Chapter 33: Moving Forward Again

Chapter 33: Moving Onward Again

“Damn it, I can’t stand this ranking! Now the whole world knows I’m a two-fifty!”

“Uh, no—I’m not a two-fifty!”

“Shit! What kind of crappy book is this, messing with me? And where’s my judgment line? Why don’t I have one? My cool factor’s gone!”

On the way back, Zhao Changhe grumbled and cursed the whole time, showing no trace of the glory of making the Chaos World List, nor any hint of fear about potential jealousy. What bothered him was merely the ugly number and the lack of a flashy judgment line.

Wang Dashan and the others stared at Zhao Changhe’s back with strange expressions, unsure how to judge this bizarre leader of theirs.

How could everyone have a judgment line? Among the two hundred and fifty on the Hidden Dragon List, only a few had one. No one knew the basis for it—after all, there had been people with judgment lines who were killed the next day, so it didn’t seem to mean much.

Anyway, making the list was already good enough. With just the first level of the Mystic Gate, he’d actually made it onto the Chaos World List. Plenty of people far stronger than him had never been on it, and he was still fussing over being number two-fifty.

The Hidden Dragon List was different from the Heaven, Earth, and Man Lists. The latter reflected current strength rankings, but the Hidden Dragon List wasn’t entirely that.

It was a rookie list, based on potential shown through battle records. It meant that under equal conditions, others would find it hard to achieve better results, indicating that this person’s future was promising—hence the name “Hidden Dragon.” It didn’t mean you were already among the top few hundred in the world in terms of strength.

It was just that higher-level battles revealed more, while weaklings fighting each other, no matter how flashy, didn’t prove much. So those with higher rankings generally had higher cultivation, and those with lower cultivation naturally ranked lower. On the surface, it looked like a strength ranking.

Many couldn’t understand and would always think, “Damn it, you’re only at the first level and you made the list? I’m at the third level—why can’t I? There are thousands stronger than you, so why are you number two-fifty? If I beat you down, shouldn’t I be number two-fifty?”

This would inevitably bring endless trouble. Otherwise, why would it be called the Chaos World Book?

And Zhao Changhe was still fussing over whether the number sounded nice—was he unaware, or did he really not care?

Also, there was another matter…

This challenge had forced the helmsman to cough up the grain and money, which felt great at the time. But now that Helmsman Fang was injured and had compromised, once he recovered in a few months, how would Zhao Changhe want to die?

Wang Dashan and the others felt that the future would be grim.

Regardless, this time they returned to the stronghold and stored the goods. At least they had rice to cook now. The bandits didn’t care where it came from or what consequences it might bring—they celebrated as if it were New Year’s, cheering “Long live Chief Zhao!”

Zhao Changhe, being cheered, stroked his chin. He knew this wasn’t a long-term solution.

Several carts of rice might seem like a lot, and the purchasing power of several hundred silver taels was no joke—it could buy plenty of resources. But even so, supplying a stronghold of several hundred people wouldn’t last long. That was why, even with some stockpile, they still needed to rob or hunt beasts, or they’d eventually eat through everything.

A stronghold had to have a source of income, usually robbery. Zhao Changhe couldn’t avoid this problem, no matter how much he didn’t want to do it.

The recent Chaos World Book entries Zhao Changhe had seen all happened to include the time. This time it was Minor Cold, reminding people that there were only about twenty days until the Spring Festival—spring was coming soon.

Spring meant that the past month or two when no one had passed by would start to change. Travelers and merchants would gradually increase, and maybe some were already on the move—did this world have people rushing home for the New Year?

Probably not many, but there should be some.

“Chief, what do we do next?” In the stronghold’s meeting hall, Wang Dashan asked beside him, “Helmsman Fang was right about one thing: the branch doesn’t have any industries right now. We’re the ones responsible for bringing in goods. We can’t keep squeezing money from the branch…”

Zhao Changhe sat slouched in the main seat, resting his forehead lazily on his hand: “Spring’s coming, so people will pass by eventually. First, assign some brothers to set up checkpoints on the mountain paths.”

Wang Dashan: “?”

Zhao Changhe said lazily, “This mountain is mine, this tree is mine. If you want to pass, leave your toll money. Though the line’s pretty cliché, isn’t that what we bandits do?”

“Isn’t that just robbery?”

