Chapter3:Mutual Brawl

Summer of 1082

Bait Hatif Village, on the edge of the Nasaha Desert in southern Aserel.

The area around the village of Beit Hatif was densely planted with date palms.

The leaves of the date palms curled up in the sunlight, and clusters of date fruits hung heavily from the branches. The fruits were cylindrical or oval in shape, dark brown in color, with a slight sheen on their surfaces, resembling strings of exquisite jewels.

　　Wahan sat on the sand, leaning against a large rock, and sighed to himself, "If these dates were gems, how wealthy we would be! What kind of life do those high-ranking officials lead in their castles?"

　　"There you are, I finally found you," Ramto said, leaning on his knees with his sturdy arms, panting, "Come with me, quickly." Ramto waved his hands and turned to run away.

"What's going on? What happened?" Wahan quickly stood up and ran after him.

　　"Hurry up! Those brats from Mabwaz are here again. They threw stones into our well. Rada saw them and tried to stop them, but he got beaten up," Ramto ran toward the west end of the village without looking back.

　　"Those little brats, I'll go get the pole," Wahan said as he ran toward a date palm tree, picked up the pole leaning against the old tree, and ran toward the western end of the village.

Under the scorching sun, Wahan's dark back shone brightly. He was tall and well-proportioned, with clearly defined muscle lines. Wahan's head was topped with jet-black, shiny hair that glistened in the sunlight. His hair was combed back and tied into a small braid, while the sides of his head were shaved flat. His hands were long and strong, his face handsome, his complexion slightly dark, and his jawline firm. His black eyes were unusually resolute, as if they could pierce through one's soul.

From childhood, Wahan had helped his parents tend to the date palms on this sandy land. Later, his father became a soldier for the Emir, leaving the household chores to Wahan and his older brother Nong. This was the family's livelihood—and the livelihood of the entire village, as it seemed everyone in the village depended on these date palms for survival.

In this arid desert fringe, water was scarce, making survival increasingly difficult. However, in areas with abundant rainfall, the feudal lords would never allow others to cultivate wheat on their lands. It seemed that generation after generation had always planted date palms in this desert fringe.

　　As the two approached the dilapidated house at the western edge of the village, they spotted Rada crouching beside the ruins, with two young men standing beside her.

"Look, Ramto and his men are coming!" one of the young men shouted, pointing toward Ramto and his group in the distance. Rada stood up and, along with the other young man, looked in the direction he was pointing.

　　"I knew they'd come. We're brothers, after all," Lada said joyfully.

　　"Of course they did!" the other young man agreed.

　　Lamtuo and Wahan ran over. "What's the situation now?" Wahan asked. One of the young men hurriedly pointed to a large dead tree about a hundred meters away on the other side of the earthen wall and said, "Those bastards are still throwing stones into the well."

　　"Why are you hiding here? Go stop them!"

　　"We can't beat them; there are seven of them," said Rada.

"Let's do it!" Wahhan looked at Ramtuo. Ramtuo nodded vigorously and bent down to pick up a dry branch about the length of his arm. Ramtuo was tall and muscular, with arms bulging like mountains.

　　"Let's go together!" Wahhan said, raising his shoulder pole and running toward the large dead tree. Ramtu followed closely behind, while the other two young men rolled up their sleeves and strode forward.

"Wait for me!" Rada hurriedly straightened up and ran after them.

The old well under the large dead tree was the village's only water source. A few years ago, when there was slightly more rain, the large dead tree could barely survive with the old well and sparse rainfall, sprouting tender leaves.

In recent years, rainfall has become even scarcer, and the nearby Nari River has long since exposed its riverbed. Young children no longer know what the Nari River looked like when it had water.

In the past two years, it has been even worse. There has been no rain, and even during the rainy season, the sun still hangs high in the sky. The Nari River winds from south to north, cutting the entire Asele region in half, flowing northward into the narrow sea.

"Stop! Do you know what you're doing?!" Wahhan swung his扁担 and shouted loudly from the edge of the well.

