Chapter 51: Ambush
In moments of crisis, true trust and conviction always surface.
"Don't panic," Chen Jian commanded. "Civet Cat, you're the fastest runner. Go tell the villagers to hide on the cliff. Men, follow me. Women, hide here."
"Brother!" Yu Qian'er cried out, reaching for Chen Jian, her voice laced with confusion and fear.
"Don't be afraid. I'll be back soon."
Chen Jian gently touched Yu Qian'er's hair, then turned and led the forty-odd men forward without another word.
Yu Qian'er was at a loss for words. Ever since she'd heard Hua's story, her brother had told her not to be afraid. As long as he stood before her, she felt safe. She didn't know when she had started to enjoy this feeling of being protected.
She was hardly afraid of snakes—she had strangled countless vipers to feed the wolf cubs—yet whenever she saw one, she would hide behind her brother. She'd watch him pin the snake with a small forked stick, then she would run out from behind him, clapping her hands.
Even simple tasks like dividing fish, which she could easily calculate herself, would send her running to her brother with a frown. She would watch him explain it step-by-step until her brow smoothed and her apricot-shaped eyes curved into crescent moons.
She knew this time could be dangerous, but as she watched her brother's retreating back, she still couldn't find the words to say.
Just as the trees were about to swallow his figure, she shouted, "Brother, come back soon! You still haven't told me why the pottery wheel turns! And our scales are ready. Don't forget the funny story you promised to tell me!"
Chen Jian turned around, his face serious. He suddenly covered his face with his hand, and when he lowered it a moment later, his expression had been replaced by a smile. He nodded at her.
Normally, this would have made Yu Qian'er laugh, but this time she couldn't even manage to raise the corners of her mouth. She just stared, dazed, as the bushes finally concealed his figure.
Chen Jian hadn't spoken of life and death. Even if Civet Cat's panicked report was true—that there were over three hundred people, with a hundred of them being warriors—it would be a joke if his clansmen, after training for so long, couldn't handle them.
After climbing to the top of a mountain, he spotted a wisp of smoke rising by the river in the distance. He took a rope meant for gathering honey, fashioned a figure-eight loop for his feet, and used the friction to ascend a thick pine tree for a better view.
From this vantage point, not too far from the river, he could vaguely make out a few figures gathered around a fire. Next to them on the ground lay some horned animals he had never seen before.
When he climbed down, his clansmen gathered around him. Chen Jian looked at Wolfpi with a smile. "Brother, there are only five people over there. What were you so scared of?"
"Five people? I... I didn't know. When I saw the smoke, I just thought of what Hua said and hurried back to warn you."
Hearing there were only five people, the clansmen's tension vanished, replaced by laughter directed at Wolfpi. He lowered his head in embarrassment. "Next time," he mumbled, "I'll be sure to climb a tree and look first."
Chen Jian quieted his clansmen, his own mind already working. Those horned beasts must be the "four-legged people" Civet Cat had described. They had to be captured. It was the only way to eliminate the tribe's panic.
With more than forty men at his side and the element of surprise, dealing with five enemies would be easy.
Those five were likely scouts from the upstream tribe. Judging by their conspicuous fire, they were amateurs—perhaps just ordinary hunters who didn't yet understand that humans were far more cunning and terrifying than any animal.
"Wolfpi, take a few archers, circle around quietly to the path they came from, and block their retreat. Fire a volley when they try to escape."
He estimated the distance and pointed to a large, distant tree. Wolfpi followed his gaze and nodded. "Alright."
A plain stretched beside the river, with the woods set back some distance from the bank. If ambushed, Chen Jian reasoned, the five men would certainly retreat along the same path they came. Their horned mounts wouldn't be eager to charge into the dense forest, and the riders themselves probably had no concept of a counter-ambush.
Ten men led by Wolfpi ran toward the designated tree, while Chen Jian led the rest to circle behind the five strangers, further upstream along the Caohe River.
They hadn't brought many weapons this time—only their usual stone spears, stone axes, and bows and arrows for fending off tigers and bears.
Chen Jian knew the men must be riding herbivores, which were generally timid. Untrained mounts would instinctively shy away from sharp spears; even highly trained warhorses often needed blindfolds to charge a spear wall. He wasn't worried.
He surveyed the open land by the river. The grass, standing half a man's height, was perfect for hiding. He divided the remaining thirty men into two teams: one would follow him into ambush in the center, and the other, led by Song, would lie in wait to the side.
He wasn't concerned about his men being scared off. They had seen it all. According to the Old Grandmother, their ancestors had even hunted the massive long-nosed beasts long ago.
What was unbearable, however, were the buzzing and biting of the damn mosquitoes. Chen Jian found some wild mint and wormwood, crushing the leaves and rubbing the pulp over his exposed skin. The others quickly followed his lead. They spoke in hushed tones, just as they did when hunting timid prey like deer.
After an anxious wait—he couldn't tell how long—a strange cry suddenly pierced the air. His clansmen immediately tightened their grips on their stone spears, parting the grass to peer ahead.
