“That’s a good idea,” Tang Dongdong nodded after thinking it over.
“Alright. I’ve already made the complex parts. Xiaorou, at dawn, find Brother Liang and ask him to take them to the town’s carpenter,” Jin Feng said.
“Okay,” Guan Xiaorou agreed.
Before she could go, Zhang Liang returned after patrol, standing at the gate and waving Jin Feng over. “Jin Feng, come here.”
“Brother Liang, I was going to find you tomorrow,” Jin Feng said with a smile, walking out.
“For what?”
“I need you to go to town tomorrow to get a carpenter to make some things.”
“No problem, small matter,” Zhang Liang said, glancing around before lowering his voice. “That bald guy today, you know him?”
“Nope,” Jin Feng shook his head. “Who knows what kind of shady friend Xie Guang dragged in.”
He immediately sensed something off. Zhang Liang wouldn’t come back just for this. The bald man must be trouble.
“Brother Liang, do you know him?”
“If I’m not mistaken, he might be a bandit,” Zhang Liang said.
“A bandit?” Jin Feng’s heart sank.
For mountain villagers, bandits were an ever-present shadow.
Every year, Iron Jar Mountain bandits came to collect grain. Resistance had dire consequences.
Twenty years ago, a nearby village hit by a flood had little harvest. Handing over grain would’ve starved families.
So, they fought back, driving off the bandit collection team.
The next day, a large bandit force swept in.
To make an example, they slaughtered all the men, taking the women and children to the mountains.
That village remains abandoned, untouched even in daylight.
If the bald man was an Iron Jar Mountain bandit, this was serious.
“Brother Liang, how do you know he’s a bandit?” Jin Feng asked curiously.
The village chief dealt with bandits annually and should’ve been the most familiar, yet only Zhang Liang recognised him.
“I saw the brand on his wrist,” Zhang Liang said. “It’s the mark of Cat Cat Mountain bandits.”
“Cat Cat Mountain bandits?” Jin Feng almost laughed. “Where’s Cat Cat Mountain?”
His host’s memories only knew of Iron Jar Mountain bandits, nothing about Cat Cat Mountain.
Bandits usually picked fierce names like Green Dragon Stronghold or Fierce Tiger Ridge, names that struck fear.
Cat Cat Mountain bandits? Was such a cute name serious?
“Cat Cat Mountain is north of the county seat. A few years back, I saw their bandits while on business. They all have that same wrist brand as the bald guy,” Zhang Liang explained.
“I see,” Jin Feng said, relieved. “Good thing they’re not from Iron Jar Mountain.”
Bandits divided territories. If multiple groups collected from the same place, they’d drain the villagers dry.
Xihe Bay and nearby villages were Iron Jar Mountain’s turf. Other bandits stirring trouble here would upset them.
“Jin Feng, Cat Cat Mountain bandits are worse than Iron Jar Mountain’s,” Zhang Liang warned. “Iron Jar Mountain lives off grain collection. Cat Cat Mountain thrives on robbery and ambushes. Their core group is small, just dozens, but they’re all skilled and bloodthirsty. Even Iron Jar Mountain avoids crossing them unless absolutely necessary. If Iron Jar Mountain hears about this, they might even help Cat Cat Mountain come for you.”
Jin Feng’s smile faded.
He understood Zhang Liang’s point.
If Cat Cat Mountain bandits came to Xihe Bay for grain, Iron Jar Mountain would fight them.
But if they came just for Jin Feng, Iron Jar Mountain wouldn’t care.
After all, they wouldn’t want villagers thinking they could kill bandits.
If everyone started fighting back, who’d pay grain obediently?
