Journey to the West: The Immortal Clan Begins by Feeding Monkeys at Five Elements Mountain

Chapter 130 I'm a Farmer

Another month or so has passed in the blink of an eye.

The flames of war raged across the fields, and news reaching the village grew increasingly scarce and colder each day.

It is said that the Western Qiang rebelled suddenly, catching the entire Longxi Prefecture off guard.

The prefect was in a panic, his troops were hastily deployed, and the battle was fought in a dismal fashion. Now, the Qiang troops have already infiltrated the vital territory of the prefecture.

Liangjie Village is located deep in the mountains, surrounded by endless old forests, making it very isolated.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that it's a corner forgotten by the world.

Even in the most remote and quiet places, the whispers of the wind will eventually seep in through the gaps in the trees.

On this day, the sun was warm, and its rays felt soft and soothing on the skin.

From the old grove next to the village road, the sound of "thump...thump..." could be heard from time to time, each sound steady and reassuring.

It's a big cow cutting down trees.

Half of this work is to prepare firewood for the family during the winter.

The other half is also a silent, unassuming whistleblower, keeping watch for any unsettling whispers in the village.

As his name suggests, Da Niu is broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with muscles that look like they grew out of a rock.

He was dressed in shorts, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his bronze skin glistening in the sun. He swung the axe with ease, like a child wielding a straw stick, without even breaking a sweat.

"Crack!"

With a sharp crack, an old elm tree fell to the ground, branches and leaves crashing down with a loud thud, startling the birds into a flurry of flight.

As Da Niu leaned on his axe, about to catch his breath, he seemed to catch a glimpse of a shadow flickering slightly in the depths of the forest.

He didn't move, nor did he raise an eyebrow. He simply wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking very honest, just like a farmer who had just left home.

In that instant, the shadow was already close behind.

It moved so quietly, like a ghost leaping out of the forest wind, that it suddenly pounced on the back of the bull's neck, so fast that not even a bird was startled.

"laugh……"

A cold, bloody piece of metal pressed against my neck, as if it had just been pulled from a dead body, its chill penetrating deep into my bones.

"Don't move, throw the axe away."

His voice was hoarse, like it was drawn from a broken bellows, with a slightly unclear Mandarin accent, and his tone was very stiff.

What do you do?

Da Niu stiffened slightly on his shoulder, and as instructed, threw the axe away, but did not turn his head.

He looked like a genuinely terrified, honest farmer, his face dull and simple, completely oblivious to the veiled threat in his words.

He slowly twisted his neck, turning his head halfway around, and spoke each word with utmost sincerity:

“I…I am a farmer.”

Upon hearing this, the man raised an eyebrow slightly, a hint of greed flashing in his eyes.

The blade in his hand tightened its grip imperceptibly, its cold edge pressing against the flesh as if urging him on, or as if it could cut something off at any moment.

"Farming? Where are the fields? And where is the village? Lead the way!"

Da Niu's face immediately showed some difficulty, his expression became timid and he lowered his voice:

“Sir… our village is very small, and the people are a mixed bunch… Han and Qiang people live together, and there’s nothing of value.”

"Cut the nonsense."

The scout snorted coldly, his tone sarcastic yet revealing a hint of undisguised ferocity.

"I'm not here to rob anyone. I've just been hiking through the mountains with my brothers for days and we just want some hot food and water."

He spoke politely, but his hands never loosened their grip; the sharp blade hung on his vital points like a venomous snake lurking in the heat.

Da Niu let out an "Oh," looking dejected, like an old ox that had been beaten and was afraid of being beaten, drooping its head as it slowly led the way.

He walked slowly with heavy steps, deliberately kicking at the dry branches and fallen leaves, making a constant "rustling" sound, as if afraid that people wouldn't hear their noise.

The two walked one after the other through the woods, and after only a hundred or so steps, two partridge cries suddenly came from the depths of the forest.

One long and one short, crisp and sharp, like a needle piercing an invisible curtain, the wind whooshing in all at once.

The scout paused, his eyes showing a newfound alertness.

But in that moment of wavering thought, disaster struck.

The big man who had been leading the way and looked as honest as an ox suddenly swayed and tilted his body slightly to the side.

The movements were neither fast nor hurried, and even a bit clumsy.