Several people from Mabwaz Village were moving stones in the nearby depression and turned to look at the dark-skinned teenager. "I thought it was someone else, but it's just Old Black picking jujubes," one of the young men in a hemp shirt said with a smile. "Last time at the Nari North Bridge, you got away. This time, you're trying to make up for the bruises you got last time."

"Do you really think I'm afraid of you?"

"Let's go together," another young man standing in the depression shouted. Immediately, several people charged toward Wahhan.

The young man in the lead stepped forward, saw the shoulder pole about to come down, and quickly raised his forearm to block it, taking a solid blow from the shoulder pole and staggering backward.

Another person knocked Wahhan to the ground, and the young man in the hemp cloth robe hurried to grab the shoulder pole. Just as he grabbed it, he was kicked in the waist. The young man in the hemp robe rolled backward and stumbled into the hollow. Lam Tuo pulled his leg back and stood firm, then picked up a dry branch and struck the man lying on top of Wahan. Several blows landed, and the man winced in pain and quickly rolled to the side to avoid further blows.

　　Immediately, someone grabbed Ramtuo, holding his swinging arm. Another bald-headed youth swung his fist toward Ramtuo's face.

Wahan, leaning on the扁担, kicked the man who had been struck several times to the ground, then swung the扁担 at the bald-headed youth. Ramtuo took several punches to the face, lost his balance, and fell backward. The bald man couldn't pull his fist back in time, and his shoulder was struck by the扁担 with a loud crack, causing him to stumble sideways. Wahan swung the扁担 at the legs, waists, and arms of the other men, who screamed and cursed in pain. Ramtu, though dazed, didn't forget to elbow the man behind him in the ribs. The man was pinned under Lam Tuo, unable to use his strength, and tore at Lam Tuo's hemp clothes, crying out in pain.

Zayin ran and kicked a man standing in a hollow, who fell hard onto a pile of stones, his buttocks bleeding from the impact. The man covered his buttocks with one hand and propped himself up with the other.

　　Several other people from Mabuwa Village picked up stones from the ground and threw them at Zayin. Before they could react, Wahan took a big step forward, swung his shoulder pole in a wide arc, catching them off guard and preventing them from throwing stones.

　　Zhan ran toward one of them, mounted him, and struck him repeatedly on the ear with his fists. The young man in the hemp robe kicked at Zhan, who was knocked over and landed on his side, wrestling with the man he had been mounted on earlier.

Zayan grabbed the hemp robe of the young man, pressed his head down, and kicked him in the face with his knee. The young man in the hemp robe reached out to block the knee several times, but after being hit by a flat stick, his arms lost balance, and he ended up connecting his face with the two knees, screaming in pain. He then kicked forward, knocking Zha Yin to the ground, and the two wrestled in the pile of broken stones.

　　Lada was already wrestling with one of the slender youths, both rolling on the ground, neither willing to give in. Since Lada was heavier, he wasn't as agile as the youth and took several punches to the stomach, face, and waist. Lada had already been beaten once, and now he was being hit again. His slightly swollen eyelids were puffy, and the bloodstains on his neck were clearly visible; At some point, one of his feet was bare, and sharp stones had cut it open, causing blood to flow. Lada held onto the boy tightly, pinning him to the ground and sitting on top of him. The boy was trapped beneath him, unable to move. Lada pressed down on the boy's arms with both hands. The boy twisted his body, as if trying to break free, but he was powerless to do so.

　　Wahan swung his扁担 and faced off against the remaining three. One of them dragged his right leg, as if he were lame, huddling behind a large rock in the hollow, his eyes unfocused yet fixated on the扁担, fearing it might strike him again; he covered his buttocks with his hands, but bloodstains still smeared the rock.

　　Another man dangled one arm limply, swinging it without any strength, roaring angrily but dared not move forward.

The bald man's head was covered in blood mixed with mud and sand, whether from sweat or blood mixed with mud, covering half his face.

　　Wahan dragged his leg, moving in small steps, unsure who had thrown the stone at his thigh. Wahan shouted, "I'll see who dares to move," while his shoulder pole trembled with anticipation. He occasionally glanced sideways at his companions, fearing they might be overpowered, yet also dreading that their movements might shift the balance of power.

