The bandit leader was already fleeing, one arm severed—without their leader, the rest of the thugs collapsed like a house of cards.
Logan Liew's blood was still boiling. He roared, "Let's take the fight to them and get our things back!"
The villagers shouted in agreement, eyes red with fury. They stripped the clothes off the downed bandits without a second thought.
Hooves thundered as the less greedy bandits followed their leader, charging through the villagers' blockade and out of the village.
The greedy ones who lingered to grab more loot didn't fare so well—furious villagers swarmed them, swinging hoes and sickles with reckless abandon.
Brandon Liew rushed into the courtyard, asking Clara, "Do we give chase?"
Clara's voice was cold and firm: "Of course. That leader must die."
And with that, she dashed off.
Brandon quickly called for the others to follow. A crowd of villagers surged forward, chasing the fleeing bandits past the village gates and onto the mountain trail.
But two legs couldn't keep up with four hooves, and soon the bandits widened the gap.
Only Clara continued the pursuit relentlessly. When she had the leader within range, she loosed an arrow straight at his back!
She tried to nock another, but by then the remaining bandits had vanished into the ravine. Clara aimed for a long moment, then finally lowered her bow.
With an arrow wound and one arm severed, there was no chance that man would survive.
Logan Liew and two other teenagers caught up to her, panting heavily. "Sis-ister-in-law... should we keep going?"
Clara looked at the ravine entrance, then shook her head.
When she turned around, she saw Logan's face streaked with blood—bandit blood. She couldn't help but smile. "Not bad today, kid."
Logan couldn't bring himself to smile. He had gone into a frenzy earlier, but now that he realized he might've actually killed someone, the fear began to sink in.
Clara saw the fear in the boy's eyes and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. Together, they returned to the village entrance.
Frank Liew stumbled out from the crowd and dropped to his knees in front of Clara, overcome with emotion and gratitude.
Clara quickly helped him up and gestured to the flames still raging in his backyard. "Put the fire out first."
Frank nodded repeatedly. The villagers spontaneously formed a bucket line to help extinguish the fire.
By the time the sun had fully set, the blaze was under control.
Each household sent a representative to the ancestral hall. Those who couldn't fit inside crowded the entrance, shoulder to shoulder.
"Clara's here!"
Someone called out, and the village chief, the clan elders, and Frank Liew's entire battered household stood up in unison.
Clara had gone home earlier to change out of her bloodstained clothes, reassured the frightened children, and shared a comforting meal of pork, tofu, and cabbage porridge that Lester had earnestly served up. Now she arrived at the ancestral hall carrying a red lantern.
Lester and the four kids came along, but they couldn't enter the hall.
Still, because of Clara, the villagers made room for Lester at the entrance.
Maybe it was the dim light, or maybe something else, but the looks people gave Lester tonight felt a lot warmer than usual.
He was a little overwhelmed—when had the village ever treated him like this?
He hadn't yet heard the full story, so when the villagers told him how Clara had singlehandedly routed the bandits and sent their leader fleeing, his eyes widened in disbelief. He turned toward the ancestral hall, staring at Clara in awe.
The four Liew siblings—Adam, Ben, Chad, and Deb—all looked at Clara with starry eyes. So their stepmother was this amazing?
Inside the hall, Clara took a seat on an empty bench and gestured toward the row of bandit corpses outside. "What are you planning to do with those?"
The village chief explained that someone had already been sent to report to the county authorities in Willowridge. With the distance, the earliest the constables would arrive was at dawn. Until then, the bodies had to be left where they were.
Clara nodded in understanding.
The clan elders all looked at her with kindness. One of them asked if she had anything more to say, and seeing that she did not, they moved on to business.
Clara gave a small smile and shook her head.
The clan chief rose. His eldest son stepped forward with a ledger and writing brush to begin tallying up the damages and casualties.
The mood in the hall turned solemn. Except for the households being questioned, the rest remained silent.
It was the new year, and to suffer such a calamity—no one could muster any cheer.
There were forty-two households in the Liew Clan Village, with 218 residents, mostly women, children, and the elderly.
Today, six villagers had died—two women, two elders, and two able-bodied men.
More than half had sustained injuries. There were eighty-nine with light wounds and twelve with serious ones.
Thankfully, the village doctor had survived and was now tending to the injured at Frank Liew's house.
Of the twelve serious cases, three were from Frank's family. The two deceased elders were his parents.
The Liew family's ancestral house had escaped mostly unharmed. Brandon and Logan Liew had minor injuries—some medicine and rest would do the trick.
Back home, Martha Liew burned incense and knelt in thanks to the heavens.
Old Walter Liew snorted, "If you're going to thank anyone, thank our third daughter-in-law."
Martha nodded in agreement but still gave him a warning glare. One mustn't be disrespectful to the heavens.
Old Walter's eyes reddened as he looked at the ransacked home. He took a deep breath, forced down the lump in his throat, and silently began cleaning up.
The scene was much the same across the village—some homes were devastated, others merely battered.
Once the tally was done, the clan chief began reporting the financial losses.
Because the bandits had fled in haste, most of the livestock and grain had been recovered—but the stolen money, that was another story. Most of it was gone for good.
This led to another round of praise for Clara. If she hadn't stepped up, the village might have faced total ruin.
Frank Liew, in particular, knelt again before the clan elders. He thanked Clara first, then the villagers.
"If it hadn't been for Clara and everyone here today, my whole family would've perished at the hands of the bandits. Not only did we survive, but we also managed to keep our food. So I want to offer half of our remaining grain to those who helped us defend our home today."
His words stirred the crowd. Some who had been too afraid to stand up earlier now felt deep regret.
Clara understood why Frank was doing this.
Part of it was sincere gratitude.
But the other part—well, the bandits had dragged out every last grain sack from his storerooms, laying bare just how much he'd been hoarding.
Until now, everyone knew Frank was wealthy—he owned more than half the farmland in the village—but no one knew the exact numbers.
Now they did. And once the shock of the attack wore off, people would remember.
That much grain could attract predators far worse than mountain bandits.
With all three of his sons seriously injured, his household was vulnerable. Better to distribute some now, ease the envy, and win over loyal supporters in one stroke.
It was a clever move. And for the village, fresh from the trauma of the raid, it was the kind of unity and reassurance they needed.
No one objected. Frank found a few trusted villagers to help distribute grain directly from his storerooms, right there at the ancestral hall.
The joy of receiving food, however brief, helped lift the cloud of despair the bandits had left behind.
(End of Chapter)
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