In the distance, two disheveled men were galloping toward them on horned deer. They kept looking back over their shoulders, and one had a feathered arrow protruding from his body.
This time, the clansmen got a clear look. They weren't monsters, just men riding animals. The last vestiges of fear in their hearts evaporated. It seemed Wolfpi's group had already shot down three of the riders, leaving only these two.
The two distant riders were unarmed; they just kept kicking the soft bellies of the horned deer to urge them on. The horned deer were panting heavily, and though their riders still urged them forward, their stamina was clearly fading. Their pace had slowed to a crawl.
As the two riders drew closer, Chen Jian shouted the signal. He burst from the grass with a dozen tribesmen, charging forward with their spears leveled.
The riders, completely taken by surprise, had no idea there were people hiding in the grass. They instinctively yanked on the vines tied to the deers' antlers. The horned deer saw the screaming, spear-wielding men rushing toward them and veered instinctively toward the woods on the right, trying to escape the dozen green-smeared figures. The rider's hesitation and the deer's instinctual swerve gave the clansmen a precious few seconds to close the distance.
Chen Jian roared at the nearby grass, "Ram!"
Song's men, hidden in the grass, had been training for over a month. Though they had no wicker shields and only held stone axes, they reacted instinctively, rising as one and howling at the two horned deer that were now almost upon them.
They were close, so close that their formation remained tight, not breaking apart despite their differing speeds. Seven or eight men ran practically shoulder-to-shoulder, charging with the same force they used when practicing on haystacks. As they closed in, they didn't raise their stone axes. Instead, each man lowered his shoulder and slammed sideways into the target. It was a technique born from their harsh training, a habit formed after being punished countless times by having to carry heavy stones.
The dense line of men struck like a wave, hitting the animals in unison and knocking both dazed horned deer crashing to the ground. The deer kicked their hooves in terror, struggling to stand, but the men swarmed over them, pinning both the animals and their riders to the ground.
The two riders shouted incomprehensibly, their voices filled with panic.
Song lunged and grabbed one of the men by the foot. The man's other leg was pinned beneath the fallen deer, and he waved his arms frantically, searching for a weapon. Finding no stones within reach, he tore up a handful of grass, shouted, and swung it at Song with all his might. It was a futile gesture; the blades of grass, symbolizing his last act of defiance, were simply carried away by the wind.
Song's hand clamped onto the man's ankle like a vice. He couldn't help but feel a surge of surprise. Though he trusted Chen Jian implicitly, he had never imagined their shoulder-ramming technique would be this powerful—that they could knock such a massive beast off its feet.
He glanced to the side. The other rider was faring no better. His face was a mess of blood and grass stains, but he had managed to find a stone. He threw it backward, hitting one of Song's clansmen squarely on the forehead. The enraged clansman retaliated, bringing his stone axe down and severing the rider's ankle. Blood poured out, pooling on the ground like a venomous snake striking at life itself.
The strong smell of blood filled the air, and Song was suddenly reminded of when his own people had been slaughtered by the Meteor Tribe. He thought that one day, their own blood might flow just like this.
Chen Jian and his men rushed over. He yelled for them not to use their spears, so the tribesmen resorted to grabbing the deers' hooves or simply throwing their bodies on top of the animals to hold them down. The horned deer were terrified, but they were pinned so effectively they could barely breathe, let alone get up. Only now did Chen Jian get a clear look at what the men were riding, and he felt a pang of disappointment.
They were a type of red deer, large enough to be ridden, but deer were too easily startled to be suitable as cavalry mounts. As beasts of burden, they were far inferior to oxen or horses; they had too little fat and not enough endurance.
"Tie this one up alive," Chen Jian ordered. "And secure the two deer."
The tribesmen immediately got to work. The deer's eyes widened in terror, and it cried out, trying to roll over, but it was expertly pinned by the experienced hunters.
One of the two riders on the ground was clearly not going to survive, so the clansmen ignored him. With his ankle severed, he couldn't stand. All he could do was crawl. Gripping handfuls of grass, he dragged himself inch by inch in the direction of his home village, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.
After crawling a few feet, he scrambled back, muttering something unintelligible. He picked up his severed foot with both hands, screaming as he tried to reattach it, only for it to fall uselessly to the ground. He was sobbing now, clutching his severed foot in one hand while cursing in a language Chen Jian and his people couldn't understand. He turned and resumed his slow, agonizing crawl forward.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to sit by the fire and drink deer milk, to hunt with his kinsmen, even if it meant migrating from place to place like in the old days.
His vision grew blurry, darkening at the edges. His body felt cold, as if it were snowing. In his mind's eye, he saw the towering, birch-bark houses of his village. He saw the sacred stone, the one with the ocher painting of the red fish. It seemed so close, almost within reach.
*Maybe the red fish can find a way to put my foot back on...*
As this thought took hold, the pain in his ankle faded. He told himself again that the Red Fish could fix his foot, and he began to believe it. He reached forward, grabbing another handful of grass, his other arm clutching his severed foot tightly to his chest.
He didn't want the round clay pots anymore. He just wanted his foot back.
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