Chapter 71: The Eve

“The day after tomorrow is the Double Ninth Festival,” the old man in plain clothes remarked softly within the cabin.

By the light of the kerosene lamp, it was clear that the layout of this cabin was exceedingly simple. Other than a plank bed and a wooden table, there was nothing else.

As the chamber of a pirate king, it was neither paved with gold nor built with white jade; on the contrary, it was astonishingly austere, defying all expectations.

Standing before the old man was a young pirate, one of his most trusted confidants.

“It’s all been arranged,” the young pirate replied. “On that day, our forces will attack Ping’an County from every direction.”

“To kill eighty-one thousand people within three days, to achieve the auspicious number of nine times nine returning to one, and create a sky full of grievances—it’s no easy task.” The old man’s voice was slow and measured.

“Rest assured, Chief. We’ve gathered over thirteen thousand men, more than a hundred separate bands. I’ve spoken with the leaders of each group. When the time comes, we’ll divide into several columns and advance together. Not only the county seat, but every surrounding town and village will be left in ruin. Each man is to prepare two broadswords; we will surely kill enough to meet the nobles’ demands and ensure their satisfaction.”

The young pirate spoke resolutely. He was one of the two confidants who had followed the old man to meet the aristocrats. The other had died horribly, his bizarre end haunting the young man’s dreams for many nights.

All it took was a glance at those noble figures, and Haigouzi, a burly warrior, had torn himself apart with his own hands, reducing himself to nothing but bones, viscera, and mangled flesh.

In that moment, he had understood the terror, the strangeness, and the ruthlessness of those aristocratic houses, and their utter disregard for human life.

So, the tasks they assigned were not to be taken lightly. Should they fail, the pirates’ fate would be far worse than Haigouzi’s.

“I trust your abilities,” the old man sighed. “It’s a pity about Haigouzi. He was reckless, but loyal to me. Such a shame.”

The young pirate dared not respond.

After a brief lament, the old man changed the subject: “Among the various pirate bands, are there any who refuse to obey?”

“This time, the order comes directly from the nobility—the Sea Dragon King himself. Who would dare defy him?”

Aside from the old man and his confidants, none of the other pirates knew the true identity of the actor aboard the painted barge.

To the pirates of the Eastern Sea, the actor was known by another name: the infamous Sea Dragon King.

When the painted barge first appeared on the sea, pirates saw it as an easy target, a fat prize ripe for the taking. But as soon as their ships drew near, storms would rise, enormous waves would capsize their vessels, and they would be sent to the bottom of the sea.

Even the most skilled swimmers rarely survived the tempests.

Those few lucky enough to live, after losing their ships, joined other pirate bands and spread tales of the barge’s terror. It could summon storms, yet sailed calmly through their fury.

Soon, word spread among the pirates that the barge’s master was none other than the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea, come ashore to amuse himself. To offend him meant certain death beneath the waves.

This time, it was the joint command of the barge’s owner—the Sea Dragon King—and the pirate king of the Eastern Sea that summoned all the pirate bands near Baiquan Prefecture, preparing to massacre Ping’an County.

The pirates feared the barge’s master even more than the pirate king himself. Against the pirate king, one might still have a chance to flee, but before the Sea Dragon King, there was no hope of escape.

So, when the order was given, pirates from all over the Eastern Sea came swarming.

…

A slow-moving ox cart, laden with goods from the blacksmith’s shop, left town and rattled its way to Fangqiao Village.

“Scholar, everything you ordered is here,” Fang Qingbai called as he jumped down from the cart.

The second son of the village chief, he had been running errands for Fang Yue these past few days.

A large cloth sack on the cart contained a hundred newly forged spearheads. Another, smaller, black sack held a broadsword weighing over eighty catties.

Fang Yue opened the black sack and hefted the heavy blade, feeling its weight in his hands.

“Excellent,” he praised. The sword was ancient in style and rough in form.

Of course, this was because Blacksmith Li in town usually forged farm tools and kitchen knives, rarely making weapons. His skill in this regard was limited.

But Fang Yue was not a connoisseur of blades. He was a practical man. If the sword was heavy, hard, and could cleave when needed, it earned his admiration.

He swung the broadsword a few times in the courtyard. The only technique he knew was a basic sword form.

This basic form was something Fang Yue had pieced together from his own miscellaneous knowledge of martial arts. It was not truly systematic—its moves were simple and practical.

Yet, paired with this crude broadsword, the combination was unexpectedly fitting.

Watching Fang Yue swing the massive blade with a whistling wind, Fang Qingbai could only stare in astonishment.

He himself had tried lifting the sword and found it unbearably heavy, tiring his arm after a moment—let alone wielding it repeatedly like this.

“The scholar is truly an extraordinary man.”

…

On the beach, the fishermen, clutching their newly issued spears, were drilling under the supervision of Deng Dahai.

Fang Yue watched for a while and shook his head in silence. In just a few days, little could be achieved.

The fishermen were poor, often on the verge of starvation. Training was limited to half a day and only the simplest movements.

If the drills were too strenuous, they would not have the strength to endure.

Most of the men trained indifferently, for the threat of pirates was not yet real to them.

Of the twenty-odd men, the most diligent were Fang Baoliang and Fang Baomu, two cousins.

“I can only hope they’ll have the strength to protect themselves,” Fang Yue consoled himself. In a real crisis, he dared not place much hope in them.

“Fang Yue, I’ve been looking for you,” Ren Junlin called, approaching from the village.

He reached the beach, glanced at the fishermen training with spears, and whispered, “Fang Yue, I know this place is far from the authorities, but aren’t you afraid of causing trouble with all this military preparation?”

“What trouble could there be?” Fang Yue replied. “We’re just preparing against pirates. Anyway, what brings you here?”

Ren Junlin answered, “Tomorrow is the Double Ninth Festival. My father wants to return to our ancestral home for the rites and sent me ahead to make preparations. Since it’s just the neighboring village, I thought I’d stop by and see you.”

“Ancestral rites for the festival?” Fang Yue’s heart felt a pang of emptiness. In this world, his parents were long gone—he was all alone.

And his other world, he would likely never return to again.

“After tomorrow’s rituals, I’ll come to Fangqiao Village and share a drink with you,” Ren Junlin said.

“Alright,” Fang Yue agreed.

Besides the ancestral rites, the Double Ninth Festival was also a time for climbing heights, drinking wine, and admiring chrysanthemums.