In the blink of an eye, another day passed.
Qingshi Town, nestled nearby, was famed for its abundant supply of cheap yet durable bluestone. Naturally, where such a valuable resource flourished, so too did conflict and opportunity. The surrounding mountains rose like a jagged crown around the region, cradling both treasures and threats within their slopes.
And among those threats were the ever-growing number of mountain bandits—each seeking their own dominion amidst the chaos of the Da Feng Dynasty's ongoing droughts and the ever-tightening grip of corrupt officials.
Blackwind Stockade was one such threat.
Though it was still relatively young in name and strength, having only recently risen to some prominence, it had already carved a reputation for cruelty and cunning in the lawless ridges near Qingshi Town.
The stockade's total population had just surpassed five hundred, a mix of hardened criminals, desperate refugees, and ambitious outcasts. Despite its modest size, Blackwind Stockade took information gathering very seriously—especially anything pertaining to Qingshi Town, the center of nearby trade and power.
And so, it was with no small urgency that the first news of trouble arrived.
…
The pale light of early morning filtered through the dense fog that clung to the mountains like ghostly shrouds. The air was damp and heavy, filled with the earthy scent of moss and smoke. On a narrow path leading to a small but well-fortified hilltop stronghold—one of Blackwind Stockade's key positions—a rough-looking thug bolted up the incline, his tattered cloth garments flapping around his legs. He clutched a rusty steel knife, nicked and worn from years of use, as he hurried toward the central hall of the stockade.
"Boss! Boss, something terrible has happened!" the man shouted, his breath ragged, his voice echoing sharply off the stone walls.
Inside the hall, a large and imposing figure lounged in a high-backed chair carved from solid bluestone. Grease glistened on his hands as he held a pork trotter in one fist and a wine jug in the other. The man reclined lazily, chewing noisily, his wild black hair unbound and tangled around his broad shoulders.
This was none other than Xiong Qi—better known as the Black-haired Tiger—the founder and chief of Blackwind Stockade.
He didn't move at the sound of the shouting, merely raised one thick eyebrow and cast a glance toward the approaching thug.
"What are you screeching about like a dying chicken?" he growled, his deep voice rumbling through the hall. "Do you want to scare away the spirits in the mountain, you idiot?"
"Boss…" the thug skidded to a halt, swallowing hard. "Yesterday—our Ninth Leader—he… he was killed in Qingshi Town!"
Xiong Qi's movements froze.
The wine jug paused midway to his lips.
His eyes—large, round, and cold as iron cauldrons—narrowed dangerously. Two long streams of white breath hissed from his nostrils like steam from a boiling pot.
"You'd better repeat that," he said slowly, each word like a stone dropped into silence.
The thug shuddered but obeyed.
"Our Ninth Leader… he was killed yesterday, in Qingshi Town. I just received the report."
For a moment, nothing moved in the room. Then—
CRASH!
The wine jug shattered against the wall.
The pork trotter dropped to the floor, untouched.
Xiong Qi surged to his feet, snatching up the heavy steel knife that rested beside his throne. Its blade was chipped and dark with dried blood—an old weapon that had claimed dozens of lives.
"Who did it?" he demanded, striding forward with thudding steps. The pressure in the room thickened like a storm about to break.
"W-we received word… it was the Luo Family," the thug stammered, backing away under his boss's towering presence.
"The Luo Family?" Xiong Qi's eyes gleamed with murder. He stopped in his tracks and raised the knife to his shoulder, the motion filled with ominous intent. "So, they've grown tired of breathing?"
He spun toward the entrance of the hall.
"Gather everyone," he barked. "Tell them to prepare! I'll see to it that every one of those Luo bastards pays for this insult. They want blood? I'll give them rivers of it!"
But just as he reached the door, he paused.
A flicker of doubt passed across his face.
He turned back to the thug.
"Wait… which Luo Family are you talking about?"
The thug blinked, confused. "Boss?"
"There's more than one damn Luo Family in Qingshi Town. Don't make me repeat myself."
"Oh! Right! I meant the Luo Family—one of the four great families in Qingshi Town."
A heavy silence descended.
Xiong Qi's steps slowed. His breathing steadied. The fire in his eyes dimmed—though it didn't vanish.
He turned away from the door and slowly made his way back to the massive stone chair.
Then, he sat.
He was quiet for a long while, elbows resting on his knees, chin in one thick hand.
"That Luo Family," he repeated at last. "One of the Four Great Families…"
The thug nodded furiously, still standing at attention.
The knife in Xiong Qi's hand slowly lowered.
"Boss… are we still going to take revenge?" the thug finally asked, hesitating as he saw his leader's expression grow unreadable.
"Revenge?" Xiong Qi replied softly, eyes flicking up. "What revenge?"
The thug froze.
"For the Ninth Master, of course…"
"Ninth Master?" Xiong Qi chuckled coldly. "You must be mistaken. Our Blackwind Stockade never had such a man. Go tell the others. There's no Ninth Leader here—never was."
"Ah?! But…"
"You heard me." Xiong Qi waved a hand dismissively. "Get out. I'm tired."
The thug hesitated, then bowed awkwardly and retreated from the hall, still confused.
As the door shut behind him, silence once again reclaimed the chamber.
But Xiong Qi was no longer alone.
From the shadows near a support column, a slender figure emerged—robes clean, eyes sharp. A man with the air of a scholar but the bearing of something more dangerous.
He gave a respectful bow.
"Master," he said calmly. "This is… troublesome."
"Troublesome doesn't even begin to cover it." Xiong Qi sighed, rubbing his temples. "I told them not to go stirring up trouble in Qingshi Town. And that damned fool Old Nine—he not only went behind my back, he had to pick a fight with the Luo Family of all people."
The scholar didn't reply, merely stood quietly, listening.
Xiong Qi's voice dropped. "I was planning to wait. Build strength slowly. Wait until we had a real foothold before dealing with the powers in Qingshi Town. But now…"
His hands curled into fists.
"The Luo Family may already be aware of us. If they send someone to investigate and trace the path back here…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
They both knew the consequences.
Though Blackwind Stockade might look fearsome to the commoners it preyed upon, it was a child compared to the centuries-old noble families of Qingshi Town.
In a direct confrontation, they wouldn't last a day.
"Our location is remote," the scholar finally offered. "Hidden in the mountain's folds. It will not be easy for the Luo Family to find us unless they already have reason to suspect."
"But we can't risk it," Xiong Qi growled. "Start preparing fallback routes. Secure the caches. And quietly contact those we spoke of before—those who might have… reasons of their own to oppose the Luo Family."
"Yes, Master."
Xiong Qi leaned back into his seat, his brows furrowed with deep thought.
The path ahead had just become much more dangerous.
But one thing was certain—
The winds in Qingshi Town were shifting.
And Blackwind Stockade could no longer pretend it was just a small player in a quiet corner of the mountains.