Volume One, Chapter Eleven: A Hundred Generals Pay Homage Amidst the Dust

Hurriedly rushing to the valley entrance, upon arrival, it was clear they were not fighting but engaged in a sumo match.

One was Jiao Yanlang, the other a short, stout man.

Qin Jingsi, Yao Agui, and others stood with arms crossed outside the ring, smiling as they watched. Dozens of unfamiliar men also gathered around, occasionally cheering either for Jiao Yanlang or the short, stout man.

It was evident this was merely a sumo contest.

The short, stout man, along with the unfamiliar faces, was undoubtedly part of the hundred-man troop that Zhai Rang had assigned to Li Shandao.

Upon closer inspection, this short, stocky man was not a stranger. Earlier that afternoon, when Wang Bodang had led a few small bandit leaders to withdraw, Li Shandao and others were at the courtyard gate. Li Shandao had exchanged glances with them, and this stout man was among them.

Only then did Li Shandao breathe a sigh of relief and mutter with a smile, “Damn! You gave me quite a scare.”

At first, he had wondered if the hundred men Zhai Rang assigned had arrived.

His worry was that if they met Qin Jingsi’s side face-to-face, some dispute might break out, leading to a fight.

Now knowing it was sumo, not a brawl, his worries eased. Leisurely, Li Shandao and Gao Chounu stepped to the sidelines to watch. Qin Jingsi, Yao Agui, and others hurried over to speak with him, but Li Shandao waved them off saying, “Let’s watch the sumo first.”

Jiao Yanlang was taller than the stout man but less solidly built. The stout man was short but stocky, firmly grounded. They had been wrestling for some time. At this moment, Jiao’s left arm was hooked around the stout man’s right arm; bending sideways, he grasped the man’s waistband with his right hand, attempting to throw him down. But despite several attempts, the stout man stood rooted, unmoved.

Panting heavily, sweat beads the size of mung beans streamed down Jiao’s dark face. He exerted all his strength, but the stout man remained steadfast.

The outcome was already clear.

Yet Jiao Yanlang, stubborn and unwilling to concede, abandoned the waistband grip and reached down towards the stout man’s groin—not to employ a dishonorable “groin grab” technique, but to shift his hold and attempt to throw him.

But as his hand moved down, the stout man smiled and said, “Brother Jiao, this is my family’s legacy; you cannot touch it.” With a slight bow and a bend in his knees, he lowered his body. Jiao’s left arm was under the stout man’s right arm; as the latter sank down, Jiao involuntarily followed.

But Jiao’s sinking was not voluntary; he was forced down, losing balance.

Seizing the moment, the stout man grabbed Jiao’s right arm from behind, spun swiftly, used his shoulder to press against Jiao’s chest, and forcefully threw him over his shoulder.

Jiao arced through the air, flailing, and crashed down with a painful cry, raising a cloud of dust.

The crowd of over a hundred erupted in thunderous cheers.

The stout man’s sumo skills were truly impressive; even Qin Jingsi, Yao Agui, and Gao Chounu couldn’t help but applaud.

Jiao Yanlang was badly thrown, landing hard on his backside, dirtied and groaning, struggling to rise.

The stout man stepped forward, offering a hand to help.

Jiao refused the help, clutching his sore backside, painfully forcing himself up. Still defiant, though dizzy and breathless, he squinted at the stout man and shouted, “Damn you! How did you throw me out like that? Again! Again!”

The stout man politely brushed the dust from Jiao’s robe, smiling, “Brother Jiao, you don’t know. In sumo, the shorter man often has the advantage. You, tall and sturdy, face me, short and stocky, so I hold the advantage.”

This was pure nonsense, merely a way to give Jiao face.

Others might have accepted this excuse, but not Jiao. Stubborn as a mule, he rejected the concession and bluntly called out the stout man’s lie. Grabbing him, he said, “Don’t fool me! I’m a skilled sumo wrestler in Weinan County. There’s no such thing as the short guy having an advantage! Don’t run off—let’s go again!”

The stout man was embarrassed, trying to free his hand but wary of angering Jiao, so he didn’t struggle hard. Helpless, he shifted his gaze toward Li Shandao, who had just arrived.

Previously, over the past month, before joining Tuwagang, Li Shandao had watched several sumo matches in Weinan County and could gauge skill levels. Jiao Yanlang was indeed a capable wrestler, but the stout man was clearly of even higher caliber—a first-rate expert.

