NOVEL NEXT 12 Fight between brothers
Wild Horse's fury burned within him， his face dark and ominous like the calm before a storm. He suddenly stood up， a cruel glint in his eyes as he swung his whip like a venomous snake towards A-Qiang. The whip cracked through the air， striking A-Qiang's head and body with vicious precision. Writhing in agony， A-Qiang curled up on the ground， tears mingling with blood as they dripped into the dirt. Each lash brought a twisted smile to Wild Horse's lips， as if he derived some perverse pleasure from the act.
It wasn't until the whip shattered into pieces that Wild Horse stopped， spitting on the ground and cursing under his breath. The bandits watched the scene， their faces a mixture of fear and indifference. A-Qiang lay motionless， curled up like a bird with broken wings.
“Tie him to the tree!“ Wild Horse ordered， his voice icy and devoid of mercy. The bandits， seeing that A-Qiang was too weak to stand， bound him kneeling next to the tree. Wild Horse sneered as he announced，“No one is to give him food or water. This is his punishment for causing me to lose the bet.“
As Wild Horse looked at the kneeling A-Qiang， his rage and humiliation began to subside. Ever since he joined the bandits， he had been known for his ruthlessness. He relished the power and control he wielded， the way others trembled at his mere glance. But tonight's gambling loss had made him a laughingstock in front of everyone. He wanted nothing more than to tear A-Qiang to pieces to quell his anger.
Exhausted， Little Hong knelt on the ground， his head heavy and pressed into the dirt， closing his eyes in pain. The Chubby bandit gleefully grabbed Little Hong's arm and dragged him back to the wagon.
A-Qiang knelt beside the tree， his wounds burning like flames. His head was dizzy， and the world before him was a blur. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on. His mouth kept begging for mercy， like the most coward person desperately trying to survive. Even the youngest bandit would despise this fool; begging for mercy at a time like this was utterly useless.
At dawn， a bandit approached and saw A-Qiang's body， cold and lifeless， with froth at his mouth. Disgusted， the bandit spat and walked away without a backward glance.
Little Hong lay in the wagon， its jolting motion exacerbating his pain. He covered his ears， unwilling to think about anything. Deep down， he already knew the answer: Brother Qiang had traded his life for his. The hatred in his heart grew， spurred by his mother's death and his own weakness， constantly tormenting him.
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“Boss， if you're bored， I've got an idea!“ The Chubby bandit offered， handing Wild Horse a bag of horse milk wine. As the second-in-command， every word he spoke was a lie， yet he delivered them with utmost sincerity.
The bandits began to show unexpected leniency， even starting a new betting game on which slave would try to escape. Anyone who reported a runaway would receive extra food or even a small piece of meat. This terrible reward led to rampant betrayal， even among the closest of relatives， as half a month of cold， hunger， and fear had pushed the slaves to their psychological limits.
A villager who whispered comforting words to his wife was betrayed by a fellow villager. The man was beaten mercilessly， despite denying any intention to escape. Meanwhile， the informant received his coveted reward: a piece of meat and the privilege of leaving the wagon.
This horrific system plunged more people into a mire of betrayal and lies， with even children becoming part of it. Over the past few days， they had witnessed their friends being dragged from the wagons and roasted alive as punishment for alleged escape attempts.
The walls between villagers grew higher， eroding trust and kinship. They now pursued the tempting pieces of meat， leading to a collapse of humanity and a chilling tragedy.
Gradually， the idea of escape became dangerous. Even a thought， if discovered， resulted in a lashing for the accused and a feast for the informer. The villagers， once neighbors， now regarded each other with suspicion and animosity， while ingratiating themselves to the cruelest bandits. Their pace slowed， but the bandits found amusement in this new dynamic.
In the thick， distant grass， a pair of black eyes watched the bandits' cruel entertainment. The gaze was filled with pain and hesitation， as if unsure whether to step in. The emotions in those eyes churned like restless waves. The grass around them trembled slightly， sharing the unease of the moment.
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Not far away on the grasslands， a middle-aged man rode a galloping horse， its glossy coat shining like black satin in the sunlight. This man， Tamu， had a broad face and a wide jaw， his skin roughened by years of outdoor life， like a rock weathered by the wind and sand.
His eyes were deep and sharp， like those of a hunting eagle， holding the secrets of the vast grasslands and countless battles and survival experiences. He wore a heavy leather coat， protecting him from the cold and biting wind， adorned with intricate embroidery that depicted his family crest and battle achievements. A horse bow hung across his back， a short knife at his waist， and a quiver of arrows ready at his horse's flank.
He rode a tall， strong Mongolian horse， its coat sleek and its steps light yet powerful. Tamu and his horse moved as one， seamlessly blending into the vast expanse of the grasslands.
Tamu， filled with enthusiasm， made his horse circle around and pointed his whip ahead， declaring，“Young master， all this land under the sun is yours.“
Turning back， he realized the young master was gone， already riding up a hill. Young Master Bair had grown up on the wide grasslands， horses being an integral part of his life. His mastery of riding was like a dance， graceful and exquisite.
Riding on his sturdy Mongolian horse， Bair was in perfect harmony with it， his posture straight and his connection with the horse almost telepathic. His riding was a magnificent display， both elegant and skillful.
Bair not only excelled in basic riding techniques but also in horseback combat. Even three or four men couldn't stand against him， though some might have intentionally lost. Despite not looking as imposing as his tutor， the red-faced young master was filled with excitement and passion.
Galloping across the lush grassland， he laughed joyously， forgetting the constraints of the prince's mansion and relishing the freedom of the open land.
The hill was not high， and he soon reached the top. Scanning the distance， he noticed a group of dirty， weary-looking Han people crammed into a few ox carts， surrounded by a bunch of rough-looking men who sat or stood around， shouting loudly.
Curious， the young master slowly rode down the hill， intrigued by the sight of so many native Han people， something he rarely saw. He wanted to get closer to take a look.
A whistle from one of the bandits below signaled a warning， and they all gripped their horse knives， forming a defensive circle.