Chapter 6

The braid had been cut off at the root, with traces of blood still on the braid's end.

Zhou Shixiang's scalp went cold, and he felt a faint pain, knowing that the back of his head must have been cut open.

The man in military uniform, seeing Zhou Shixiang in a daze, sneered, "What, still not admitting it?"

The man dressed as a hunter, seeing Zhou Shixiang's不服 (discontent), grinned and said to the man in military uniform, "Brother, why bother with him? Let the brothers use some means. I bet he'll confess after a few rounds, crying and begging for mercy." After saying this, he was about to take action.

Seeing that these people didn't believe him and wouldn't even let him explain, and were about to subject him to physical torture, Zhou Shixiang became desperate. He stiffened his neck and shouted at the leader, "Just because of a braid, how can you be sure I'm a Tartar spy!... If I didn't shave my head and keep the braid, would the Tartars have let me live? Would you even be able to catch me here? I would have been dead long ago!... Besides, if I were really a Tartar spy, why would I keep the braid? Isn't that just asking for trouble!"

The men were taken aback by his words, and upon careful consideration, it seemed to make some sense. The Qing army had forced the Han people to shave their heads and keep braids. If this young man hadn't shaved his head, how could he have survived? Moreover, the Tartar spies all disguised themselves as Han people, and none of them dared to keep a braid and parade it around like this young man.

It seemed this young man wasn't a spy. But if he wasn't a spy, why did he have the horse, the knife, and why was he in the mountains?

The men were hesitant. The leader pondered for a moment but didn't easily believe Zhou Shixiang. He asked, "If you're not a Tartar spy, why are you in the mountains? There's no one here except us. Why did you come here if not to spy on us?"

"I got lost and don't know how to get out," Zhou Shixiang said honestly.

"Lost?" The leader's face twitched, showing disbelief. He snorted and ordered his men, "This kid is stubborn. Search him, see if he has anything from the Tartars."

Hearing this, the man dressed as a hunter stepped forward to search Zhou Shixiang. Knowing he had no right to refuse, Zhou Shixiang didn't resist, allowing the man to search him thoroughly. Apart from a longevity lock inscribed with "An'er," Zhou Shixiang had nothing else on him.

This longevity lock was made for An'er when he was 100 days old by his grandparents, using some gold, and it was quite valuable.

However, in the eyes of these men, the lock was nothing special. The hunter casually threw it to the civilian-dressed man with a beard, who pocketed it without a second glance.

Seeing this, Zhou Shixiang became agitated and struggled with unexpected strength, shouting, "Give me back the lock, give me back the lock!"

The two burly men holding Zhou Shixiang were caught off guard and almost let him escape. The bearded man, furious, shouted, "Be still! If you move again, I'll cut you down!"

This lock was the only thing left of his son, the only emotional tie Zhou Shixiang had to his deceased child. He couldn't bear to let it be taken away. But the two men holding him were too strong, and he couldn't break free no matter how hard he tried.

"Gentlemen, you can take the horse and the knife, but you must return the longevity lock! Otherwise, even if I die, I won't let you go!"

Zhou Shixiang was on the verge of tears, his body filled with memories of his beloved son, a deep and abiding love.

The leader, seeing Zhou Shixiang's emotional state, his eyes wide and tears welling up, was puzzled by his attachment to the lock. He gestured for the bearded man to hold off and squatted down to ask Zhou Shixiang, "Why must you have the lock back?"

"Why?"

Zhou Shixiang's voice was choked with emotion, and as he thought of An'er, tears streamed down his face. He cried, "This lock belongs to my beloved son. How can I let it leave me?"

The leader, unconvinced, said, "It's just a longevity lock. You can make another one for your son. Why make such a fuss? If you really anger me, I'll cut you down, and then you won't even see your son."

Hearing this, Zhou Shixiang fell silent, staring at the ground for a long time. The leader, growing impatient, was about to scold him when he heard Zhou Shixiang's low, almost inaudible voice, "My son is no longer in this world."

"Dead? Died of illness?"

The leader was slightly taken aback but not surprised. In those times, the death of children was common, and few families didn't have a child who had died. Seeing it often, one became numb to it, just part of life.

However, the young man in front of him suddenly became fierce, his face contorted with anger, and he said through gritted teeth, "My son didn't die of illness. My son was killed by the Qing army!... Not just my son, but my parents and wife were also killed by the Qing army. Five in my family, only I remain!"

Five in the family, four dead?

The men, hearing this, looked at Zhou Shixiang with sympathy. Even the bearded man who had taken the lock felt embarrassed.

The leader stared at Zhou Shixiang for a long time, confirming that his expression was genuine, and then sighed, standing up and saying, "So, you really aren't a Tartar spy?"

"I am absolutely not a Tartar spy!" Zhou Shixiang said firmly, leaving no room for doubt.

The leader was still skeptical. He pointed to the waist knife on the ground and asked Zhou Shixiang, "If you're not a Tartar spy, what about the horse and the knife? You look like a scholar. How could a scholar have these things?"

"The horse I took from a Qing army general I killed, and the knife I took from him as well."

When Zhou Shixiang answered, his face showed no pride, and his tone was very calm, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. But while he found it normal, the men in the shed found it anything but. After a moment of surprise, someone immediately questioned, "How could a scholar kill a Tartar general and take his horse? Your story is too far-fetched, who would believe it?"

"I just felt your hands; they have no calluses or blisters, clearly you've never held a knife. And looking at your build, ha, you say you killed a Tartar general? You're just boasting. You might as well say you killed a Tartar prince."

"Ha ha..."

The shed filled with laughter, and the leader also didn't believe it. He believed in righteous revenge, but a scholar killing a Tartar general was hard to believe, and it required great skill to accomplish.

Seeing that they didn't believe him, Zhou Shixiang didn't know what to say. After all, it did sound incredible. He couldn't say that he wasn't the scholar Zhou Shixiang but a soldier from the future who had possessed his body. As the men's gazes turned hostile again, someone at the door suddenly asked, "What's your name?"

"Zhou Shixiang."

Zhou Shixiang blurted out his name, seeing a middle-aged man in scholar's robes walk in from the door.

The men seemed to respect this middle-aged man, making way for him to stand in the middle, next to the leader in military uniform.

"Zhou Shixiang?"

The middle-aged man looked Zhou Shixiang up and down, as if recalling something. After a moment, he nodded and smiled, turning to the men and saying, "This man is indeed not a Tartar spy. What he says is true. The horse outside and the knife on the ground were indeed taken from a Tartar general."

Hearing this, the men were stunned.

The leader, disbelieving, looked at the middle-aged man, hesitating, "Mr. Song?"

Mr. Song smiled, his gaze turning to Zhou Shixiang's face, and said, "Yesterday, when I went to the county to get medicine, I saw a wanted poster at the city gate with his portrait. It's him, no mistake." He then said to the others with great admiration, "Do you know which Tartar general this scholar Zhou killed?"

"Who?"

The men's curiosity was piqued. They trusted Mr. Song's words, but which Tartar general did this scholar Zhou kill?

Mr. Song, having built up the suspense, finally said in a drawn-out tone, "It was the general under the traitor Shang Kexi, You Yunlong!"

"You Yunlong?!"

"It's him!"

"Wow!"

Hearing this name, including the man in military uniform, everyone's faces changed, and they all exhaled in unison, their faces filled with surprise. They looked at Zhou Shixiang with newfound respect, as if he were no longer a scholar but a hero like Zhao Zilong of Changshan.