Chapter 5: Collect the Silver and Share the Spoils

Lin Chuan turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the village chief’s terrified, aged face like a blade. He stepped forward, his boot soles crushing the undried blood on the ground with a thick, sticky sound.

"Disaster?" He sneered, suddenly raising his foot to step on the corpse of a Langrong scout. "This is the true disaster!" With a forceful shove, he flipped the body over, revealing a gruesome visage.

The villagers watching nearby gasped in unison. No one had ever seen a dead Tatar before.

"Tatars killing people isn't a disaster, but me killing Tatars makes it one?" Lin Chuan swung his long blade, splattering a few drops of blood onto the village chief’s face. "What kind of logic is that?" he shouted.

The village chief’s face turned deathly pale, his lips trembling, unable to utter a word.

Lin Chuan stood tall, scanning the crowd: "Now, does anyone else think I brought this disaster upon us?"

The crowd stirred. Was this really the weak, scholarly lad from the Lin family? The villagers looked at one another, their initial terror gradually replaced by complex expressions.

"Brother Scholar is right!" Wang Tiezhu kicked the corpse on the ground. "Why is it that they can kill us, but we can't fight back?"

"Y-y-yes, exactly!" Zhang Xiaonian chimed in. "B-b-because..."

"Alright, I know what you mean!" Wang Tiezhu pulled him aside.

"The Lin boy saved our village!" an old man said, trembling.

"Look, these beasts even strung children's teeth into necklaces!" A woman pointed at the jewelry on the corpse and burst into tears on the spot. The crowd erupted into an uproar.

The village chief slumped to the ground, forgetting even to wipe the blood from his face. He looked at the outraged villagers, then at the ghastly corpses on the ground, and finally fixed his eyes on Lin Chuan. He spent his days locked in his room reading—when did he become so ruthless at killing?

"I... I..." the village chief’s lips quivered, "I am just an old fool!"

Lin Chuan sheathed his blade and bent down to help the chief up. "Uncle, our top priority now is to prepare for the Langrong's retaliation."

"Yes, yes, yes!" The village chief grabbed Lin Chuan’s arm as if it were a life raft. "Retaliation! How, how do we prepare?"

Before Lin Chuan could speak, Zhang Xiaonian pointed into the distance and shouted: "H-h-h-h-horses..."

Lin Chuan turned to see six riderless warhorses wandering at the village entrance. His eyes lit up. Although the horses had some wounds, they were only flesh injuries. With some medicine and a few days of proper feeding, they would recover.

"Bring those horses over."

He walked quickly toward the nearest black horse. Seeing its master killed, the horse was pawing the ground uneasily. Lin Chuan reached out to stroke its neck, calming it down. These were fine grassland horses!

"Xiaonian!" he said while inspecting the tack. "Take some men, cut off their heads, and pickle them in lime. Bury the bodies in the forest to the north—deep!"

"Ah? C-c-cut off their heads?" Zhang Xiaonian’s face fell.

"Only by cutting off the heads can we claim the bounty," Lin Chuan said. "What, are you afraid?"

"I, I, I am not afraid!" Zhang Xiaonian gritted his teeth and nodded.

Lin Chuan continued to issue orders: "Tiezhu, take some men and collect their leather armor and weapons."

"Understood!" Wang Tiezhu responded briskly.

Once the arrangements were made, Lin Chuan sat on a stone mill under the locust tree. The harvest from this battle was substantial: six sets of warhorses, bows and arrows, and leather armor. There were also six scimitars, though one had been snapped by Lin Chuan, leaving five.

"Brother Scholar!" Wang Tiezhu ran over. "Look at this!" In his hand was a dagger.

Lin Chuan took the blade, his thumb gently tracing the intricate patterns on the metal. The dagger was completely black, its edge glowing with a cold, ghostly blue light. The hilt was wrapped in dark red leather, with a wolf's fang embedded at the end.

"A fine piece." He flipped his wrist, the dagger spinning beautifully in his palm. "Which one did you find this on?"

Wang Tiezhu pointed to a nearby corpse. "In the pocket of the leader, and this too." He handed Lin Chuan a small cowhide pouch.

Lin Chuan took it; it jingled inside. He poured out a pile of silver fragments and a bronze token. Seeing the token, Lin Chuan’s pupils contracted. The token was engraved with a howling wolf head, and on the back were several symbols in the Langrong script.

"Brother Scholar, what... what is this?" Wang Tiezhu stared curiously at the token.

"I don't know." Lin Chuan shook his head. Whatever it was, it clearly represented some status. He would know once he showed it to Corporal Hu. He tucked the token and dagger into his tunic and weighed the silver in his hand. It was about twenty taels—a massive sum. Even the border troops, who were well-paid, only earned two taels and four mace a month.

"Tiezhu, borrow some shears from the blacksmith and call everyone over."

Wang Tiezhu agreed and hurried off. Soon, all eleven of them were gathered.

"Here, Brother Scholar!" Wang Tiezhu handed him the shears.

Lin Chuan took them and weighed them in his hand. He poured the twenty taels of silver onto the stone mill. "Listen up." He picked up a larger piece and used the shears to snap it with force. With a "click," the silver split in two.

The villagers swallowed in unison. They usually used copper coins; they rarely saw silver, let alone witnessed it being divided in such a manner.

"Zhang Xiaonian!" Lin Chuan picked up a piece worth about one and a half taels. "You were the first to lead the charge to stop the Tatars. You deserve more."

Zhang Xiaonian was stunned. He was always called "Little Timid" by the villagers—the nickname had become his name. When had he ever been praised like this in public? He wiped away his tears and took the silver, stuttering even more severely: "I, I, I..." He couldn't form a sentence. Frustrated, he simply flopped to his knees and kowtowed to Lin Chuan.

Lin Chuan smiled and picked up another piece. "Wang Tiezhu, you created the distraction—you did a great job!"

Wang Tiezhu took the silver with both hands, his voice trembling: "Th-thank you, Brother Scholar!"

Lin Chuan distributed the silver one by one, each person receiving over a tael. There were three taels left over, which Lin Chuan, without hesitation, tucked into his own pocket.

The villagers who received the silver looked at one another. Suddenly, someone took the lead and shouted, "Brother Lin!"

The others immediately followed: "Brother Lin! Brother Lin!"

Lin Chuan raised a hand to signal for quiet. "This silver was earned with our lives. The real reward is still with the border troops! Once we turn in the heads, there will be even more bounty money!"

As he finished speaking, the sound of iron hooves echoed from the village entrance. A squad of garrison soldiers appeared. The leader was a low-ranking officer with a bulbous, wine-red nose, riding an old horse.

"All of you, stand right there!" The officer pulled on the reins, his eyes sweeping over the Langrong corpses. "How bold! You dare to hide the heads of the enemy?"