　　Lam Tuo had already broken free and beaten the man who had initially held him to the ground, leaving only half of the dry branch in his hand. He stood up and kicked the man repeatedly with his feet. Once he saw the man was unable to fight back, he dropped the half-broken stick and surveyed the current situation. He noticed the young man in the hemp robe, pinned down by Zayin, reaching behind him to grab a stone from the ground, seemingly intending to use it to turn the tide.

　　Lam Tuo quickly stepped forward and stomped heavily on the young man's forearm. The young man in the hemp robe screamed in pain. His arm was exposed, and the sharp stones beneath him had pierced his skin.

　　Lam Tuo stomped on him twice more, muttering, "Why aren't you screaming now, you dog? Do you really think we're afraid of you? Afraid of you Mabwaz? Huh?"

　　Then, Lam Tu kicked the young man in the head with his leg. The young man in the hemp robe had already been pinned down and beaten by Zayin for a while, and now he had fainted.

　　The others saw this scene and felt their hearts race, their bodies trembling. The skinny teenager pinned down by Lada had been beaten the least, and hadn't even been hit yet. But seeing the scene, he cried tears streaming down his face, yet he could not move.

"You bastard, you're crying now. I've been beaten twice, but I didn't cry like you," La Da said, spitting on the skinny teenager's face, but his hands still firmly held the teenager's arms.

　　Lam Tuo was the first to break free and helped Zayin deal with the person beneath him. Seeing that Lam Tuo and Zayin were not seriously injured and could still fight, the people from Mabuwa Village lost their resolve and stopped moving. The young man with blood flowing from his buttocks remained slumped against the large rock, his head drooping.

　　Zana stood up, glanced at the others, and when his gaze fell on the well, his face hardened. He kicked the man who had been fighting him earlier in the face. The man couldn't block the kick in time and was hit, leaving a muddy mark the size of a shoe sole on his face. The man staggered and couldn't get up for a long time.

"Why did you fill our village's well?" Wahan asked, leaning on his shoulder pole. Zayin, Lamtuo, and Zana also stood up beside Wahan, staring at the people from Mabwaz Village.

Lada walked toward the bald man and stood still, slapping his face with her palm. "At first, your fists were strong. You thought you were tough, didn't you?" she said, pointing at her swollen eye. "Come on, keep hitting me, you dog..." Rada cursed as she kicked and beat the bald man.

　　The bald man sat motionless on the ground, like a chicken drenched in rain or a dog that had fallen into water.

　　Apparently exhausted from the beating, Rada turned to Lamtu and the others, "Earlier, when you weren't here, this bald man hit me the hardest. This dog."

　　Ramtuo was about to step forward when Wahhan raised his hand horizontally, signaling to stop. Ramtuo halted his steps.

"Are you deaf? Or have you been beaten senseless? Why are you filling the well? Who sent you here?" Zana spoke slowly.

　　The frail teenager helped the young man in the burlap clothes while sobbing. The young man with the drooping arm said resentfully, "No one. I just don't like you guys."

　　Ramtuo quickly walked up to this person, and Wahan no longer stopped him.

　　Ramtuo grabbed this person's dangling arm and said, "It's broken!" and turned to look at Wahan and his shoulder pole. "I'll have my father make me a shoulder pole too. It's much better than a wooden stick." As he spoke, he shook the man's broken arm, and the young man cried out in pain, begging for mercy.

　　The frail teenager saw this and hurriedly said, "The chief sent us..."

　　Before the frail teenager could finish speaking, "Lada, are you okay?" Stan Ding shouted as he ran over, "The people I called have arrived."

A group of people ran out from the dilapidated house behind him. They were the landlord and chief of Bait Hatiff, along with a group of villagers from the village, accompanied by two village militia members.

The village militia members wore tattered cotton armor, short swords at their waists, and yellow cloth boots.

　　"It seems like nothing happened. Just some petty thieves," one of the village militia members said to the landlord Shumsan, "We're going back." With that, the two village militia members turned and walked away.

　　Landlord Shumsan watched them walk away and sighed, "They eat our food, live in our houses, and only collect taxes. I haven't seen these parasites do anything useful."

