Talk of raiding the fat merchant began to ripple through camp. Whispers turned to laughter, laughter to boasting, until even the quietest tents stirred with restless excitement.

One by one, curious heads emerged from the shadows, clan brothers drawn toward the firelight as plans were being laid.

Among them came the camp’s most notorious troublemaker: Shouban, a man as unpredictable as dry grass in a spark storm. Opposition to all and friend of none, his connection to the brotherhood was shallow at best. He was unreliable during raids, unhelpful in camp, and unpleasant in nearly every way a man could be.

Three years earlier, Shouban had been found wandering between Anle Cun and Heisong, the neighboring village buried deep within the Black Pine Forest. He claimed to be the son of a farmer, cast out after “accidentally” setting fire near a small granary in Heisong. Had the flames reached the storehouse, he would have been executed, but luck, or perhaps cowardice, saved him; the blaze was caught before it spread.

The village head spared his life on one condition: leave, and never return.
 And so, he had…straight into the arms of Xuè Rèn.

“Goats and gold?” Shouban sneered, dropping lazily beside the fire. “Seems our brothers are trading blades for barn work.”

Húlí’s blue-green eyes, usually bright with mischief, darkened like pitch in the firelight.

“Careful, Shouban,” he warned. “You’re close to volunteering for the first cut.”

But Shouban only grinned wider, teeth glinting.

“I don’t mind a little blood, big brother. As long as it’s not mine.”

The words lingered in the smoke like the hiss of a struck match.

— ✦ — 

Shouban’s thirst for chaos too often outweighed his loyalty. He drank too much, spoke too loudly, and fought too dirty. Yet, like a snake that survives every winter, he endured, slipping through punishments, smiling through scolding. Still, his skills were as slick and lethal as he was, and no brother could deny that.

During his final recruitment trial, Húlí had chosen to test him under the deadliest conditions: a duel in torchlight, while Hei’an, the camp’s fiercest archer, rained arrows from the shadows.
 Hei’an’s precision was infamous—his shots could pierce bone.

Shouban dodged enough of Húlí’s blades to keep his life, but not enough of Hei’an’s arrows. One shaft buried itself deep in his shoulder, crippling his arm for more than a year. 

— ✦ — 

“If you need a hand with livestock, that’s my specialty…” Shouban said with an insufferable grin pasted to his face. The words oozed like gritty sap, causing all who heard them to groan.

“It’s probably best you sit this one out, Shouban,” Jianyu said with a hearty laugh. “Your night eyes are pretty weak.”

The words were light, but the meaning was not: Jianyu had no desire for Shouban to join them, especially with Hei’an coming. 

Laughter rolled through the camp like waves crashing into stone, but the joke struck harder than Hei’an’s arrow ever had… Shouban’s grin faded.

“Ah, let him come,” Hei’an said smugly, lowering himself beside the wounded man and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “It’ll be good for him.”

Shouban fell silent. With his pride severely splintered, turned away from Hei’an. His eyes burned red as coals beyond rescue— not the result of restraining tears… no, this was rage.

As the fire crackled and shadows danced, beneath the laughter, something mean began to stir.

— ✦ — 

Next Episode — One Thing Always Leads to Another
While the brothers prepare for a night raid, Húlí stays behind—torn between laughter, love, and unease.
The fire burns bright, but even warmth can’t chase away the shadow creeping at its edge…