Volume One, Chapter Sixty-Five: The Desert Jackal

With a powerful kick to the jaw of the approaching sand jackal, Mode sent the nearly two-meter beast flying. The creature flailed its limbs, trying to regain balance, but was intercepted midair by another middle-aged man. Brandishing a blackened rod engulfed in flames, the man struck heavily at the jackal’s waist.

A crisp sound of bone breaking rang out. The sand jackal, whimpering, was thrown backwards and struggled on the ground, unable to stand again. A nearby aunt swiftly sliced its throat, then plunged back into the fray elsewhere.

In the distance, Mu Qing stood clutching Little Bell, watching the sudden melee unfold. Guided by Little Bell, Mode and Mu Qing hurried to the northwest of the village, only to find a large number of sand jackals had already breached the outer wooden fence and were locked in battle with the gathered villagers.

There was no need for words; having arrived, it was only right to join the fight. Mode threw himself into the battle, cooperating with the others to swiftly slaughter the invading beasts.

There were roughly fifty sand jackals. Though quick and agile, they could not withstand the villagers’ coordinated assault. The villagers covered each other’s advances and retreats, never lingering too long in combat, and every attack yielded results. Once struck, a sand jackal would often succumb to a relentless barrage and die.

By the time twenty villagers had culled half the sand jackal pack, a hoarse, piercing howl echoed from outside the village. The remaining jackals, seemingly obeying a command, turned and fled. The villagers managed to hunt down five or six more, while the rest slipped back into the chaotic lunar tide raging beyond the boundary.

It was unwise to pursue those that escaped beyond the village’s wards. Drawn by the commotion, more villagers began to gather, and soon everyone organized to clear the battlefield.

Wiping the warm blood from his fingertips, Mode handed the jackal’s carcass to a man tasked with cleaning up, then turned to search for Mu Qing. He found her standing beside Cuihua, holding Little Bell.

Cuihua was assisting Doctor Ma, the village physician, in sorting his medicine chest. In front of her, Old Liu lay on the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg, while his wife tugged his ear and scolded him.

Village Chief Shang Qingwen arrived as well. Seeing Mode approach, he nodded in gratitude.

Judging by Little Brother Qin’s skills, he was as capable as any of the village’s young men.

Mode nodded in return, then walked over to Mu Qing.

Mu Qing bent down to set Little Bell on the ground. The child darted straight toward the neatly stacked jackal corpses, tugging at their furry tails in curiosity. Other children of similar age emerged from behind their parents, poking at tonight’s extra provisions.

After learning the gist of what had happened from Mu Qing, Mode patted Cuihua’s shoulder, signaling her not to worry too much.

“It’s nothing, girl. I’m still sturdy—just got bitten once by that beast. A week or so resting and I’ll be back to normal,” Old Liu said, forcing a smile on his weathered, dark face to comfort Cuihua, who looked worried.

“Don’t worry, daughter. Doctor Ma said it’s just a superficial wound, didn’t touch the bone, it’s nothing serious,” Aunt Liu added.

Cuihua wiped her eyes and nodded.

“Yiyun, take Zhichun home to rest for a few days. Someone else can handle northwest patrols for now,” Shang Qingwen said, leaning on his cane, then looked sternly at Liu Zhichun, “Since you’re healing, stay put on the kang until Doctor Ma’s prescribed days are up. Yiyun, keep a close watch.”

“Alright!” Aunt Liu was delighted. Otherwise, her husband’s stubbornness would have him limping around the village tomorrow. Hearing the order to stay home, Liu Zhichun looked dispirited.

Watching Aunt Liu help her husband back to their house, Mode and Mu Qing saw the village chief beckon to them and walked over.

“Little Qin, your skills are extraordinary. Thank you for your help,” Shang Qingwen said, bowing slightly. The villagers gathered around grew friendlier toward the Qin siblings for their assistance.

“Not at all. Everyone’s so capable, they’d have handled these jackals just fine without me,” Mode replied, scratching his head with a modest smile.

It was only partly modest; all the villagers who joined the battle were indeed formidable, each at least a seasoned cultivator. Rather than using their powers at a distance, the honest folk of East Sand preferred to enhance their close-combat abilities.

The others found Mode increasingly agreeable—not only strong, but also well-spoken.

A few men clearing the battlefield shooed away the curious children crowding around the jackal corpses and loaded about thirty beasts onto carts, ready to deliver them to Butcher Zhang for processing.

“I saw you fought bare-handed, Little Qin. Do you lack a suitable weapon?” Shang Qingwen asked. Cuihua looked up curiously at Mode.

During the brief fight, though Mode hadn’t slain a jackal directly, he had created many openings for others, his movements agile and elusive, even when attacked by groups of five or six jackals.

This batch of jackals was stronger and cleverer than the last. Liu Zhichun, who normally patrolled the northwest, had been lured and ambushed by beasts that seemed to regain their wits. As he put it, the previously crazed jackals had suddenly become cunning, using trickery for the first time.

“Truth be told, my weapon was lost in an accident. Only the scabbard remains,” Mode replied, rubbing his nose with an embarrassed smile.

“Then you may choose a new blade at the blacksmith’s later. Cuihua knows where the shop is,” Shang Qingwen instructed, and Cuihua nodded in agreement.

“The full-moon lunar tide finally seems to be gathering strength,” the elder murmured, watching villagers repair the village perimeter.

Mode, Mu Qing, and Cuihua all paused at Shang Qingwen’s sigh.

“Do you recall the howl that summoned the jackal pack?” Shang Qingwen turned to them, fatigue evident in his gaze.

“Yes, after that howl, the jackals all ran off,” Cuihua answered honestly.

“And do you remember how they acted during previous raids?” The elder took out an old cigarette case, his dry hands caressing the lid without opening it.

“They were like rabid dogs, biting anything in sight, until we all joined in and...” Cuihua’s voice faded as she realized the oddity.

“If the lunar tide’s frenzy trades the beasts’ reason for greater strength, then among tonight’s pack, some have begun to regain their minds,” Shang Qingwen said in a lowered voice, not wanting others to hear.

“Zhichun said so too. These jackals seemed smarter—they learned to deceive and ambush. If these stronger beasts truly regain their intelligence, dealing with them will be much trickier.”

“Just assign more hands to patrol, then,” a booming voice interrupted.

Mode turned to see the middle-aged man with the black rod from earlier, who had fought alongside him.

“You’ve got good skills, young man—clean and sharp!” The man strode over, clapped Mode’s shoulder, and grinned. He then turned to Shang Qingwen, “Uncle Qingwen, I’ll take care of northwest patrols. Send a few agile lads and lasses to keep watch around the village. Those jackals won’t cause much trouble.”

“Very well, Yichan, northwest patrol is yours. But remember—not a step beyond the village’s boundary,” Shang Qingwen cautioned, then said to Cuihua, “Girl, take Little Qin and his sister to the blacksmith to pick out a weapon. I need to discuss increasing patrols with Uncle Yang.”

“Alright,” Cuihua replied, then led Mode and Mu Qing toward the blacksmith’s shop.