Chapter Eleven: Bandits Never Care About the Mood

More than three hundred kilometers separated them from Jiankang. In ancient times, horse-drawn carriages traveled only slightly faster than a person on foot. On a good day, they might cover eighty kilometers, requiring four days for such a journey. Yet with no proper roads, progress was inevitably delayed by mountain paths, rain, and the need for the horses to rest. In truth, the coachman’s estimate for reaching Jiankang was eight days—understandable, given that he was using draft horses rather than the faster cavalry mounts, which could have cut the journey time in half.

Today marked the second day of their travels. Sumen Town had long since vanished beyond the horizon, and the road to Jiankang still stretched far ahead. They were a day’s journey from Douhu Prefecture, the first city they would pass along the way.

There was no need to hurry. At noon, the distant, blue-gray walls of Douhu Prefecture were just visible; another half day and they would arrive. The coachman decided to pause and let the horses rest, giving Ming Tian and his companions a chance to prepare and eat lunch.

“Hey, have you noticed?” Ming Tian took advantage of the break to drag Yin Chan into a secluded corner of the caravan.

“Noticed what?” Yin Chan’s eyebrows arched unevenly, clearly still in the dark.

“Oh, come on.” Ming Tian slapped his own forehead. “Haven’t you realized? That guy’s got his eye on you!”

“On me? Who?” Yin Chan’s face contorted with a shudder of revulsion.

“Who else? Him!” Ming Tian jerked his chin toward the trees.

There, An Luo was relieving himself, twisting his waist as he did so, clearly in high spirits—the stream of urine even arcing in an S-shape.

“Him?” Yin Chan still looked incredulous. “No way.”

“I mean, you sure picked up on it quick enough when I had my eye on you. Why are you so oblivious when it’s him?”

“Please. You’re a traveler from another world, he’s a local. Aren’t people here supposed to be conservative and reserved? Last night you said he might like the princess! How was I supposed to know?”

“For heaven’s sake—were you a man in your previous life? Men don’t need a reason to change their affections. Besides, in the eyes of people here, the princess isn’t even considered beautiful.”

“Er…” Yin Chan’s face grew ashen, then took on a look of nausea.

“By the way, why did you switch back to women’s clothes? Weren’t you happily passing as a man? Don’t tell me you were into that in your previous life?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Yin Chan smacked Ming Tian on the head, making him wince in pain. “I’m not traveling as a physician anymore, so obviously I should dress as a woman. Don’t you realize how much of an advantage a beautiful woman holds in every era?”

Ming Tian nodded in sudden understanding.

Indeed, though ancient society favored men over women, a beautiful woman always had more influence than a man; most men were willing to go out of their way for her.

“Enough about that. I actually have something for you.” With that, Yin Chan reached into her bundle and pulled out a wrist device—a contraption of bamboo slats and sinew, intricate and clever.

At a glance, Ming Tian recognized it. “That looks just like the hidden blade from Assassin’s Creed.”

“Oh? You had Assassin’s Creed in your time? In mine, they were up to the ninety-fourth installment. Yes, it’s a hidden blade. I made a spare just for you—just in case.”

A true traveler from the year 2458—only a tech enthusiast could have crafted such a thing. Ming Tian donned the hidden blade, still in a daze. “Did Half-Life 3 ever come out in your time?”

“HL3? When has the Gaben family ever counted to three?”

“Ahem.”

Just as Ming Tian was about to joke further, An Luo appeared like a ghost behind them, clearing his throat softly. The suddenness of it nearly made the unsuspecting Yin Chan lose her balance and tumble face-first into the mud.

Now, thanks to Ming Tian’s warning, Yin Chan was acutely aware of the situation. Her expression was as stiff as if she’d swallowed a double helping of cow dung as she turned around.

Behind her, An Luo—seven feet of muscle, a true brute—stood like a bashful schoolboy, holding an unremarkable wildflower, his eyes shy as he looked at Yin Chan.

“I saw this flower and thought it rather beautiful, just like you, Miss Yin Chan. I’d like you to have it.” He held out the wildflower.

The sight sent Ming Tian’s imagination spiraling: a burly, muscular man and a forty-year-old uncle floating naked in a pink void, gazing into each other’s eyes with deep affection…

“Urk…”

Ming Tian’s stomach lurched, and he promptly vomited up the meat-filled flatbread he’d just eaten. The mental image was more disturbing than a month-old unwashed sock.

Good heavens, what sort of psychological torment was this? I just ate—now I’m hungry all over again.

“Ming Tian…” Yin Chan looked over, mortified and helpless.

“Sorry, there’s nothing I can do.” If he watched any longer, he feared he’d vomit up his own intestines, so Ming Tian turned away.

An Luo, oblivious as ever and harboring no fondness for Ming Tian, paid his retching no mind. His gaze was fixed entirely on Yin Chan.

“Miss Yin Chan, may I ask where your family is from? Are you engaged? I, too, am alone in the world. Might I inquire what your parents require in a son-in-law? What do you think of me?”

The words from behind nearly made Ming Tian retch up stomach acid.

Damn it all, this world is saturated with malice.

But just as their farcical scene reached its peak, the coachman’s voice shattered the uneasy peace.

“Bad news! Bandits! Bandits are coming!”

Bandits?!

Here, so close to Douhu Prefecture?

Sure enough, the coachman came stumbling back to the caravan, and the once idyllic woods abruptly filled with the clangor of iron-shod hooves. Dozens of figures darted between the trees, swiftly encircling the caravan.

“Miss Yin Chan, get back!” Whatever else could be said about An Luo, at a critical moment his imposing frame was not for show—he drew his saber, ready for battle.

Yin Chan, understanding the gravity of the situation, retreated behind him, her hidden blade ready beneath her sleeve.

Judging by the sounds, there were at least thirty attackers.

Ming Tian, no seasoned traveler, had only been in this world for a week and couldn’t help feeling a surge of fear. Bandits in ancient times were far more ruthless than one might imagine; they weren’t the sort to step out and politely demand a toll.

Could he really be this unlucky—on his first journey, already beset by bandits? Why had he never won the lottery when it mattered?

But there was no escaping reality. Ming Tian took a deep breath to steady his nerves, pressed his back to the carriage, and prepared to fight.

To retreat was to die—there was no choice but to stand and fight, whether he was willing or able.

Besides, Ming Tian was no stranger to brawling.

…