Chapter 109: Gou Family Manor (Part 3)

Lin Quan'an was pressured into compliance—only then realizing that short-hair money was not easily earned. "Your accent is still a bit strange," he said. "Best not talk much inside."

Approaching the manor, they found the gate open. Chevaux-de-frise blocked the entrance; several militia stood guard; watchtower sentries kept watch. Security was reasonably tight. Lin Quan'an, familiar with the locals, exchanged greetings, handed over some trinkets, and led Xue Ziliang inside.

The manor had about two hundred households—mostly stone walls with thatched roofs, though some of the poorer ones had bamboo-woven walls and roofs. Xue Ziliang found this quite curious, but he was not sightseeing—he was memorizing roads, layouts, and directions. There were few pedestrians about, just the elderly and children; adults were apparently at work. Lin Quan'an walked along, shaking his peddler's drum. Women gathered to buy needles, thread, and sundries. Some without money bartered eggs or dried noodles. Soon his baskets were piled with goods.

Xue Ziliang accompanied Lin Quan'an around nearly the entire circuit. There was only one gate. The walls were just over three meters high—earth-and-stone construction, very solid. Almost no erosion was visible; they seemed nearly cement-solid. Scattered wooden watchtowers stood along the walls, stocked with stones and rolling logs for defense—possibly some cannons too. Inside, there were no defensive structures. The so-called inner wall was simply the higher compound walls where the Gou family's dozen core households clustered in connected residences. For fire safety, wide streets separated them from surrounding houses—somewhat resembling a fortress within a fortress.

Looking closer, these compound walls were no simple barriers. Though reportedly containing a dozen households, only two entrances existed: a south main gate and a north rear gate. The front street had a tall gatehouse, flanked by brick-trimmed reverse-facing guardrooms with gun loops for firing muskets and fowling pieces. Thick elm gates were iron-plated, studded with large iron nails—axes could not chop through. The rear gate was small but solid; stone walls about four meters high clearly rested on substantial foundations.

But these obstacles meant nothing to the transmigrators. Xue Ziliang felt his personal reconnaissance was somewhat unnecessary. With the Military Group's firepower, breaking the manor would be effortless. The only difficulty was how to open the gate. The wooden gate was thick and heavy, with massive crossbars behind it. Best to blast it open—but the Military Group had no demolition charges. Perhaps burn it with oil?

Leaving the manor, Xue Ziliang returned to the grove. He recorded all key points in his notebook and sketched an interior map. Those waiting in the grove had used telephoto lenses to photograph exterior views.

Wang Ruixiang suggested, "Let's send up the recon aircraft for some footage."

Xue Ziliang initially thought this excessive—but reconsidering, the inner-compound conditions were unclear. After breaking in, fighting through the inner compound would still require effort. Unfamiliarity with roads and layout would not work. He agreed. Wang Ruixiang, hearing this, excitedly began assembling the large model aircraft.

The thing was enormous—disassembled, it required three people to carry, plus accessories, fuel, camera equipment, and a receiving laptop. They quickly assembled it—only to discover a problem: no paved ground! This large model aircraft—unlike small remote-control planes—needed a runway for takeoff and landing. In modern times, finding flat ground was trivial—even remote villages had roads or concrete threshing floors. Worst case, flat fields or grassland worked. But here, none existed.

Clearing and leveling ground was possible, but without tools, and working in the open, they would attract patrols. Reluctantly, they packed up and headed back, disappointed. The first aerial reconnaissance mission ended in failure.

"We must develop a rocket-assisted takeoff system!" Wang Ruixiang said bitterly.

"On our way back—when opportunity arises—grab some prisoners!"

"Tongue-snatching?"

"Exactly." Xue Ziliang had already learned this Chinese slang. "There are some things we need to ask them in person."

"Alright!" Everyone prepared eagerly—except the dejected Wang Ruixiang.

Xue Ziliang split the team into two groups, ambushing both sides of the road. This spot was neither too near nor too far from the manor—enough time to retreat while avoiding grabbing the wrong people. To minimize disturbance, they would use only knives and Wang Ruixiang's crossbow if combat proved necessary.

Lingao's weather—spring, summer, autumn, winter—could reach over thirty degrees even in autumn and winter. In the unventilated grove, everyone sweated profusely. Despite insect repellent, various bugs and mosquitoes constantly bit them. The recruits complained bitterly. Fortunately, over a month of hard training had built their willpower—no one moved carelessly.

