Chapter One: Li Mazi the Bandit

"Scarface!"

On a mountain slope within a narrow gorge between Little East Mountain and Azure Mountain—a vital pass for local travel—a middle-aged man with skin dark as charcoal, a balding head, and a squat, stocky frame slapped the shoulder of a young man beside him and shouted, "Here they come!"

At that moment, a wedding procession was passing through the gorge, drums and gongs resounding as they made their way.

The young man, whom the balding one called "Scarface," chewed a wild stalk of grass between his teeth, his face marked by an unruly, rough air. Yet he was not ill-favored; his features were quite striking in their own way, and, ironically, his skin bore not a single pockmark.

Most comical of all was his attire: he wore a scholar's robe, ill-fitting and stolen from who-knows-where, which hung awkwardly on his frame, making him look utterly absurd.

His face twisted in a cruel grin, all trace of youthful gallantry turned to bandit ferocity. He aimed a kick at the balding man and cursed, "How many times have I told you? I'm not Scarface!"

The balding man only grinned wider, unfazed. "Your father was Scarface, so you’re Scarface too!"

"Enough squabbling!"

The young man known as Scarface fixed his gaze on the bridal sedan below, his voice harsh and fierce. "Damn it! I'm already twenty and still without a wife. Today, brothers, you must help me take this woman back to the stronghold!"

They were, obviously, a band of mountain bandits.

As the wedding party drew closer, Scarface let out a roar, drew his long blade from his waist, and shouted, "Brothers, charge!"

This was a ragtag band of local brigands, devoid of tactics—just brute force. At his command, all thirteen of them surged forth, some wielding long knives, others hefting polearms, and even the worst-equipped among them gripped a sword plundered from a passing merchant. Howling, they stormed down the slope.

For mountain bandits, their weaponry was top-notch. While most gangs still fought with staves and farming tools, these men all brandished steel.

The wedding party, numbering thirty or forty, were mostly unarmed. At the sight of the onrushing bandits, the porters dropped the bride’s sedan and fled in a panic.

Relatives and bystanders scattered as well, leaving the bandits to make straight for the sedan chair.

The groom, mounted on a fine horse, was already half-dead with terror, cowering behind the sedan and shouting, "Who are you bandits? Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am?"

"Attack! Cut them down!"

Not everyone in the wedding party had fled. As the crowd scattered, five or six men in constables' black uniforms, blades at their sides, remained behind. Drawing their long swords, they shielded the sedan and the groom.

One of them, sporting a full beard, stepped forward and called out in a booming voice, "Brave men, we are constables of Qingyang County. I am their captain, and in this sedan is—"

But before he could finish, Scarface roared, "What are you waiting for? There are only a few of them!"

"Go! Bring my bride back up the mountain!"

With another collective shout, the bandits charged.

The constable captain cursed inwardly.

Damn it! Too few men!

The bandits, reckless and numerous, might be beaten, but at least half his men would be left behind—perhaps he himself among them.

Suddenly, his eyes fixed on Scarface.

"Take down the leader first!" he called, lunging at the young bandit chief.

The other constables followed, converging on Scarface.

Scarface sneered, dragging his long knife behind him. He tore off the ill-fitting scholar’s robe and cast it aside, revealing a body of knotted muscle that glistened in the sun with sweat.

He charged, bellowing, "You damn black-clad dogs, picking on fools is one thing, but now you dare stand in my way!"

"Today, no one will stop me from taking a wife!"

Their blades clashed with a shower of sparks.

The constable captain, his hands numbed by the shock, was astounded.

Such strength!

He’d trained in martial arts since childhood, but with just one blow, he nearly lost his grip on his sword.

This was a fight to the death. One slip, and his life was forfeit. He leaped back and shouted, "All together!"

Scarface showed no fear, meeting them head-on and cutting one down with a single stroke. But four hands are hard to fend off with two fists, and soon two constables had seized his legs. The captain rejoiced, but, wary of the drawn blade, flipped his sword and struck Scarface hard at the temple with the wooden hilt—a constable’s practiced move, meant to subdue without leaving a wound.

With that blow, blood streamed from Scarface’s face. He glared at the captain, eyes full of fury, but his strength ebbed and he collapsed, vision fading to black.

Just before losing consciousness, he saw his men rushing in to rescue him.

Three days later, in the main hall of the Azure Mountain stronghold.

Scarface—whose face bore no scars—sat on the threshold of his hut, gazing blankly at the sky, lost in thought.

He hadn’t slept for three days. In fact, he’d "awakened" on the second night, but even now was struggling to adjust.

How had he suddenly become a bandit, a man known as Li Scarface?

As he sat there, distracted, the familiar balding bandit came running over, looking a little uneasy.

"Scarface..."

The bald man, nicknamed Baldy, called to him carefully, swallowing nervously. "Your wife tried to hang herself again. When we found her, her face was already blue..."

Li Yun, known as Li Scarface, the young chief, turned his head stiffly. After a long breath, he interrupted, "Yesterday you told me—the bride is..."

Baldy blinked. "The magistrate's daughter from Qingyang County. I asked around."

Li Yun’s expression was rigid. He drew another deep breath and asked, "And that day... we killed...?"

"Killed a constable," Baldy replied earnestly, giving Li Yun a big thumbs-up. "Chief, you were magnificent—one stroke and he was dead. By the time the brothers got there, the rest of the constables had already run..."

"Enough," Li Yun grated through clenched teeth. "Don’t say another word!"

He stood abruptly and strode across the small stronghold to his "wife’s" room. There, gazing at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, Li Yun’s face sagged, almost on the verge of tears. "Miss, may I send you down the mountain?"

The magistrate’s daughter was weeping, delicate as a flower in the rain, a picture of misery. She shot Li Yun a venomous glare, then, without a word, climbed onto a stool and reached for the noose.

"Bah!" She spat in his face before slipping her head into the rope.

In this era, no one would believe that a bride taken by bandits and held for three days was still innocent.

After spitting, she resolutely slipped her neck into the noose and, without hesitation, kicked the stool away.

Li Yun sighed, stepping forward with practiced ease to catch her legs and lift her down from the rope.

At this moment, he could only feel helpless.

It was over—he had committed all the gravest crimes.

Or, more precisely, Li Scarface had.

This bandit’s identity was now bound to him, inescapably...