Practicing is easy when one has infinite skill points.

After an hour of sleep, Zhong Lin was roused by Little Shi's calls. He shook his head to clear the grogginess, and the two set off again, taking a detour before returning to the main road.

Refugees still dotted the path, but this time Zhong Lin smeared tree sap on the sack holding their meat to mask its smell.

The trick worked well—no refugees tried to rob them along the way.

About two hours later, they reached the mountain ridge the middle-aged man had mentioned. It was much taller than the previous two they'd crossed, large enough to conceal people.

Zhong Lin sharpened his focus, placing his bow within easy reach as he pushed the wheelbarrow step by step up the slope.

"Bandits are coming!"

"Run! Run!"

Shouts erupted from ahead, followed by a chaotic rush of people fleeing down from the peak. The crowd shoved and jostled, causing a massive commotion. Some stumbled and fell, tumbling down the slope—crashing into trees or rolling all the way to the bottom.

Zhong Lin's expression darkened. He shoved the wheelbarrow aside and grabbed his bow.

Little Shi leapt off the cart, clutching the food sack tightly to his chest.

Thanks to days of eating, the smoked meat in the sack had dwindled significantly. Otherwise, Little Shi wouldn't have had the strength to hold it.

"Let's go!"

Zhong Lin turned and dashed into the dense forest on the left, Little Shi grit his teeth and followed close behind.

Poor children mature early. Having "seen life and death," Little Shi knew crying wouldn't help. All he could do was avoid holding his brother back.

After a short while, they slipped into the forest and hid behind a large tree, watching the frantic refugees scatter in the distance.

Zhong Lin's brow furrowed. He whispered, "Shi, stay hidden. I'm going to check things out."

"S-Second Brother, be careful."

Fear flickered in Little Shi's eyes, but he nodded firmly.

Zhong Lin looked at the boy—barely five or six, an age that in his past life would mean just starting school or still in kindergarten. A pang of pity flashed in his gaze as he ruffled Little Shi's hair.

"Don't worry, Second Brother will be fine. Stay here and wait for me—don't come out."

With that, he darted off, leaving the forest behind. He needed to figure out what was happening on the mountain. This road was the only way to Heishan County. Detouring could take who-knows-how-long and bring unknown dangers. He had to investigate.

"Stop!"

Zhong Lin grabbed a refugee fleeing down the slope, raising his woodcutting knife to the man's throat.

"M-Mercy, good sir!"

The refugee, terrified by Zhong Lin's sudden appearance, assumed he was a bandit from the mountain. He dropped to his knees with a thud, a stench of urine rising from his crotch.

"I-I have an eighty-year-old mother and a starving child at home! Spare me, good sir!"

Zhong Lin's face twitched. What a familiar line.

"Shut up! Answer what I ask. How many bandits are up there?"

The man froze at the question but quickly replied as he felt the cold blade against his neck. "I-I don't know! The bandits are hiding in the trees up there. They demanded we all leave toll money. If we didn't, they'd come out and kill us. I got scared and ran!"

"Damn it. Get lost!"

"Y-Yes, yes! Thank you, good sir, thank you!"

Zhong Lin used the same tactic on a few more refugees. The information was consistent: bandits were on the mountain, but no one knew how many.

"Trouble."

Zhong Lin's face grew grim.

This ridge wasn't the only route to Heishan County, but bypassing it meant facing unknown perils—possibly more bandits. Without a safer alternative, this was still the best option.

As Zhong Lin pondered, the refugees at the mountain's base began to gather.

"It's them?"

A spark lit in Zhong Lin's eyes as an idea struck. He hurried back to the forest, scooped Little Shi into his arms, and ran toward the group.

…

"Chief Zhang, have you made up your mind?"

The speaker was Zhu Jie, the middle-aged man from Zhu Family Town who'd invited Zhong Lin earlier. Now, dozens of ox carts and their owners were gathered in an open area, discussing a plan.

Chief Zhang's face was stern. "The bandits up there are just a mob of rioters turned thieves. They know this ridge is the only way to Heishan County, so they've set up here to rob travelers. They're a disorganized bunch, but with our size, even if we break through, we'll suffer heavy losses."

"It's simple," Zhu Jie said casually. "They can rally a mob, so can we. If we gather these refugees and charge the bandits, we can slip through in the chaos."

If Zhong Lin had heard this, he'd have been glad he'd refused Zhu Jie's offer. Rallying refugees to charge the bandits was just a polite way of saying they'd use them as cannon fodder. Zhu Jie's offhand tone revealed his ruthless nature.

"I agree with Brother Zhu's plan."

"Good idea."

"I'm in too."

An elderly man stepped forward, glancing around. "We could talk to the bandit leader first. If they don't demand much, we negotiate. If talks fail, then we force our way through."

The group exchanged looks and nodded. Diplomacy first, force later—better to avoid bloodshed if possible. After all, blades don't discriminate.

They hashed out more details, then dispersed to rally the refugees, herding the crowd back toward the peak.

Zhong Lin carried Little Shi on his back, blending into the throng. He kept his movements subtle, eyes scanning the surroundings, ready to fight or flee at any moment.

Soon, they reached the top. Zhu Jie stepped forward, cupping his hands and shouting, "Which one of you is the boss? Let's talk!"

After a moment, a burly, dark-faced man emerged from the trees. Bearded and broad-shouldered, he exuded menace—a glance was enough to mark him as no good.

"I'm Zhen Shan Hu, the Mountain-Taming Tiger! Speak fast if you've got something to say!"

His voice carried a savage, ruthless edge, reverberating through the woods.

"Greetings, Great Lord Zhen Shan Hu," Zhu Jie said, bowing slightly. "We're just refugees passing through. We hope you'll kindly let us by. Here's three hundred copper coins we've scraped together—please accept it for tea."

His demeanor was submissive, a stark contrast to the cunning man who'd suggested using refugees as fodder.

The bandit leader sneered. "Hmph! Three hundred coins to brush off this lord? What, am I a beggar? Even if I agreed, my brothers behind me wouldn't! Right, boys?"

"Yeah! Treating us like beggars?"

"Three hundred coins won't even buy us a round of drinks!"

"They're looking down on us!"

The bandits erupted in jeers and foul language, their voices rising in a cacophony.