Chapter 15: Bandits and the Strange Snake

Chapter 15: Bandits and the Strange Snake

Jianghu cultivators could smell each other’s tricks from miles away—that was the saying. It meant that while their deceptions might fool ordinary folk, fellow martial artists would always see through them. But for Li Yan, the phrase was literal. Since that night, his sense of smell had become unnervingly sharp.

The group galloped down the Imperial Road, still a hundred meters away, yet Li Yan’s nose wrinkled at the thick stench of blood and rotting flesh clinging to them. These weren’t the cloying, earthy odors of grave spirits or village earth shrines—this was fresh human blood.

Sha Lifei, ever the seasoned rogue, rose abruptly, signaling the others to stay alert. His feet planted in a half-lunge, half-stance posture—hips squared, elbows bent, fingers hovering three inches from his saber hilt. It was the classic defensive pose of a swordsman: non-threatening yet ready to draw in an instant. Li Yan recognized the stance; his own quick-draw technique came from the same school. But he also noticed how Sha Lifei’s weight shifted subtly backward—ready to flee at the first sign of trouble.

The wheat reapers tightened their grips on their sickles. Some had trained in harvest techniques, while others relied on brute familiarity with their tools. But their numbers gave them courage.

Hoofbeats thundered closer, then stopped. Beneath their straw hats, the riders’ faces were weathered and grim, eyes flicking between amusement and disdain. Li Yan confirmed it—they were bandits. The loose black scarves around their necks gave them away. A quick tug would hide their faces when they went to work.

But even bandits followed rules. Who rode brazenly down the Imperial Road in broad daylight?

Sha Lifei stepped forward, forcing a laugh as he clasped his fists. “Mountains have five peaks, rivers have five lakes. The northwest has its own blade. Friends, you look unfamiliar—where do you hail from?”

It was a Jianghu code. Outsiders would hear nonsense, but Li Yan understood. “Five peaks, five lakes” referred to the four corners of the realm. Sha Lifei was announcing his status as a martial artist, hoping to intimidate. After all, the saying went: Even a mighty dragon fears the local snake.

Sha Lifei wasn’t a dragon—or even a snake. But bluffing was half the battle. Normally, the response would name a mountain, river, or shrine—a Path Inquiry to avoid conflict.

But the bandits didn’t bite. Some idly twirled their knives, smirking.

The leader grunted, “Move along. Just a bunch of poor bastards. Don’t waste time.”

His accent wasn’t Guanzhong. Li Yan’s gut tightened—Qilu bandits.

The Path of Bandits had many legends: Guandong raiders, Guanzhong saber gangs, Central Plains warlords, Qilu horsemen, Taihu river pirates. All operated in their own territories. Why trespass now?

Sha Lifei’s legs trembled, but he barked, “Pathetic! If not for these fellow villagers, I’d teach you a lesson!”

Li Yan rolled his eyes. Now who’s the chickenhawk?

The reapers rushed to soothe him. “Master Sha, calm down!”

“Don’t call them back!”

Sha Lifei sheathed his blade with a scoff. “I’m not scared of some horse thieves! But I won’t risk your lives… Humph!”

An elder muttered, “This year feels cursed. Should we leave?”

“Leave?!” Sha Lifei snapped. “They might be heading for a fight ahead. Wait—they’ll clear out soon.”

Li Yan nodded inwardly. The cowardice was infuriating, but the old rogue’s instincts were sharp.

The reapers agreed. They were here to work, not court danger.

But moments later, Li Yan sprang upright, saber drawn. “Something’s coming!”

“Again?!” Sha Lifei yelped.

The scent hit him first—icy, metallic, far worse than the Blind Third Elder Wolf. His blood ran cold. Had his Spirit Roots awakened something? Who—or what—dared hunt at noon?

Sha Lifei spun, twin blades scanning empty plains. “You hallucinating? No one’s—”

“There!” Hei Dan screamed, pointing left.

The wheat field rippled like water. A colossal serpent, as thick as a wine bowl, rose silently. Scales glinted like armor. Stranger still, a crimson crest crowned its head—like a rooster’s comb.

“Cockcrown Serpent!” someone shrieked.

Legends warned: Its bite brings death. It haunts graves, a vengeful spirit.

Li Yan’s hand flew to his Sacred Red Cloth pouch—the Heavenly Triad Demon-Repelling Tassel inside. The serpent’s gaze locked on him.

“Don’t move!” Sha Lifei hissed. “I’ve heard these things measure men. If you’re taller, it dies of shame!”

“Human Pyramid Formation!”

The reapers scrambled. Stronger men formed the base, others clambered onto shoulders. Three tiers high, they held their breath.

The serpent reared. Higher. Higher. It dwarfed them.

“More men!”

“Who’s shivering?!”

Li Yan vaulted onto a locust tree, leaping to the pyramid’s peak, saber raised.

The serpent paused. Then, as if hearing a whisper, it slithered away, vanishing like smoke.

The wind sighed. Distant flute notes echoed.

The reapers collapsed, trembling. One growled, “What’s cursed this year? Bandits, snakes… Did we offend the Grand Duke of the Year?”

Li Yan stared after the serpent. Its target wasn’t us. It was the bandits.

The group pressed on, nerves frayed. Sha Lifei, ever the braggart, steered them onto the safer Imperial Road, sacrificing a day’s travel.

When Xianyang’s walls finally loomed, the reapers followed Sha Lifei to a village.

“This year’s employer pays double!” Sha Lifei boasted. “Only my connections—”

Li Yan tuned him out. His mind raced toward Xianyang—and Wang Daoxuan.

If the old cultivator took him in, this nightmare might finally make sense.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end