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The way Yang Qiang sees it, the world runs on four words: sharp blade, hard fist. On sheer nerve and muscle, he guards his brother and sister and holds his own patch of hill.\nThat day, he and his siblings had just robbed a train of merchants and were settling in to celebrate over meat and wine, when a ragged old refugee stumbled in and spoiled it.\nYang Qiang was in a foul mood. He got up, meaning to teach the old man a lesson for daring to make trouble on his turf.\nBut the old man's words landed like a boulder on his chest.\n"The invaders have taken Luancheng. How long do you think this hill of yours will last? Sooner or later, you and your brother and sister will die on a Khitan blade too."\nFor the first time in his life, the fine wine in his hand lost all its flavor. What a way to kill the mood.\nHis hill. His turf... The invaders were coming, coming to take even his hill? And his brother, his sister...\n"Not a chance." He shot to his feet and dashed the wine bowl to the ground. Between the three of them passed a wordless understanding.\n"Move out! I'd damn well like to see whose blade is harder, ours or those Khitan dogs'!"