The Warlord 07

Inside the Black Tiger Stronghold, several leaders were drinking and cursing about their recent poor earnings.

"That Fang Zhiyi actually assigned armed soldiers to escort the horse caravans! Our brothers didn’t get a single advantage."

"Boss, if this goes on, we’ll starve to death. Baldhead is done for, but these soldiers are really hard to deal with."

The boss viciously threw down the bone in his hand: "No matter how tough they are, they still can’t breach our Black Tiger Stronghold! We’ll catch them off guard... Besides, Marshal Luo sent me a letter..."

"Boss!" A lackey rushed in, panting heavily.

"What’s the panic?" The boss was in the middle of posturing and looked displeased.

"Fire! Fire!"

"What fire?" The leaders froze.

"The soldiers set the mountain on fire!"

"What???"

Cao Wenjie was both terrified and awed by the marshal before him. Proud of his cunning, he had considered bribing the bandits’ inner circle, even poisoning them—but he never expected the simplest, most brutal solution: setting the mountain ablaze.

The Black Tiger Stronghold sat atop a steep mountain, surrounded by dense forests. Now, in autumn, the dry foliage made it the perfect tinder. With the marshal’s move, the stronghold was bound to panic.

"Zhao Dezhu, make sure the firebreaks are checked." Fang Zhiyi patted his shoulder. Zhao Dezhu nodded in acknowledgment. Earlier, the marshal had ordered men to dig a ring of "trenches" around the area. At first, they thought it was for combat—only to learn it was a firebreak. Though they didn’t understand, the marshal’s orders were to be followed without question.

"After all this training, don’t screw up at the critical moment! Cao Wenjie! Follow me!" Fang Zhiyi called out, then added to Zhao Dezhu, "The bandit leader will be publicly executed by firing squad. The rest will be handed over to the judiciary for sentencing. If possible, put them to hard labor—free labor isn’t easy to come by these days."

Zhao Dezhu nodded.

Cao Wenjie was stunned once again by Fang Zhiyi. He couldn’t fathom the marshal’s thoughts—first, they were here to suppress bandits, then suddenly they took a detour to grave-robbing!

Fang Zhiyi stood before a massive tomb, eyes closed in waiting. Suddenly, gunfire and cannon blasts erupted from the west—the mountain fire must have forced the bandits out, clashing with the troops.

"Blow it!" Fang Zhiyi’s eyes snapped open.

Without hesitation, Cao Wenjie lit the fuse he had been holding.

News of Fang Zhiyi’s eradication of the Black Tiger Stronghold spread throughout Anning, earning widespread praise. Under his governance, the region flourished in peace, and the elimination of banditry boosted morale.

Only the finance director grumbled as he watched a hefty sum vanish under Fang Zhiyi’s spending spree. Fang Zhiyi pretended not to hear—he was short on funds, having poured much into improving livelihoods. Now that everything else was progressing, equipment couldn’t lag behind, so he splurged on purchasing blueprints from overseas at high prices.

Finally, he found time to visit his unlucky son. To his surprise, though Fang Yaozu’s face bore bruises, his body looked much sturdier. Yet, at the sight of his father, Fang Yaozu instinctively lowered his head.

"Wang Biao."

Wang Biao hurried over. "Marshal, another lecture today?"

"Not today."

Wang Biao sighed in relief. Whenever the marshal lectured on military strategy, he struggled not to doze off. Today, at least, he was spared.

"Today’s an exam."

"What?"

As Fang Zhiyi left the barracks, Fang Yaozu followed.

"Something on your mind?" Fang Zhiyi eyed him.

Fang Yaozu nodded. "I’d like to go home for a couple of days."

Fang Zhiyi studied him, then seemed to recall something and agreed.

The two returned to the city together. Having been confined to the barracks for so long, Fang Yaozu marveled at the changes around him—it felt like only a year, yet everything had transformed.

"Crushed stone roads?" Fang Yaozu stepped on the unfamiliar path, intrigued.

"Why so many students?" A group of children laughed as they passed by. Fang Yaozu stared, then watched as they cheerfully greeted his father, who smiled and waved back.

It felt surreal.

Inside the city, the streets were no longer dirty and chaotic, though slogans adorned the walls:

"Pee in public, lose your privates (no jokes)."

"Think before you litter—you’ll eat what you throw."

"Women’s Skills Training Center, address..."

Fang Yaozu gaped at the newfound cleanliness of Anning. The townsfolk seemed to know his father well. Watching his father’s warm interactions, a pang of guilt struck him.

Suddenly, a kick sent him stumbling. Thanks to his military training, he caught himself and stood straight, facing his father, who had dismounted without him noticing.

Fang Zhiyi pointed at an elderly tofu vendor. "Apologize."

Fang Yaozu froze.

Another kick.

His spirit long tempered, Fang Yaozu bowed and apologized without question—though he had no memory of the old man.

The vendor was flustered. "Marshal, what’s this about? This—this isn’t necessary!"

Fang Zhiyi stopped him. "You deserve it, elder."

That day, instead of heading home, Fang Zhiyi took Fang Yaozu through every street in Anning. The routine never changed: a kick, then forcing him to apologize to strangers.

Fang Yaozu was baffled, but under his father’s authority, he dared not protest.

After the city, they ventured into towns and villages. Fang Yaozu witnessed the prosperity his absence had brought—commoners thriving, many recognizing Fang Zhiyi not with fear, but admiration.

Yet the kicks continued. By the end, he limped, his rebellious spirit flaring in silence.

Finally, they stopped in a golden wheat field. Fang Zhiyi clasped his hands behind his back. "Do you know why I hit you?"

Fang Yaozu glanced at the distant guards and shook his head.

You’re the father—you can beat me if you want.

But then, Little Hei’s tendrils slithered into his mind.

Fang Yaozu’s expression twisted from blankness to agony. Drenched in sweat, his body gave out, and he collapsed to his knees.

Fang Zhiyi raised a hand to stop the approaching guards and looked down. "Now tell me—was I right to consider executing you at the start?"

Tears streaked Fang Yaozu’s face as he lifted his head.

"Father, I was wrong."

Fang Zhiyi shook his head. "Those words aren’t for me, nor are you worthy of saying them to me. But you’re a soldier now. A soldier’s fate is to die in battle. As for the sins you owe—repay them in the next life."