Li Shandao chuckled and stepped forward, releasing Jiao’s hand sternly. “Thirteenth Brother, your surname is Jiao, but you really are acting like a mule—ungrateful and unwise! This gentleman has already held back three-quarters of his strength. Didn’t you notice? And you still demand another bout? Even if you wrestled until tomorrow, you wouldn’t beat him! A true hero admits when outmatched. Losing is no shame—what’s worse is losing and still being stubborn and quarrelsome! Now, let me see if you’re hurt anywhere.”

Jiao sullenly pointed to his backside. “Everything’s fine, except my buttocks hurt badly. Damn it!” He had been forcing himself to endure until now, but with Li Shandao separating them, he no longer had to pretend and crouched down wincing.

Gao Chounu, Qin Jingsi, Yao Agui, and others who came with Li Shandao all smiled knowingly.

A sore backside was nothing serious, as long as no other injuries occurred.

Li Shandao spat lightly toward Jiao, then turned to the stout man with a smile. “Little brother Li Shandao dares to ask your honorable name?”

Two men from among the unfamiliar hundred stepped forward to Li Shandao and bowed, introducing themselves.

Wang Xuda and Chen Jinger had been seen outside the assembly hall; this was the first time meeting Luo Zhong.

Li Shandao’s heart stirred as he realized why Luo Zhong had accompanied Wang Xuda and Chen Jinger to pay respects.

Zhai Rang had explained clearly that the hundred-man troop assigned to him consisted of three parts.

One was a group of over thirty men; another of forty to fifty men; the rest were drawn from other bands. Thirty plus forty to fifty totals over eighty; Luo Zhong must be the leader of the remaining twenty or so men drawn from other groups. Since he wasn’t the chief of their band, he hadn’t been at the assembly hall earlier.

Li Shandao returned their bows with a smile. “Brother Wang, Brother Chen, we met earlier this afternoon—this is not our first meeting but the second. Once strangers, twice acquaintances, we are already familiar—no need for such formality! Brother Luo, it’s your first time. As the saying goes, ‘Fate brings friends together even over a thousand miles; without fate, even face to face, strangers remain.’ Now that we meet here, we are bound by fate, so no need for excessive ceremony.”

Two men from the crowd stepped forward, handing Li Shandao an official document and a waist badge.

One said, “Sir Li, this document appoints you as the commander of the battalion; the badge is your official seal. Please keep them safe.”

Li Shandao caught them, thinking, “This must be Xu Shiji’s handiwork—so meticulous! An official appointment and a seal!” Without examining closely, he handed them to Gao Chounu with a respectful gesture. “Much obliged, brothers.”

These two men were Zhai Rang’s personal attendants, tasked with bringing Wang Xuda and others to greet Li Shandao and deliver the appointment and seal.

Having completed their task, the two took their leave.

After they departed, Li Shandao retrieved the document and seal for inspection.

The document was less formal than a court appointment, somewhat crude, stating: “Li Shandao of Weinan County, since joining our ranks, has shown bravery and loyalty, worthy to be battalion commander of the Phoenix Guard.” The left bore Zhai Rang’s large seal.

The waist badge was copper, rectangular, about a finger’s length by half a finger’s width, engraved with a phoenix on top and raised characters below: “Left Second Division, First Regiment, First Battalion.”

After reading, Li Shandao put the document away and hung the waist badge on his girdle through a small hole at its top.

He helped the three men to their feet, smiling, “I just said, brothers, there’s no need for such formality—why bow again?”

Wang Xuda and the others stood behind him, calling their men over and commanding, “This is Commander Li! From now on, he is your leader. Hurry and pay your respects!”

The hundred or so men bowed unevenly and shouted, “Greetings, Commander Li!”

Dust stirred again, rising from the ground where the sumo match had just ended.

Li Shandao called the men to stand and surveyed them. Before him were fierce-looking men—some with coarse, fleshy faces, others with shifty eyes, some strong and muscular, others carrying sticks and blades.

Fei Junzhong’s words echoed in his mind: “They must be the kind who kill under the cover of darkness and set fires when the wind is high.” No exaggeration.

These hundred-plus villains made a living through robbery and murder. How would they be disciplined and controlled henceforth?

Would they simply follow Fei Junzhong’s advice: “Beat them mercilessly with the big stick”?