But to the scouts, it was like a shadow brushing past, silently and without a sound.

He felt a sudden tightening in his wrist, as if it were being gripped tightly by red-hot iron clamps, and his bones began to ache.

The muscles and bones were tightly twisted, so there was no time to even catch a breath, let alone operate on them.

The shock had barely risen to the corners of her eyes, and before she could even utter a word, Da Niu's fan-like hands slammed down on her.

Without looking up or aiming, his movements were surprisingly steady, as practiced as an old farmer harvesting beans.

"puff."

The sound was not loud, but muffled, like a ripe watermelon being slapped, causing the juice inside to tremble and carrying a slightly sweet and fishy smell.

The scout let out two "hoarse" sounds, his eyes wide open, as if he was still wondering how this had happened to him even before he died.

The next moment, his body went limp and he fell to the ground, where he did not move again.

The shadows swayed in the woods.

Several figures slipped out from the bushes, their footsteps as stealthy as cats', without even a gust of wind disturbing them.

One of them leaned closer, gestured to Da Niu, and said in a low voice:
"Big Brother Niu, we've cut off those last few tails. Three of them, we've wiped them all out, without even letting them catch their breath."

Da Niu then lowered his head and glanced at the unseeing corpse at his feet.

His face still had that憨憨 (simple and honest) look, but his eyes now held a shrewd glint.
"I'm not lying to you, I really am farming."

After saying that, he turned and walked back to the place where he had just cut down the tree, his steps neither hurried nor slow.

Walking to the old elm tree lying horizontally, as thick as a water bucket, the bark bore marks of axe cuts of varying depths, and it exuded the fragrance of freshly cut wood.

He bent down, his nostrils flared slightly, as if to fill his lungs with a breath first.

Immediately afterwards, his feet sank, his waist and stance became one, and he let out a low roar:
"Ho!"

That piece of elm wood, which would take three or five strong men a lot of effort, was lifted steadily by him alone, resting horizontally on his shoulder without wobbling.

He walked slowly but steadily out of the woods, each step feeling like a nail to the ground, making the fallen leaves crunch and the branches tremble slightly.

His figure receded into the distance, dappled sunlight casting shadows on him, making him look like a small, silently moving mountain.

In the woods, the dark figures had already quietly moved forward, dragged the corpse into the shadows, and then picked up some leafy branches to carefully sweep away the bloodstains and footprints on the ground.

In just a moment, the wind rustled through the treetops, the leaves whispered, the sunlight remained warm and gentle, and the ground was spotless, as if nothing had ever happened.

Da Niu carried the old elm tree, as thick as a water bucket, back into the yard. As soon as he loosened his shoulder, the giant tree crashed to the ground with a loud thud, making the dust on the roof tiles jump up and down.

He clapped his hands, too lazy to even wash his face, grabbed an overcoat, and swayed off toward the school.

We need to inform them of this as soon as possible, so that those quick-witted brothers can be credited for their efforts.

That evening, the Jiang family's dinner table was the same as always: a few hot dishes and a pot of medicinal porridge, the aroma filling the air, just like usual.

However, the piece of paper pressed down by the chopsticks on the corner of the table added a touch of coldness.

Jiang Ming picked up some greens with his chopsticks and put them into his father's bowl, speaking slowly and deliberately:

"Scouts are the eyes and ears of the army. If we can remove these eyes silently today, the Qiang troops will be like blind men groping in the dark. The mountains should be safe for the foreseeable future."

His tone was flat, but his words were measured and methodical, giving listeners a sense of confidence.

"But..."

Jiang Ming changed the subject, his gaze falling on the flickering oil lamp on the table.

"If there is no news from a certain direction for a long time, it's like a corner is missing from a chessboard. Anyone who understands the situation can tell at a glance that there is a problem in that area."

As he spoke, he gently flicked the end of his chopsticks, lowering his voice slightly:

"By then, it probably won't be these few clumsy little spies who come. We can't let our guard down yet."

After saying this, his eyes shifted slightly, glancing over Jiang Yi before finally settling on Jiang Xi.

"If we really run into someone who's not easy to deal with, I'm afraid we'll have to trouble Father and our little sister to help us."

Jiang Yi kept his head down, picking at his rice with his chopsticks, his expression calm.

