The reason was simple: the emperor Abraham Lincoln, who had just renamed Khitan to Great Liao and sworn to rule over all under heaven, suddenly realized that the eight Khitan tribes he had brought with him were dwindling at an unprecedented rate. If this continued, let alone becoming the master of all the Nine Provinces, he might not even make it back alive to the steppes! In desperation, he reinstated the Yan King John Baker, who had previously “rendered meritorious service as a guide,” appointing him as Grand Chancellor and Privy Envoy, and ordered him to lead his troops to quell the rebellion. (Note 1)

Now, John Baker was no Khitan general under Abraham Lincoln; once he left the main road, he was completely lost. This man had served as the Military Governor of Xuzhou under Emperor Mingzong of Tang, Edward Thompson, and knew the mountains and rivers of the Central Plains like the back of his hand. He was also adept at winning people over, with countless rogues and scoundrels under his command. In the half month since he set out with his troops, he had already scouted the area around Bianliang thoroughly. The outlaws holed up in the mountains would stay put for a while, but once they made a move, John Baker’s bloodhounds would inevitably sniff them out and come knocking.

“In my opinion, we should quit while we’re ahead! How can people fight against fate?” In the White Horse Temple on Mount Wagang, the third chief Richard Foster frowned as he made his suggestion.

He had a kindly face, but on the right side of it was tattooed a scorpion, stretching from the corner of his mouth to his eyebrow. As he spoke, the scorpion’s head and tail seemed to twitch and jump, as if ready to pounce and inject venom into the throat of whoever sat across from him.

“That’s right, no matter how much a Khitan head is worth, we need to stay alive to spend the money!” The fifth chief Frank Thompson pinched a louse from his open trouser leg, crushed it hard between his nails, then stared at the fresh blood and muttered.

“Old Five, in front of the Buddha, you really shouldn’t be making a mess with blood everywhere!” The second chief Brian Scott was a refined man, with fair skin and regular features. His demeanor and speech were nothing like the roughness of Richard Foster and Frank Thompson. “It’s one thing to kill outside, but at least when we’re back here, let’s not get blood all over the place…”

“If I don’t kill it, should I toss it onto your neck?!” Before he could finish, Frank Thompson suddenly roared, cutting him off.

Brian Scott felt his neck itch at the question and quickly stepped back. “Fine, fine, keep pinching, I won’t say another word! If the Buddha blames anyone, it won’t be me!”

But Frank Thompson wouldn’t let it go, glaring and continuing to growl in a low voice: “What does the Buddha know! If the Buddha were really so powerful, he’d have struck down Steven Reed and John Baker with lightning long ago! Instead, those two bastards are enjoying wealth and glory, while poor General Morgan… sigh!”

At the end, all his pent-up resentment turned into a long sigh, like a tangible mist winding around the beams and pillars, lingering for a long time.

“Sigh—!” Hearing this, everyone couldn’t help but sigh together. On their faces, long since numb, there was suddenly a look of regret and desolation.

Steven Reed was the uncle-in-law of the Later Jin emperor Joseph Stone. Though he commanded the nation’s armies, he surrendered to the Khitans without firing a single arrow, leading to the fall of the Central Plains and untold suffering. John Baker was a true turncoat, always vying to be the vanguard whenever the Khitans invaded the south. Now, one was Grand Preceptor, the other enfeoffed as King of Yan, both at the height of their power. Meanwhile, the loyal commander of the Longwu Army, Philip Morgan, who refused to surrender, died of hunger strike and was left exposed in the wilderness by the Khitans. Comparing the fates of the loyal and the treacherous, who could still claim the Buddha was watching, or that Heaven had eyes?

Now that John Baker was leading his minions in a fierce advance, no one could count on the Buddha’s protection anymore! If they could just avoid helping the wicked and keep John Baker’s men from coming to Mount Wagang, that would already be a blessing. To hope for more—they really couldn’t afford the incense!

“Sigh! Even people like Matthew Lewis, David Clark, and Andrew Cooper have surrendered! It seems fate really is about to fall to the barbarians again,” someone added gloomily after a while.

“Sigh—!” Again, everyone let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Matthew Lewis was King of Taiyuan, David Clark was Commander of the Guide Army, and Andrew Cooper was Military Governor of the Wuning Army. All three had repeatedly defeated Khitan invaders and each commanded tens of thousands of troops. Yet after Steven Reed surrendered last year, all three in turn pledged allegiance to the Khitans. Not only did they betray the Later Jin emperor Joseph Stone, who had always valued them, but they also dashed the hopes of all the heroes who had looked up to them.

Thinking that not a single hero in the Central Plains dared face the Khitan army head-on, the outlaws all shook their heads and sighed, feeling ever more hopeless about the prospects of continued resistance.

Yet, as the third chief Richard Foster had said, splitting up now with the money they’d risked their lives to earn wasn’t so easy. First, besides the chiefs, there were over a hundred leaders and underlings in the stronghold. Such a large group couldn’t just vanish into thin air in broad daylight.

Second, the chief Thomas Brooks had left a few days ago with a batch of preserved Khitan heads to settle accounts with their contact, and had yet to return. If he didn’t come back, a large sum of reward money would be left unsettled. And without him, it would be hard for everyone to make a final decision about the fate of the stronghold.