Chapter 43: Resolution

“Well struck!”
“Crush those bastards to death!”
“The scholar is incredible!”
After their initial shock, the villagers who had gathered around began to cheer.

The villagers feared Deng Yurong’s so-called ‘Mountain God’s retribution’ and the powerful influence of Master Qian in Fishhead Town, so they dared not confront them directly. Yet Deng Yurong’s actions had long stirred righteous indignation in their hearts.

Now, when the two guards from the Qian family tried to use dirty tricks to injure Fang Yue, only to end up with broken arms themselves, knocked to the ground by Fang Yue, it was as satisfying as ice in summer.

Ignoring the two Qian family guards groaning on the ground, Fang Yue stepped in front of Deng Yurong.

Deng Yurong struggled to his feet. He had watched the two guards surround and charge at Fang Yue, thinking he would finally see this meddling scholar crippled. But things changed too quickly—the ones sent flying with broken bones were not the frail Fang Yue, but the two burly guards, as strong as bears.

“What do you want? You’d better consider the consequences—if you touch me, the Mountain God won’t spare you!” Deng Yurong’s hands and feet trembled; he could barely stand. Earlier he had denied any connection to the ‘Mountain God’, but now he had no choice but to invoke it as a talisman.

“I’ve said it already—if that wild Mountain God has any complaints, let him come find me.” Fang Yue wasted no words, seized Deng Yurong’s arm, squeezed hard, and crippled it.

“You deny any part in Fang Baikuan’s death, so we’ll leave that aside for now. But to take advantage of a family in mourning, propose marriage, bully the widow, and force her to remarry—do you think Fangqiao Village has no one to stand up to you? I cannot let this pass; breaking your arm is your punishment.”

Fang Yue spoke calmly, watching Deng Yurong writhe in agony, clutching his arm.

“Get out—all of you. If I find that Fang Baikuan’s death is linked to you, no Mountain God or any other will save you. Murder must be answered with murder; I will not spare you, Deng Yurong.”

Deng Yurong and the two Qian family guards, clutching their arms, fled from Li Zhilian’s house, too fearful even to utter a threat.

Fang Yue turned and saw Matchmaker Wang still in the house, apparently trying to take away the betrothal gifts the guards had brought.

“What are you doing? Get out, unless you want me to throw you out myself. Even you dare to earn money from such heartless matchmaking? If I ever see you in Fangqiao Village again, I’ll break your legs.”

Matchmaker Wang, usually glib and quick-witted when arranging marriages, now dared not say a word. The man before her, though a scholar, seemed more like a vigilante, fiercely intolerant of evil. Afraid she might truly end up with broken legs, she hurriedly shuffled her bulky figure out the door.

In her haste, she nearly tripped over Li Zhilian’s threshold, drawing uproarious laughter from the villagers inside.

“Where’s my son Baikuan? Baikuan, where are you?” The blind old woman asked anxiously, having heard someone mention her son’s name.

The laughter instantly ceased. The villagers looked at each other in silence, none daring to speak. All eyes turned to Fang Yue, hoping he would take charge.

Fang Yue sighed, glancing at Li Zhilian and her blind mother-in-law. Fang Baikuan’s accident had left the two women alone and helpless.

Li Zhilian was still young. The villagers had none of the rigid traditions of wealthy families—no expectation for a widow to remain single for life. Remarriage was acceptable, survival was the priority.

Though Fang Yue was a scholar, his views were modern. He had no objection to remarriage; indeed, if anyone tried to stop Li Zhilian, he would defend her himself as a fellow villager. But if a scoundrel like Deng Yurong tried to force her into marriage, Fang Yue would never agree.

Whether to remarry or not, the choice belonged to Li Zhilian alone, not outsiders—a principle Fang Yue firmly held.

Yet, should Li Zhilian choose to remarry, what would happen to her blind mother-in-law? Alone and confused, the old woman could not survive long. But forbidding Li Zhilian to remarry would be equally unfair; she had no children, and who would care for her in old age? In this era, a woman without a husband would struggle to live.

It was a dilemma with no easy solution.

Li Zhilian bowed her head, quietly comforting her mother-in-law. After a while, she looked up, tears on her face. “I’ll take my mother-in-law in to rest—excuse me.”

She led her mother-in-law into the inner room. Outside, voices rang out—the village chief had arrived.

“I was held up by family matters for a bit. Where’s Deng Yurong?”

Fangqiao Village’s chief was a small old man, entering the house with a loud shout. The villagers exchanged glances until one spoke up, “They’ve already left.”

“Already left?” The chief was surprised; seeing the betrothal gifts in the house, he asked, “The gifts are here—does that mean Li Zhilian agreed to marry Deng Yurong?”

“No, they were chased off by the scholar—left in disgrace, even abandoning the gifts,” the villagers said with pride.

The chief was baffled. He knew Deng Yurong had come with two guards from the Qian family, so how had Fang Yue driven them away? Perhaps he talked them into shame, or maybe, during his time in the county, Fang Yue had made powerful friends.

Fang Yue glanced at the chief, suspecting his delayed arrival was intentional. The chief’s house was nearby; likely he hadn't wanted to confront Deng Yurong, so he claimed to be held up by family matters, deliberately arriving late.

But Fang Yue let the matter lie. There was little point in exposing it—could anyone expect the chief to stand up for Li Zhilian’s family and offend Deng Yurong, rumored to be the Mountain God incarnate, able to command wild beasts?

Most people in this world swept only their own doorsteps.

At least the chief had not kicked Li Zhilian’s family when they were down, waiting to profit from their misfortune.

Pointing to the betrothal gifts, Fang Yue said, “These can no longer be considered betrothal gifts—they’re our spoils. Don’t you all agree?”

The villagers eagerly supported his words. Deng Yurong had swaggered in, only to slink away, leaving his gifts behind; naturally, they would not return them—they were spoils of victory.

Fang Yue continued, “Since these are spoils, I’ll make the decision: let’s give them to Li Zhilian’s family as compensation. Anyone object?”

Of course, no one objected, nor was it their place to do so; they all voiced agreement.

The gifts, worth at least ten taels of silver, had been purchased with money borrowed from Master Qian in town. If given directly to Li Zhilian as betrothal gifts, she would feel unable to accept them. But now, with Fang Yue’s intervention, they became spoils, easy to receive without shame.

And with Fang Yue’s backing, anyone who dared spread rumors would offend him.

With these goods, Li Zhilian and her mother-in-law could live a little easier.

Turning to the chief, Fang Yue asked, “Chief, do you think my handling of this is reasonable?”

The chief was still dazed; he hadn’t witnessed what had happened, and didn’t understand how Fang Yue had suddenly gained such authority among the villagers. Hearing Fang Yue’s question, he replied, “Reasonable—of course reasonable. You’re a scholar, your judgment surpasses ours. This handling is perfectly fine.”