　　Each village had two or three dozen resident militia members, some sent by the lord and others added through various connections. They relied entirely on the village for food and lodging, nominally helping the lord protect the village and guard the land, but now they had become tax collectors for the lord. They took dinars but were unwilling to fight the bandits to protect the villagers' interests.

　　"What's wrong with you? I told you to go get help, why did it take so long? We've already handled it ourselves," Rada said angrily.

"I went to find the village militia first, but they didn't believe what I said and ignored me. They'd rather stay in the woods to cool off than come with me to check it out. No matter what I said, they wouldn't listen. I had to go find the village chief, and together we went to find the village headman to bring two village militia members. Those village militia members told the two menial militia members to come and take a look first, then follow us later. They were just going through the motions. Those bastards..." Stan Ding finished speaking, then suddenly realized something was wrong and corrected himself, "Those sons of bitches."

　　"Who told them to do that?" asked the landlord Shumsan after glancing at the well and the others.

The landlord didn't own any land, and neither did the villagers. They all rented land from the lord. The landlord was essentially the person who rented the most land from the lord in the village. The headman rented slightly less land than the landlord, but his land area was still the second largest in the village. The landlord was also a village chief; every village seemed to have a few village chiefs.

Only those who had been rewarded by the lord for their merits had land. How could one become a person of merit? No one knew. The young people in the village had always dreamed of becoming people of merit, but like their parents, they didn't know how to achieve it.

"It should be the village chief of Mabwaz," said Wahan. "Skinny kid, keep talking."

　　The young man in the hemp robe warned the skinny teenager with his eyes, but was kicked to the ground by Ramtuo.

"If you don't tell the truth, I'll bury you in this pit," the village chief said loudly, then turned to the people beside him and said, "Go get the wheelbarrow and the sand-digging tools."

　　This pit beside the well was dug by the villagers of old to build mud-brick houses. The soil here, being close to the Nari River, had some粘性, making the mud-brick houses more resistant to wind and sand erosion compared to those built with sandy soil elsewhere. However, after years of wind and sand burial, the pit had become a shallow one. It was littered with numerous stones left over from the digging.

　　Soon, the man brought over the wheelbarrow and several tools, and a few more villagers came to help. They began digging the shallow pit deeper.

　　In this year of severe drought, this was the only well left in the village. If this well were to be filled in, the entire village would have to abandon their homes and flee. The onlookers shouted and cursed, determined to bury these few people alive.

Wahan, Lamtuo, Zana, and Zayin sat under a withered tree beside the well, tending to their wounds.

　　　　Standing leaned over the edge of the well, peering inside while muttering, "Thank goodness, I can still see water. That means those people aren't buried alive." As soon as he finished speaking, he stood up, glanced at the crowd, relaxed his brow, and walked toward Ramtuo without saying another word.

Lada was being supported by his father as he slowly moved toward the dead tree. "You're really reckless. When did you become so bold?" Lada's father scolded him.

　　Lada's father was the only horse breeder in the village. He used to raise many Nahasavi horses, but none of them were his own. Those horses belonged to the Banu Abbas family. Lada's father was just a horse feeder, earning a monthly salary for feeding the horses. However, in recent years, the weather had become dry, and there was barely enough water for people to drink, let alone enough to feed the horses.

　　By this year, there were no horses left in the enclosure; they had been taken back by the Banu Abbas family, reportedly to be raised in a place with abundant water and grass, where the horses could become powerful on the battlefield. However, in this impoverished village, those who raised horses had never seen them gallop on the battlefield.

　　"We can't live without water. With less water, the horses have disappeared. Without a well, do we have to leave this place too?" Rada looked at her father.

　　Rada's father didn't answer; he didn't know how to answer. He was just a quiet, taciturn farmer who knew a little about feeding and caring for horses, though he wasn't an expert. At the peak of horse-raising, there were dozens of horses in the enclosure, each one healthy and robust. Lada would secretly ride the foals around. Lada's father, seeing no immediate danger, pretended not to notice, smiling to himself in private, thinking that his child might one day have a livelihood like his own. But such good times were all too brief.