Jiang Xi, on the other hand, had just taken a sip of soup when she heard this. She tilted her head back, and before she could even swallow the soup, her eyes lit up.

With a bit of oil still on the corner of her mouth, she grinned and replied, "Leave it to me."

Seeing that she looked relaxed and didn't seem to care about it, Jiang Ming added another sentence.

"But remember, survival is the most important thing."

His tone was gentler than before, yet it sounded like a repeated admonition:

"If you really run into a troublemaker you can't afford to mess with, don't fight back. If you can avoid it, avoid it; if you can stall for time, stall for time... try to lead people to the back of the mountain."

He paused here, and lightly tapped the rim of his bowl with his chopsticks:
"When that time comes... we'll just have to leave it to fate."

As soon as he finished speaking, a breeze swept through the courtyard, causing the lamplight to flicker slightly.

Jiang Yi and Jiang Xi both nodded without saying much, but their eyes held their own thoughts, as if they had already considered this.

Liu Xiulian, who was standing to the side, tightened her grip on the bowl and chopsticks slightly, and after a long while, she still didn't put the hot soup into her mouth.

She lowered her head and gently exhaled, as if trying to expel her unease along with her breath.

Days still passed one by one, like sand in an hourglass, flowing silently but unmistakably.

Two months have passed in the blink of an eye.

Winter was getting deeper. When I woke up in the morning, a thin layer of frost had formed on the window paper, gleaming with a cold white light.

The situation in Longxi County not only did not improve in the slightest, but became increasingly chaotic.

Scattered messages drifted over, saying that even the eunuch sent down from Luoyang had suffered a considerable loss recently and was in serious trouble.

Meanwhile, in Liangjie Village, three or four groups of scouts came intermittently over the past two months.

However, the Ancient and Modern Gang has now tightened its defenses.

The moment those people appeared, they were wiped out cleanly and swiftly, like stones thrown into a pond, without even a sound.

As usual, Jiang Ming would summarize the situation during meals, but his tone became more and more serious each day.

"These last two groups are quite skilled and came decisively. They've clearly been through tough battles and are probably not comparable to the first few groups of unskilled fighters."

As he spoke, he paused, his brow furrowed slightly, and his tone turned somewhat cold:
"If we hadn't laid an ambush early on, and had caught the enemy off guard, we might have lost several people this time."

The room fell silent after he said that.

The oil lamp flickered, its flame swaying precariously, casting flickering shadows on the window paper, as if even the shadows on the wall were holding their breath. This commotion indicated that the other party was serious, likely sensing something strange and inexplicable hidden in this mountain forest.

Jiang Yi sat alone under the eaves, leaning on his gleaming old stick, and remained silent for a long time.

The wind rustled through the old trees in the courtyard, carrying the sound of pine needles, and seeped into one's heart little by little.

A few more days passed.

The sky was terribly dark, as if the entire sky had been soaked through with wet cloth, hanging low and pressing down in a gray haze, as if water could drip out if you reached out and wrung it.

The wind shifted, blowing against people's faces; it wasn't cold, but it made their nostrils tingle.

As usual, the mountain pass at the east end of the village was eerily quiet.

Several brothers disguised as woodcutters leaned casually against a tree to rest, their postures languid, but their eyes still gleamed.

Some people were fiddling with their pipes, while others were shaving firewood, their blades carefully peeling away the bark, their movements slow and deliberate.

But every leaf turned by the wind, every bird that suddenly flaps its wings, did not escape the ripples in their eyes.

Suddenly, a cuckoo's cry came from the outermost sentry post, the timing perfectly precise.

It uttered only one cry before abruptly stopping, as cleanly as a falling blade, leaving not a trace of echo.

Lin Zhongfeng also paused for a moment, the branches and leaves swaying slightly, as if someone was holding their breath.

Several men disguised as woodcutters exchanged glances, then calmly rose to their feet, their posture relaxed, but their hands quietly resting on the machetes at their waists.

At the other end of the mountain path, the shadows of the trees trembled slightly, followed by a few soft rustling sounds of branches and leaves moving from the depths of the dense shade.

Before long, several figures slowly appeared, their steps unhurried, yet exuding an indescribable composure.

The leader was a young man, no more than twenty years old, dressed in a mink coat with a warm luster and a well-tailored style, exuding an air of nobility that was not outwardly displayed.

