With the kitchen tidied up, the two felt energized rather than exhausted, so they decided to head back up the mountain to gather more firewood. If the drought eventually broke into a prolonged rainy spell, they would surely need plenty of dry wood.
Armed with machetes and ropes, they carried their tools openly—a simple ruse to look like ordinary villagers in case they ran into anyone.
As expected, there were still villagers wandering the outer edges of the mountain, though it was a futile effort. With even the weeds withered and dead, finding wild vegetables or mushrooms was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Ignoring them, the pair pushed deeper until they reached the edge of the inner forest, where human footprints rarely touched the earth.
Qiao Xin scanned the surroundings. Seeing no one, she pulled a chainsaw from the dimension. Lin Qing took aim at a long-dead tree and fired up the saw; in less than two minutes, the trunk snapped at the roots and crashed to the forest floor. He moved immediately to the next.
Qiao Xin busied herself with the smaller deadwood, chopping it down with a handheld blade. Aside from the trees, there wasn’t much of value here—perhaps a ginseng or a lingzhi might be hidden somewhere, but their repeated trips had yet to yield such a treasure.
By the time the sun began to slant toward the horizon, they finally stopped. Qiao Xin went around and collected all the fallen trees into the dimension; they would finish chopping them into firewood inside the space later that night.
“Xinxin, time to head back,” Lin Qing said, wiping sweat from his forehead. The forest was stiflingly humid, and their exertion left them feeling sticky and uncomfortable.
Qiao Xin tucked the chainsaw and large axe into the dimension, leaving only two small bundles of thin twigs on the outside for show. “Right. Let’s hurry back; it’s far too hot.”
Each of them carried a bundle of firewood down the mountain. Qiao Xin felt the load on her back—it seemed light as a feather, practically weightless—and they reached the foot of the hill while chatting away.
From a distance, they saw their courtyard gate standing wide open. They were certain they had locked it before leaving. They exchanged a look and quickened their pace.
The courtyard had been sparse to begin with, but the air-dried meat hanging under the eaves was gone. There were puddles of water near the well and a mess of muddy footprints everywhere. Qiao Xin ducked into the room and saw the wooden chest wide open. It had only held a few of Lin Qing’s old outfits—everything of real value was kept in the dimension—and while the clothes had been ransacked, at least they were still there. During the day, she would swap their large, comfortable bed for the original, rickety one; sure enough, the tattered, foul-smelling bedding they had left on it was missing. How short-sighted, she thought. She didn’t realize that to the starving villagers, even the rags she and Lin Qing detested were prizes worth stealing.
Lin Qing checked the kitchen. The jars of oil and salt were gone, as were their two iron pots and the vegetable cleaver. In the storage room, quite a few things had vanished as well, including the hoe and sickle Lin Qing’s father had once used.
“Well, isn’t that nice? They waited until we were out of the house to rob us blind,” Qiao Xin said, grinding her teeth. Though they hadn’t lost anything truly valuable, the indignity was hard to swallow. She was just glad the mule and the cart were currently tucked away in the dimension; otherwise, they would certainly have been stolen too.
Lin Qing quickly tried to calm her down. “Don’t get angry, it’s not worth it. Let’s eat first. When it’s completely dark, we’ll go and see exactly who is so blind that they’d dare to rob us.”
“Hmph! Who else but the village chief or the Qiao family could be this wicked?” Qiao Xin huffed. The round, healthy cheeks she had been cultivating over the last few days only made her look even more adorable as she pouted.
Lin Qing couldn’t resist—he leaned in and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. Qiao Xin glared at him fiercely. “Our house has been robbed, and you still have the nerve to flirt with me!”
“My wife is just too cute, I couldn’t help it. Alright, don’t be angry. I’m hungry; let’s eat. I want braised pork ribs… hm, the pork from the dimension will surely taste better than anything we’ve had before. Should we slaughter one of the pigs tomorrow?” Lin Qing tried to change the subject.
Pork? He had just suggested slaughtering a pig, and now he was promising the “dimension” quality—my wife is certainly not the type to let a slight go, I’m shivering just thinking about it.
They ate their fill inside the space and emerged into the night. It had only been dark for a short while, and Qiao Xin was still snacking on large, sweet grapes, unable to stop. “Let’s go,” she said, speaking around a mouthful.
