This towering middle-aged woman was none other than Qiu Min, first chief of Tiger Ridge Fortress—and wife to the slain deputy, Chen Chong. Years before, the two had seized Tiger Ridge by sheer brute strength and ruthless cunning, establishing their stronghold and ruling with iron hands.
Qiu Min was fierce of temper and ruthless in means, yet shrewd in matters of command. It was she who managed the day-to-day affairs of Tiger Ridge, balancing accounts, mustering men, directing raids—laboring heart and soul for the fortress' survival. Yet Chen Chong, ungrateful, scorned her bold and unyielding nature. In time, he drifted from her, ensnared by the wiles of Madam Liang of the Wild Flavor Inn, lingering there in lust, while Qiu Min, though aware, endured in silence, burying herself in duty.
Now, arriving to find his body lying cold and stiff upon the earth, his face twisted in death's terror, she was stricken to the marrow. Her fists clenched, body shaking, eyes red as blood. With a voice raw from grief and fury, she cried:"Who killed these four?!"
Her glare fell on the four strangers standing calm amidst the ruin.
Wu Tong stepped forth, gaze like steel, voice steady and unflinching:"All four… were slain by my hand."
Each word was like a hammer blow.
Qiu Min's breath quavered. She rasped, low and cold:"And who are you, to deal death so wantonly?"
Zhao Rou strode forward, voice like a ringing blade:"These four not only robbed travelers—they butchered innocents, minced their flesh, and sold it as buns! Such monstrous cruelty cries to heaven. Would you say they did not deserve death?"
Qiu Min faltered at her words, but grief consumed reason. She spat,"And this boy—what is he to you, that you defend him so fiercely?!"
Zhao Rou's cheeks flushed with fire, her voice rising, proud and unyielding:"This is Wu Tong, twelfth Lord of the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness—and I am his wife!"
At this, Qiu Min's fury burst all bounds. She howled:"Lord or beggar, famed or nameless—he killed my husband! Blood must pay for blood!"
She snatched up a saber, eyes glinting murder, and charged Wu Tong.
Clang! Blade struck steel, sparks leaping. Zhao Rou leapt between them, sword flashing cold.
Qiu Min roared,"I avenge my husband—this is no affair of yours!"
Zhao Rou sneered, steel trembling in her hand:"How is it not my affair? He is my husband—I shall guard him with my life!"
The two women's weapons clashed, filling the air with storming light. Zhao Rou's sword was swift, flowing, and unpredictable; Qiu Min's blade was heavy, fierce, and domineering. Dust swirled, stones leapt—sword and saber sang, striking in a storm.
Zhao Rou cried as they fought:"Your Chen Chong consorted with a harlot, robbed innocents, butchered them into buns! Such sins blacken the heavens themselves—death is their rightful fate!"
Qiu Min bared her teeth, her saber cutting wild arcs."We are outlaws—robbery and slaughter are our lot. Why prattle of justice?"
Zhao Rou sighed inwardly. This woman was wicked, yes, yet her grief for her husband was true, her love deep and fierce, enough to risk death itself. A pang stirred in Zhao Rou's heart. Her gaze softened, and she said low:"Evil brings its own doom. Nothing can turn back fate now. You were wife to him—grieve him, but live on. I bid you turn from this path."
But Qiu Min's eyes were bloodshot, blinded by wrath. She shrieked:"Spare me your words! Today you die!"
Her saber stormed down like thunder.
Zhao Rou's eyes turned cold. She shouted:"I have spoken kindly enough—now take the road to Yellow Springs!"
Her wrist turned, and her sword became a blur—Lingxiao Thirteen Swords!
The first stroke—Strike Where Unprepared!—burst forth like lightning, dazzling and swift. Sword-light streaked, pressing Qiu Min back step after step. Her saber arm numbed, each parry weaker than the last. Steel rang again and again—she staggered, breath ragged, overwhelmed.
Then—crash! Zhao Rou drew back her blade, her left palm struck forth. Qiu Min was hurled across the ground, smashing into the dirt. Her chest heaved, body trembling, eyes wide with despair.
At last, tears burst forth, streaming down her scarred face. She sobbed bitterly, her saber fallen from limp fingers.
Wu Tong's gaze grew heavy. He looked toward the westering sun, sighed, and murmured:"Enough. Spare her life. Let us go."
Zhao Rou lowered her sword with a sigh, pity in her eyes."Come—we leave."
Fang Xiong and Deng Ling both nodded silently.
The four turned, mounted their steeds, and departed into the dusk. Evening's glow painted the forest in hues of gold and violet; wind stirred the leaves, birds wheeled homeward. Their figures dwindled into the gathering twilight.
That night, they lodged at an inn. The waning moon curved like a silver blade overhead. After supper, the four wandered to a small pavilion, sipping wine beneath the breeze. Clear wind, bright moon, hearts unburdened—heroes at leisure.
Fang Xiong lifted his cup, his eyes bright with cheer."Lord Wu is famed as a man of learning as well as of arms. On such a night, under moon and wind—how could we not compose verse? Let us each recite a poem!"
Wu Tong laughed modestly."A fine suggestion. Yet my wife and I are but poor scholars. Our words may be plain—pray forgive us."
Fang Xiong waved him off with a grin."We write not for fame, but for delight!"
At once he rose, gazed upon the moon, and intoned:
Gentleman of grace drinks deep,West wind drives the moon to sleep.Chanting verses, savoring theme,Leisure lingers, sweet as dream.
All clapped their hands.
Wu Tong rose in turn, eyes lifted to the heavens:
Tonight beneath the moon we tread,Raise our cups to the azure spread.Though wanderers from realms apart,Chance meets us, binding heart to heart.
Applause again rang. Fang Xiong bowed."Your verse is nimble and profound—your modesty ill-becomes you!"
Zhao Rou then rose, sleeves drifting in the moonlight. Inspiration struck, and she recited:
Step 'neath moon, the clear wind blows,In pavilion, talk of kingdoms flows.Nightscape wide, our hearts unclose,Cups of wine—delight bestows.
The others cheered.
At last, Deng Ling, the "Wind Bell," moved lightly into the moonlight, and with a smile, chanted:
Boundless night the wind and moon,Trees cast shadows, veiled in gloom.Jade-like wine slips down the throat,How oft in life such joys consume?
Her verse concluded, the four joined voices, repeating lines from one another's poems:
Fang Xiong: "Chanting verses, savoring theme, leisure lingers, sweet as dream."Wu Tong: "Though wanderers from realms apart, chance meets us, binding heart to heart."Zhao Rou: "Nightscape wide, our hearts unclose, cups of wine—delight bestows."Deng Ling: "Jade-like wine slips down the throat, how oft in life such joys consume?"
They lifted their cups together."To friendship!"
The moon shone bright, the wind sang soft, and heroes of the rivers and lakes drank deep, recited verse, and laughed beneath the heavens.
What greater joy could there be?