The bandits were ferocious! Looking down from the mountain pass, I could see corpses dressed in ancient costumes lying haphazardly in the distance. The most bodies were scattered around a carriage—about 50 of them—all wearing the same style of clothing. It seemed this group had put up a determined resistance around the carriage. From where I stood, these corpses looked nothing like props; most of their faces were frozen in various expressions—anger, despair, fear, pain.

A little farther from the carriage, there were over a hundred more bodies lying on the ground. Fallen horses lay among them. None of these corpses wore matching clothes; I guessed they were actors playing the role of bandits, attacking the carriage. Some of the bodies stretched farther away, forming a bloody trail. In the distance, two people on horseback and a dozen or so on foot were surrounding three people, hacking at them.

Of those three, only one was on horseback wielding a halberd; the other two were on foot. One of the men on foot, a burly fellow, wore the same clothes as the corpses around the carriage. The other wore a Han dynasty-style tall hat, and his wide sleeves made his dodging movements clumsy. The young man on horseback was swinging his halberd, fighting three at once. But it looked like he was about to fall—while I was surveying the scene from the mountain pass, he had already taken several hits.

“Stop! In broad daylight, you dare gather and kill people in public? Do you have a death wish?” I shouted, hoping to stop the massacre. Footsteps sounded behind me—my companions had arrived. I shouted again, “We’ve already called the police!” The people fighting turned to look at me. One of the bandits on horseback shouted something at me in a strange accent—probably asking where the people who had just rushed into the valley had gone. I ignored them and kept shouting, “The police will be here any minute! Stop now!”

Then I whispered to my companions, “They’ve killed so many—they won’t stop easily. Get ready to fight. Be careful—if even one of them escapes, they might bring a mob of villagers with hoes to silence us.”

At that moment, a bandit on horseback waved his hand and charged at us, leading five bandits on foot wielding axe-like weapons. The remaining bandit on horseback quickly led the rest to attack the young man on horseback. Strangely, the two men on foot ignored their companion and turned to flee. The young man, fighting alone, managed to cut down the bandit on horseback, but was immediately knocked off his horse.

“Shoot the horses!” I shouted to Brian Cooper and the others. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—three bowstrings twanged, and the three charging bandits on horseback fell. “Reload!” I shouted as I charged at the bandits. Did they really think they could take me on with those antique weapons?

I slashed and slashed. With each swing, a man fell. After I’d cut down five, William Bennett and the others still hadn’t finished stringing their bows.

“Hurry, chase them! Those two who ran are our witnesses.” We’d cut down so many—though it was self-defense, without witnesses, the police would want a lot of money to prove our innocence.

We caught up with the fleeing men—the fight was already over. The bandits had killed the last two survivors, and only three bandits remained. Under a volley of our crossbow bolts, we took down those three. David Clark rushed to get the first aid kit to treat the last two who had tried to escape. Brian Cooper took charge of guarding and interrogating the three surviving bandits, while William Bennett dutifully protected the scene. I patrolled the area, searching for anyone who might still be saved.

After surveying the whole battlefield, I had a sense of what had happened. It seemed the bandits had tracked them here, and they’d tried to hide in the valley to escape, but the bandits, sensing something was wrong, attacked directly. After a desperate resistance around the carriage, they broke through the encirclement, fighting as they fled, but in the end, none escaped the bandits’ grasp.

What puzzled me was—who were these people, and why were they all dressed in ancient costumes? Most of the weapons were antiques. In my opinion, these bandits were wasting their talents not being antique dealers—their bronze weapons alone were worth a fortune. If they sold them, they’d never have to worry about food or clothing again. Using a pile of antiques to commit robbery was a bit much. Did they have a bandit fetish? Or was this a dispute because the film crew hadn’t paid their wages?

I slowly walked over to the brave horseman who had fought to the end after being betrayed by his companions. His body was covered in wounds, and his blood had already soaked the ground beneath him. Looking at his face, I felt a strange sense of familiarity, as if we’d met somewhere before. I pondered, trying hard to recall where I’d seen that face.

Just then, I heard footsteps behind me. Turning around, I saw the four of them looking at me with heavy expressions, as if they wanted to say something but hesitated. “What is it? Are the wounded beyond saving? Don’t we need to guard the bandits? Have you contacted the outside world?” I fired off a string of questions.

“You were injured just now when you fought the bandits attacking Old Brooks at the mountain pass. Let me bandage you first,” David Clark said quickly.