Lin Qing looked at her with amusement. She was still just as vengeful as she had ever been, insisting on settling scores that very same day; otherwise, she’d be so worked up she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
They had changed into clothes suited for movement before stepping out. The village was pitch black; everyone went to bed early to save energy. The only exception was the village chief’s house. Because he lived off the bribes and “respect” paid by the villagers, he was essentially the local despot. In the early years, anyone who defied him was crushed by his underhanded tactics. Now, everyone in the village—save for Lin Qing, the landless hunter—was firmly under his thumb. He spent his days monopolizing the water supply, bullying neighboring villages, and plotting in the shadows.
The village chief’s audacity stemmed largely from his eldest son. When they were young, the son had studied martial arts for a few years with the eldest son of the Qiao family. While that Qiao brother eventually became a professional bodyguard, the village chief’s son, Qiao Dahu, became a local tyrant. He was vicious and loved to throw his weight around, but he wasn’t a complete fool. Alongside his father, he controlled the village’s land trade, skimming profits at every turn. Anyone with an important family matter had to grease their palms to get things done. When they had extra cash, they even bought shops in town to collect rent, which, combined with their own vast farmlands, allowed them to live in true luxury.
Ignorance truly bred fearlessness. With nothing but this hollow power, Qiao Dahu dared to run wild. Two years prior, he had ruined a girl from a neighboring village; her family, terrified of his brutality, didn’t dare to speak out, eventually driving the daughter to hang herself just to preserve the family’s remaining reputation.
Lin Qing recalled these details from the original owner’s memories. Regardless of the specifics, he had never held a high opinion of this village chief. He hadn’t sought him out after selling the tiger, but since the man had decided to provoke him, he shouldn’t blame Lin Qing for paying him back tenfold.
The two leaped over the wall and into the courtyard with barely a whisper. Outside the main room, the lamp was still lit. Inside, the chief and his eldest son were drinking wine, accompanied by a plate of meat—the very same air-dried meat stolen from Lin Qing’s home.
The chief’s wife sat to the side, smiling. “Eldest, this meat is really good, though there’s so little of it. Isn’t that Lin Qing a hunter? Did you guys not find where he hid the rest?”
Qiao Dahu set down his cup. “Mother, the yard is only so big. We searched every inch; that was the only strip of meat. Old Lin is dead, and it’s a miracle a half-grown kid survived this long. Now that he’s saddled with that girl, they’ll be dead sooner or later anyway.”
“That’s true. The way that kid pulled out silver that day so easily, I thought he was loaded. The old woman almost believed him,” the wife said, looking dissatisfied as she spat on the floor.
Under the candlelight, the village chief’s eyes grew dark and unreadable. “Enough. Go to sleep. Be careful these next two days. Tell Qiao Mazi to keep his mouth shut. If word gets out, he won’t be staying in this village.”
“Don’t worry, Father. Qiao Mazi is tight-lipped; it’s not the first time we’ve done this.” Qiao Dahu finished his wine and rose to leave. As he stepped out the door, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck and collapsed to the ground with a thud.
The chief and his wife heard the noise and rushed out. They had barely seen their son lying at the threshold before they, too, lost consciousness.
Qiao Xin and Lin Qing each took a target, gently lowering them to the ground so as not to stir the rest of the house. They waited a moment, but the other rooms remained pitch black—no one else emerged.
They moved quickly into the chief’s bedroom to ransack the place. The family hid their secrets deep; Qiao Xin accidentally kicked a raised bump on the floor, and a hidden compartment clicked open. Inside a box sat five hundred taels of silver in perfect stacks, along with house deeds, land deeds, eighty taels of loose silver, three silver hairpins, one gold hairpin, and a thick silver bracelet—all brand new.
In a famine year, a mere village chief is this wealthy? This stash likely included the money from the original owner’s tiger sale. They swept everything into the dimension. They continued to tear the room apart, finding another thirty-odd taels of silver, a cabinet full of refined grain, two bags of brown sugar, some fine salt, and a basket of eggs. People here were accustomed to keeping vital food and wealth in their private rooms, controlling the family by controlling the resources. They didn’t bother with anything else they deemed worthless.
Qiao Xin didn’t believe the chief’s family wouldn’t have a cellar. Finally, they found the entrance in the woodshed. My word! It held even more grain than Lin Qing had stored. They cleaned it out completely, saving the family the trouble of hauling it all on the road once they were eventually forced to flee.