Section Fifty-Six: Robbery on the Road (Part Two)

Compared to the flailing, clumsy efforts of Feng Xiaobao’s group, Yang Debiao and Yang Deyong were far more seasoned. They commanded everyone to dismount, dispatch their steeds, and use the carcasses to form a makeshift barricade. At its center were Hong Xiaoshui, the Yang women (both tightly bound), and two hired maids attending them.

The battle had yet to begin, but the scene was already one of tragic brutality. The horses were companions to their riders, bonds forged deeply over time, making this act all the more wrenching. Yang Debiao and Yang Deyong, however, showed no hesitation. They barked orders for the others to hurry; if anyone dawdled, they threatened to strike down the horses themselves.

When the opposing thirty-odd riders charged, attempting to leap the barricade, Yang Debiao and Yang Deyong sprang into action. Crouching low, they targeted the horses’ vital points: heads, necks, and leg tendons. Masters of war, they knew as much about a horse’s anatomy as they did a human’s. Not a single strike missed; every blow was lethal. Horses that tried to pass them fell in quick succession, writhing on the ground, unable to die instantly. The collective screams of the dying beasts sent chills down the spine.

Each fallen horse added height and thickness to the barricade, making it even harder for the attackers to breach. The knights who fell with their mounts fared even worse, caught in the fierce onslaught of the two Yangs and swiftly dispatched amid wails of agony.

Under the Yangs’ command, the rest of their group held their shields firm, absorbing the impact of both weapons and the horses’ momentum. The enemy riders, overconfident in their advantage, had assumed that cavalry would easily scatter infantry. They never expected that two masters would be hidden among such a ragtag band. Led by these two, their side annihilated half the enemy in a single assault.

The attackers quickly changed tactics, abandoning mounted charges since the barricade of dead horses was now insurmountable. About twenty dismounted and gathered for a concentrated assault.

But once riders became foot soldiers, their prowess diminished. Accustomed to the saddle, they fumbled awkwardly on the ground. The barricade still held, and scaling it proved arduous. Any who made it across met the thunderous force of Yang Debiao and Yang Deyong—one wielding a staff with whistling sweeps, the other silently slashing with a blade. Together, they struck down every foe who dared approach.

The shield-bearers also played their part. Any attacker vaulting the barricade was immediately confronted, and the least misstep could prove fatal.

The battle was fierce and chaotic, but under the Yangs’ leadership, their side held strong.

…

At the roadside, a dozen masked riders looked on. They watched as Feng Xiaobao’s cavalry was nearly wiped out, taking with them ten enemy riders—ten felled by arrows, nearly twenty more slain by Feng Xiaobao’s group, and another twenty unexpectedly lost in the assault on the Yangs. In the blink of an eye, sixty riders were gone.

In truth, fifty remained—the death of a horse did not always mean the death of its rider. Over twenty pressed the attack on the Yangs, a dozen more observed, and nearly twenty beset Feng Xiaobao’s group. The odds still seemed favorable.

But something was wrong—the numbers attacking Feng Xiaobao were dwindling rapidly, riders falling one after another.

…

Looking closer, it was Tang Tian and Tang Zhiling on the outskirts, picking off their foes one by one. Their arrows never missed, each shot a death sentence. The masked riders, powerless to retaliate, tried to dodge or block, yet none escaped the fatal shaft.

One after another, they tumbled from their horses with anguished cries. The Tang family’s archery was awe-inspiring; in moments, more than a dozen riders had fallen.

The knights attacking Feng Xiaobao’s group grew terrified. Feng Xiaobao struck with fury, spear flashing, felling three opponents in quick succession. Yang Chengxian and Cheng Boxi each claimed a life as well.

…

“Outrageous!” exclaimed one of the masked onlookers, anger flaring. Realizing the tide might turn, they charged at Feng Xiaobao’s trio. It was a shrewd move—take out Feng Xiaobao’s group first and don’t bother with the two Tangs, who only harried from afar, retreating whenever pressed, elusive as the wind. The Yangs were pinned behind the horse barricade, making the most formidable targets accessible.

But Feng Xiaobao was no fool. With a sharp whistle, he and his companions dismounted and released their horses, forming a defensive triangle. Their steeds exhausted, it made sense to fight on foot and leave the rest to the Tang archers—by far the best tactic.

The assailants charged, but Feng Xiaobao met them head-on, not waiting passively. Who else but him would brave the center of the fray?

His spear flashed, blood sprayed—two riders fell instantly. Feng Xiaobao’s solid foundation, honed by study and training, endowed him with strength, speed, and agility. He moved with the ease and authority of a battlefield king: stepping, spinning, his spear darting in and out, felling two more riders.

The fallen knights became easy prey for Yang Chengxian and Cheng Boxi, each dispatching their adversary with effortless efficiency.

As the battle wore on, their teamwork grew seamless. In the blink of an eye, five more enemies lay dead in pools of blood, leaving the masked riders shaken to the core. Never in their wildest dreams had they imagined their numerical advantage would be overturned so swiftly.

Indeed, the final straw was the Tang family’s archery—over thirty slain by their relentless volleys.

…

Never engaging in direct combat, the Tangs simply harried and harassed. If an arrow missed, they moved elsewhere, waiting for the slightest mistake to strike. Their prowess was terrifying—life after life snuffed out in the twang of a bowstring.

Any attempt to pursue was futile. Their horses were the best of the best, bred and selected for their own use. Consider this: Feng Xiaobao’s mount was valued at 150 strings of coins, while Tang Tian’s was worth 4,500 (with buyers eager to pay), and Tang Zhiling’s at 2,500. Quality spoke for itself; they rode like the wind, striking swiftly and unpredictably.

“Retreat! Retreat!” shouted a masked rider who seemed to be the leader, wheeling his horse to flee. But two cold flashes struck almost simultaneously, their immense force hurling him from his saddle. He tumbled across the ground and lay still. Such a conspicuous target could hardly escape the Tang family’s focused attention.

The remaining masked riders, stricken with terror, scattered in all directions. A group of over ten fled together, but luck was not on their side—the Tangs gave chase, shooting arrow after arrow. After a hundred paces, not a single one remained.

Such ferocity! All who witnessed it exhaled heavily, relief flooding their faces. Feng Xiaobao, blood still boiling, exclaimed, “I must match her in horsemanship and archery! Side by side, wing to wing!”

With the battle nearly over, the two Yangs led their group out from behind the horse barricade and slaughtered all the wounded masked enemies—leaving none alive. Having lost twenty of their own, they could afford no mercy.

As for the attackers’ origins, Feng Xiaobao declared he did not care. Kill them all and be done with it. The less one knows, the fewer the troubles. In truth, he could guess—either they were after their wealth, or it had something to do with the Yang women. Did they carry some secret?