A curved sword hung at his waist, inlaid with gold and jade, its scabbard so shiny it was like a mirror, without a speck of dust, as if he had not just come from the forest.

The following group of people, each with a different appearance, some tall and some thin, all had relaxed shoulders and elbows, light and steady steps, slightly bulging temples, hidden sharpness in their eyes, and no sense of unsteadiness in their steps.

They are not mere laborers risking their lives in the marketplace, but hands that have waded through blood and killed.

The group wasn't in a hurry; they moved forward with a leisurely pace, as if taking a stroll along the stone path in their own backyard.

No one answered the sentries lying in ambush in the woods, as if they didn't take the murderous intent seriously at all.

"A guest has arrived."

The young man in the sable coat who was leading the group suddenly spoke, his voice gentle and smiling, yet his tone extremely self-possessed, and his Mandarin pronunciation clear and accurate:

"Brothers, aren't you going to greet them?"

His words were spoken with a smile, but his tone was light and casual, like a host sizing up a guest who had taken his seat.

Before he could finish speaking, Lin suddenly stirred.

With a loud "boom," a person leaped out of a branch, his shadow landing heavily on the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust.

The newcomer was none other than the burly bull, as strong as an ox.

As soon as he stepped onto the ground, dust exploded, and he pounced like a tiger on a cliff. His shoulders slumped, and the great axe behind him rose up with a thud, slashing fiercely across the sky!

The thick-backed blade whistled and swirled with a bloody wind as it cleaved down, like chopping down an old tree that had stood in the wrong place, even causing the mountain wind to veer off course.

This axe strike was a fierce move that Da Niu unleashed with all his might, holding his breath and exerting every ounce of strength.

Even if rocks block the way, they will still be cleaved into cracks.

But the young man in the mink coat merely raised his eyelids, his smile remaining unchanged, and he didn't even bother to move his knife.

With a slight sway of her feet, like autumn leaves fluttering in the wind, her clothes fluttered lightly, and she narrowly avoided the wind without even her sleeves being wrinkled.

Immediately afterwards, he flicked his wrist, lightly tapping the back of the axe with his fingertips, his demeanor as nonchalant as wiping foam from the rim of a cup at a banquet.

"Ding!"

A crisp, clear sound rang out.

Da Niu felt a brute force roll back along the axe handle, his tiger's mouth trembled, his joints went numb, and his vision went black.

The axe flew out with a "whoosh" and landed directly on an old tree several feet away. The axe was still buzzing, like the chirping of insects at night, which made people's hearts tremble.

He himself was so shocked that he stumbled back several steps, slipped, and almost fell backward to the ground.

His face turned purplish-red, and his chest heaved like a bellows, unable to catch his breath for a long time.

Seeing that the situation was not good, the gang members were about to attack.

The group of people behind the young nobleman had already darted out like shadows, their movements so fast that their figures were almost invisible.

Several dull thuds were heard, like bamboo breaking, cloth twisting, or bones dislocating, making one's teeth ache.

In the blink of an eye, the men were lying sprawled on the ground, their faces flushed, groaning, but unable to move even a finger.

This exchange was so fast it was almost unreasonable, sending chills down one's spine.

The young man slowly stopped, straightened his clothes, and moved with an elegant demeanor, as if he had merely kicked off a few specks of dust that were stuck to his boots.

He strolled up to Da Niu, looked him over with a scrutinizing gaze.

"His physical strength is still passable," he said with a slight smile, his tone light, "but unfortunately, brute force can never amount to anything."

After saying that, he looked up at the mountain path in the distance.

The wind rustled through the treetops, the branches and leaves whispering, yet it seemed as if one could see through layers of mist.

"Lead the way."

He spoke slowly and deliberately, in a low voice and with a gentle demeanor, yet his words were firm and unyielding.

"I want to meet the person who could train you bunch of roughnecks into this kind of thing."

Da Niu gritted his teeth, remaining silent, the veins on his forehead throbbing like drumbeats.

The young man, however, seemed unconcerned, glancing at him indifferently as if he had anticipated such a reaction.

He sighed softly, his tone gentle to the point of pity:

"If you refuse to take it, that's fine with me. You can find it yourself..."

