Smuggling private salt isn’t considered much of a crime in our borderlands—on ordinary days, who doesn’t just laugh it off? But, if the county magistrate decides to take it seriously, smuggling salt becomes a capital offense, one that could cost you your head.

I heard the county magistrate wants The Hill Brothers to lead the local militia, but The Hill Brothers has always refused. If The Hill Brothers changes his mind and becomes the militia leader, then these The Bolton Brothers would just be two of his men—he could crush them or mold them as he pleases.

As for the salt smuggling, it’s nothing but a joke.”

Old Bailiff’s words made the The Bolton Brothers shiver with fear. If Richard Hill really hardened his heart and became the militia leader, there’d be no good days ahead for the brothers.

Before Richard Hill could respond, Simon Bolton straightened his spear and thrust it at Richard Hill, while Stephen Bolton swung his own spear in a wide arc, aiming to smash it down on Richard Hill’s head.

Richard Hill, furious, dodged the thrust, reached out and grabbed the shaft of the spear coming down, let out a shout, and actually snatched Stephen Bolton’s spear away. He then kicked Simon Bolton to the ground.

Stephen Bolton turned and ran, shouting as he fled, “Rebellion! Rebellion! Richard Hill is rebelling!”

Ansai County is just a small town of a thousand or so people, plagued by bandits and with frequent incidents of officials being killed and uprisings. Now, seeing Stephen Bolton in militia uniform fleeing in panic, people believed it at once—every household shut their doors, and some even jumped over walls and ran out of town.

Richard Hill, long saber in hand, stood imposingly in the middle of the street, glaring at the trembling Old Bailiff and said, “I’m not going to be the grain chief!”

Old Bailiff glanced at the smoke signals already rising, and helplessly waved his hand, “It’s too late even if you want to now. For the sake of our past acquaintance, just go!”

Richard Hill glared and waved his saber, “So now I’m a rebel, is that it?”

Old Bailiff watched the wild-tiger-like Richard Hill warily, slowly backing away, “Things have come to this—what can be done?”

Richard Hill let out a loud laugh, “Since I’m already a rebel, I might as well settle into the role.”

With that, he strode forward, kicked over Simon Bolton—who had just gotten up and was trying to sneak away—flipped his wrist, and drew the saber across Simon Bolton’s neck. A spray of blood burst out, and Simon Bolton collapsed limply to the ground, clutching his bleeding neck and rolling around.

Seeing Richard Hill turn violent, Old Bailiff knew he was no match and didn’t try to apprehend him. He shouted, “Richard Hill, the militia will surround you soon—if you don’t leave now, when will you?”

Richard Hill spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva and shouted at the constables, “You pack of dogs think you can surround your grandpa?”

“Old dog, I won’t kill you today. Go back and tell that Han fellow—sooner or later, your grandpa will chop off his head and kick it like a ball.”

With that, he stabbed the captured spear into the ground and turned to enter his house.

He was about to tell his wife to pack up and leave, when he saw his wife, The Green Family, already sitting obediently on the wheelbarrow, holding a floral cloth bundle.

Richard Hill sighed deeply, slung the saber over his back, and pushed the wheelbarrow out the door.

Carefully locking the door, and under the distant watch of the constables, he pushed the wheelbarrow toward the city gate.

He could feel countless eyes peering at him through cracks in the doors, but there was no sound at all—only the dry, creaking noise of the wheelbarrow’s wheels.

There was not a soul at the city gate. From the distant beacon tower came the triumphant laughter of Stephen Bolton.

☆, Character Sketch No. 6

The Sixth of the Eight Great Bandits—Thomas Ross

As soon as the clapper sounded on the stage, Thomas Ross couldn’t help but move closer to a woman in a red jacket.

He didn’t even know what was happening to him—he just wanted to be closer to that voluptuous woman.

Breathing in the scent of osmanthus oil from her hair, he was reluctant to exhale.

There wasn’t much to see at the Lantern Festival in Yan’an Prefecture, and the opera was poorly performed. The two actors, with all sorts of shabby quirks, were bellowing in hoarse voices like broken gongs. The lyrics were unintelligible, and all you could see were their yellow teeth.

The woman in front of him was much more attractive. She wasn’t wearing a skirt, but a bright red jacket, red cotton pants, and a pair of red cotton shoes. She had earrings dangling from her ears, and most importantly, her chest was full and round, and even without arching her back, her hips were plump and round. Thomas Ross felt he should get even closer.

She must be a newlywed—who knows which lucky man married her.

Just thinking about tossing such a woman onto the kang... Thomas Ross felt as if a hundred wildcats were scratching at his heart.

His hand had just landed on the new bride’s backside when he heard a piercing scream from the woman. Immediately after, there was a loud bang in his ear, and then everything went black as he collapsed to the ground.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he slowly came to. His head hurt terribly—no, his whole body hurt terribly. Any movement made him groan in pain.

His face and head were soaked with water, icy cold.

As soon as he opened his eyes, a ferocious face appeared before him.

“You bastard, how dare you molest your grandpa’s wife!”