“It’s a bit different from robbery, because we’re setting up checkpoints openly.”

“?”

“And we won’t take everything. I saw today’s city entry tax—it wasn’t bad. Let’s go with that. People passing by pay a fee and move on.”

Wang Dashan: “Chief, you said before that the government troops would come to suppress us… And now you’re doing this openly…”

“This is on our own turf. If the troops come, can’t we just scatter? They can’t stay here forever, can they? Alright, precisely because we’re worried about the troops, we can’t make a big show of it. We have to operate within our own mountains. Do you think I enjoy running a highway toll booth?”

“…”

“Speaking of troops, even though Helmsman Fang agreed nicely, we can’t rely on him. Pick a few sharp-eyed men to squat in the city and report back immediately at the first sign of trouble.”

“Yes.”

“As for the rest, keep hunting beasts for now. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. Oh, and change the stronghold’s banner to one that says ‘Act on Behalf of Heaven.’ Also, put up a plaque for this hall—call it the Hall of Righteous Gathering.”

Wang Dashan’s eyes were full of circles, completely baffled by what the chief was thinking.

But he had a feeling that the chief really didn’t want to engage in plundering, just dragging things out day by day. Maybe it was an illusion—after all, the chief seemed like a very fierce man, a born bandit. Why wouldn’t he want to rob?

Wasn’t the saber in his hand right now taken by force?

“Alright.” Zhao Changhe stood up tall: “I’m going to train. You all go train too. Don’t just slack off now that Instructor Sun is gone. When the government troops come, you’ll know what death is. Dismissed.”

After the meeting, Zhao Changhe headed straight to the herb warehouse to prepare the medicinal bath described in the Blood Fiend Art.

He had no interest in developing the stronghold. He was indeed just dragging things out, hiding in the Beimang Mountains as a mountain king for the sake of cultivation, not for farming or rebellion, and certainly not to get tangled up with some minor branch helmsman. How low would that be?

The most obvious privilege of being chief was the right to take a “pressed village wife”—no, the right to have servants boil hot water for a medicinal bath. If he didn’t use that, he’d be a fool.

External martial arts often came with medicinal baths as a supplement. They stimulated blood and qi flow and enhanced resistance to blows. But such baths were usually quite uncomfortable.

Zhao Changhe figured that Vice Helmsman Huang couldn’t withstand his kick today because he hadn’t trained much in this area. Otherwise, the Blood Fiend Art, which tended to make one tough and thick-skinned, wouldn’t make you invulnerable to blades but had advantages against blunt force. If properly trained, how could a single kick take him down?

Actually, the more he trained, the more he felt the Blood Fiend Art was a powerful technique—fierce and domineering in offense, decent in defense, with strengths on both ends. Its mediocre reputation mainly came from its severe drawbacks and the suffering during training. But Zhao Changhe felt that even with internal energy, he shouldn’t abandon external training just because it was hard.

That was the way to cultivate both internally and externally.

He had started so late—if he didn’t put in double the effort, how could he rise above being a two-fifty?

“Hiss! Damn, as expected…” In the chief’s quarters, Zhao Changhe soaked in a hot wooden tub, grimacing and nearly curling up.

It felt like thousands of needles pricking his skin, both painful and itchy. Then his blood and qi surged, his head grew hot, and a certain part of him naturally stood at attention.

Well, judging by that effect alone, the medicinal bath was good stuff—no lie…

But it was damn hard to endure, almost as bad as the side effects from before. No wonder Vice Helmsman Huang and the others hadn’t trained much in it.

Beating Vice Helmsman Huang in three moves didn’t feel praiseworthy to Zhao Changhe himself. A thousand sails pass by the sunken boat—that guy was just a laggard whose fighting spirit had been worn away by comfort and luxury. A lesson from the past—he mustn’t become another sunken boat.

Continuing to train was the only real principle.

Even if this crappy technique was unbearable, he had to keep at it.

Zhao Changhe clenched his teeth, gripping the tub’s edge tightly, enduring the pain as he pushed the Blood Fiend Art’s circulation.

The wooden tub creaked under his grip, and before he knew it, shallow finger marks were pressed into the solid wood.

Would he be able to beat Helmsman Fang when he recovered in a few months? Zhao Changhe didn’t want to think that far ahead. No matter what happened then, at least he would have tried his best.