He paused after speaking, his tone still soft, but his words took a sharp turn:

"It's just that my men are never very careful when they go out. If they don't watch their step and accidentally step on a few small insects by the edge of the woods, my enjoyment of the trip will be ruined."

The words were spoken softly, but they sounded like fine rain seeping through tiles, chilling to the bone.

Da Niu's face immediately changed, turning red and blue, as if his face was in turmoil.

In the end, he lowered his head, let out a muffled groan, and turned to lead the way.

The group then walked through the woods and across the ridges, heading straight into the village.

The young nobleman walked slowly, his steps loose and unsteady, his eyes wandering, as if he were leisurely admiring the scenery, yet also like a general on patrol.

He took in every detail of the bricks, stones, grass, trees, chickens, dogs, and people along the way.

There was actually a hint of genuine approval in that gaze.

"Tsk... Look at these ridges, they're so neat and tidy, they're just as good as the fertile fields in Guanzhong."

"Looking at this house, although it is not luxurious, the layout is orderly and solemn, lacking vulgarity and full of human warmth."

At this point, his gaze fell upon the villagers along the way, some gesturing wildly, others tending their fields with hoes.

They were all dressed in coarse cloth, yet they were full of energy.

That inner vitality was worlds apart from the numb villages he had seen along the way.

“What a great place.”

He sighed sincerely, his words carrying a hint of envy, like a refined guest who had stumbled upon a paradise:

"What a wonderful place... I never imagined that such a remote and desolate place could be hidden away from the world."

He paused at this point, and the smile on his lips faded.

He shook his head slightly, his gaze like that of someone looking at a painting—a painting of exceptional beauty, but one destined to be lost.

The group walked through the village and alleys at a leisurely pace.

The village road is narrow, paved with bluestone, with half-closed wooden gates on both sides, and no sound of chickens or dogs.

They walked until they reached the school and finally came to a slow stop.

The courtyard gate was ajar. Beside the gate stood an old locust tree with its branches slanting out. Under its shade stood a man in a blue robe, his hands clasped behind his back, standing ramrod straight.

It was Jiang Ming.

He had been waiting for a moment.

Those people made quite a commotion when they entered the village, and their messenger traveled even faster. He knew they were up to no good, so he simply didn't avoid them and waited at the door.

In recent months, he has not gone up the back mountain again, but has been coordinating and scheduling within the village to prepare for any unforeseen circumstances.

The young nobleman from the Qiang tribe walked to the door, paused slightly, and his gaze slowly fell upon them.

He looked Jiang Ming up and down, finally fixing his gaze on Jiang Ming's calm, deep eyes, as if slightly surprised.

He nodded slightly, and the usual sneer at the corner of his mouth faded a bit.

"He does have some composure."

These words initially carried a hint of appreciation, but the tone quickly shifted, ending coldly:

"Unfortunately, your foundation is a bit weak. You're not good enough."

It was said lightly, yet it was as merciless as autumn leaves weighing down branches.

Jiang Ming remained calm and composed, neither surprised nor angry. He simply stared at the man quietly, his eyes revealing no anger, but rather a scrutinizing gaze.

He slowly raised his hand, his sleeves billowing slightly, and a faint breath moved in his arm, as delicate as silk threads, flowing between his joints.

It was clear that he had to go forward himself to see what was truly inside that noble exterior.

But before he could raise his hand halfway, a steady command came from behind him:

"Ming'er, step down."

Jiang Ming's body froze, and the force that was about to be released also receded, like the tide receding without leaving even a whirlpool.

He slowly turned his head and saw his father walking from the field at the other end of the ridge.

His steps were unhurried, as if he had just finished turning over a patch of soil and was casually picking up a hoe to get some fresh air.

He wore a coarse cloth short jacket, with wet mud still clinging to his trouser legs. The hoe on his shoulder was held at an angle, its blade gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

His face was tanned from the sun in the fields, sweat clung to his forehead, and his palms were calloused. He walked slowly, but his feet were firmly planted, each step solid.

Despite his appearance, the young nobleman from the Qiang tribe raised an eyebrow slightly.

His gaze shifted, moving from Jiang Ming to the man carrying a hoe.

The half-joking expression he had been wearing earlier had vanished, replaced by a more serious look for the first time.

(End of this chapter)