There were occasional passersby on the road, but no worthwhile targets. After a long wait, a sedan chair appeared—a small carrying chair with a blue cloth canopy. A master-looking figure sprawled lazily inside, accompanied by a dozen household guards and servants. A maidservant carried a bundle, walking alongside.

Ye Mengyan grew nervous. He crawled over to ask Xue Ziliang: "Captain! Big fish incoming!"

Xue Ziliang nodded. Clearly a Gou Manor VIP—possibly the big boss himself. Excluding the guide, they had four people—reasonable odds. He considered for a moment, then eyed Lin Quan'an—making the peddler shiver. Every time these short-hair masters looked at him like that, bad things happened. Indeed, Xue Ziliang summoned him again.

The person in the sedan chair was none other than the Gou family's second master—Lingao County's underworld boss Gou Xunli, who resided in the county seat. He had recently learned that the Bairren Rapids pirates had moved to Ma'ao Salt Field. Gou Xunli was educated, having worked county-government connections and lawsuit brokering for years—quite insightful. He knew Ma'ao Salt Field was a major county revenue source. His brother Gou Xunyi had worked hard to control it. Pirates sending forces to the salt field obviously meant seizing this prize. A few days ago, he had heard from yamen sources: the pirates had met with Secretary Wang, demanding salt-tax collection rights. Gou Second knew trouble was coming. He quickly ordered his chair prepared for the manor. Counterstrategies were urgently needed.

Unlike Gou Xunyi, modern parlance would say his "eating manner" was not so ugly. He understood leaving margins—so in the county, though feared, his reputation was not too bad. Comparatively, Gou Xunyi was someone who, right or wrong, demanded extra advantage—who feared making his bad deeds insufficiently thorough or cruel. Gou Xunli worried about his elder brother. These shaven-headed pirates were not ordinary small-time bandits. If conflict erupted, the Gou family would definitely suffer.

Gou Xunli planned to persuade Gou Xunyi: quickly send envoys to negotiate with the pirates, concede some salt-field interests—peaceful coexistence, mutual profit. He figured these pirates intended to stay for the long term. They were powerful—attaching to them might mean short-term losses, but that was not necessarily bad. While pondering how to convince his hot-tempered brother, the sedan suddenly stopped. He opened his eyes. "What's happening?"

The head guard came to report: "A peddler on the road is crying grievances."

Gou Xunli cursed. "Damn it." Probably the manor guards had robbed another peddler. These thugs only knew lawlessness—did not even understand "don't eat grass near your burrow." Annoyed, he waved dismissively: "Drive him away."

Just as he spoke—twang—a bowstring sounded. A crossbow bolt suddenly embedded itself in the lead porter's neck. Eyes rolling back, man and chair collapsed together. The party dissolved into chaos.

With a whistle, four men burst from the roadside—all wielding gleaming short blades. Before guards could draw weapons, throats were slashed and they crumpled, blood gushing. Things happened too fast to react. Panicking guards forgot to draw their swords and swung sheathed weapons at the attackers.

Ye Mengyan had no time to savor his first kill. Seeing a guard charging him with a twisted face, swinging a sheathed sword, he involuntarily retreated, tripped over a corpse, and fell on his backside. His heart seized with terror: Mom, I'm dead! Mind blank, hands thrust out instinctively, holding his knife. The sharp blade slid in like cutting tofu—effortlessly buried to the hilt. Ye Mengyan watched this man's eyes bulge and face contort, then watched him collapse. His intestines spilled out. Ye Mengyan's stomach churned—he vomited his lunch of compressed rations, projectiling far and accurately onto the face of the maidservant cowering under the chair. The little girl, already paralyzed by the carnage, catching this sour-smelling "facial," immediately fainted.

Though outnumbered, the guards were completely unprepared. The initial rush killed four. Arrows kept flying from the bushes. Nobody had the stomach for fighting—everyone scattered. On the ground: six corpses, two wounded, three captured—including one maidservant. Regrettably, the sedan's master had bolted the instant the chair tipped—fast as a rabbit.

Xue Ziliang ordered: leave the wounded and the woman—tie up the prisoners and move. Ye Mengyan, however, noticing the pretty girl, insisted on taking her. Xue Ziliang, disgusted, had a prisoner carry the girl. The group hurriedly retreated. These were not professional soldiers—post-kill jitters made them nervous. Herding their prisoners, they ran frantically, too exhausted to feel tired. Seeing the team's pale faces, Xue Ziliang quickly radioed Bairren Fortress for a pickup vehicle. By the time they returned to camp and completed the handoff and reports, everyone was already vomiting heavily.

(End of Chapter)