47: Another truth

Lin Feng's fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before descending.

He named a newly created project folder: [Old Crow Mountain · 1863].

He didn't start editing immediately. Instead, he created a new document, his fingertips tapping on the keyboard as a detailed script framework quickly took shape.

For this short film, he wanted to change perspectives.

It wouldn't be a high-and-mighty historical judgment, nor a compassionate hymn to heroes.

He wanted to tell a story about Bandits.

Not to whitewash them, and certainly not to smear them; he simply wanted to present another overlooked truth—the ordinary people who stood on the opposite side of the "treasure," what they experienced, and why they met their demise.

The visions granted to him by the system provided an omniscient perspective.

He could see the tragic heroism of the Taiping Army, and naturally, he could also see the stupidity and despair of the Bandits.

Lin Feng closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking back into that memory of blood and fire.

The scenes reversed, returning to the day before the Taiping Army attacked the mountain.

In the Loyalty Hall of Old Crow Mountain, the lights were dim and smoke swirled in the air.

One-Eyed Dragon sat regally on a tiger-skin chair, with a dozen leaders of varying expressions standing below him.

"Great Chief, a group has arrived at the foot of the mountain. Looking at their posture, they don't seem like friendly folk." A small leader with a face like a skinny monkey bowed, his tone carrying a hint of nervousness.

One-Eyed Dragon exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, his remaining eye squinting.

"Government troops?" He curled his lip. "I've been on this mountain for over ten years; what kind of government troops haven't I seen? What's there to panic about!"

"Big Brother, the ones who came this time... don't seem like government troops." Another burly man with a thick beard spoke hesitantly. "They aren't wearing the uniforms of the Qing Demons; they look more like... Long-Haired Rebels."

"Long-Haired Rebels?" The tiger-skin chair beneath One-Eyed Dragon's rear let out a groan as he suddenly sat up straight. "The Taiping Army? What are they doing in this godforsaken place of ours?"

"Not sure. But every one of them is carrying bulging packs. The boys watched from a distance; it looks like they've been chased by the Qing Army with nowhere to hide and are looking for a place to settle down."

One-Eyed Dragon fell silent for a few seconds. A flash of wariness first crossed his single eye, which was then replaced by intense greed.

He suddenly split his mouth into a grin and laughed.

"Well, that's just perfect!" He slapped his thigh. "Those Long-Haired Rebels have been looting everywhere; they're loaded! Robbing them will be much better than robbing those dirt-poor peasants!"

"The Great Chief is wise!"

A chorus of agreement immediately rang out from below. Everyone's eyes lit up as if they could already see mountains of gold and silver.

The next day, before the morning mist had fully dissipated.

Centurion Li led three hundred Taiping Army soldiers to the base of the ridge.

One-Eyed Dragon stood on the stockade wall, watching the figures below who carried heavy packs yet still walked with steady steps. His eyes were practically glowing green with greed.

"Brothers!" He raised an arm and shouted, his voice slightly distorted by excitement. "The chance to strike it rich is right before our eyes!"

In the next second, the horn of battle was sounded by greed.

The Bandits held the geographical advantage. From their high vantage point, they rained down logs and stones as if they cost nothing.

On the mountain path, the Taiping Army's formation was instantly thrown into chaos, and screams rose one after another.

Seeing the Taiping Army soldiers being smashed until they were bloodied, the Bandits on the wall erupted in bursts of wild laughter, as if they were enjoying an entertaining play.

But soon, their laughter caught in their throats.

The people on the mountain path simply didn't know the meaning of retreat.

When the people in front fell, those behind stepped over their companions' corpses and continued to charge upward without a hint of hesitation.

One Taiping Army soldier had his chest pierced by a sharp arrow, yet he acted as if nothing had happened, clutching a massive rock and climbing upward until a second arrow pierced his throat, causing him to crash down.

There was another even more terrifying sight: a man whose legs were snapped by a rolling log used a broken saber to prop himself up, dragging two bloody legs and crawling over ten meters on the steep slope before finally falling silent from blood loss.

"Are... are they even damn well human?" A Bandit watched the figures below who were unafraid of death, his hand trembling as he gripped his blade.

One-Eyed Dragon's expression also completely changed.

He had seen desperate men, and his own subordinates were all ruthless characters, but he had never seen an army that treated their own lives as if they were nothing!

"Hold! Everyone hold the line!" He roared at the top of his lungs, his voice tinged with a fear he hadn't even noticed himself.

However, it was all in vain.

Two hours later, when a blood-soaked Centurion Li led the remaining forty-odd men onto the stockade wall, the Bandits' psychological defenses completely collapsed.

*Thud!*

One-Eyed Dragon's knees went weak, and he knelt heavily on the ground. There was no longer any ferocity in his single eye, only pure terror.

"Spare us, brave heroes! We surrender! We surrender!"

Centurion Li looked at him coldly and slowly raised his hand.

"Kill them all."

Those three cold words pronounced the death sentence for everyone.

"No! Don't!" One-Eyed Dragon was scared out of his wits, kowtowing desperately until his forehead was soon bloodied. "Heroes! We have money! There are gold and silver treasures in the fortress! We'll give it all to you! Just please spare our lives!"

Centurion Li slowly crouched down, his blood-stained face leaning close to him.

"How many people have you robbed?"

One-Eyed Dragon was stunned.

"How many people have you killed?"

One-Eyed Dragon opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.

"So," Centurion Li's voice was terrifyingly calm, "why should I spare you?"

A flash of a blade.

A head rolled.

Lin Feng snapped his eyes open and let out a long breath. His fingertips clattered on the keyboard, quickly transforming the images in his mind into a written script.

[Scene 1: Inside the Loyalty Hall, candlelight flickers. One-Eyed Dragon and the various leaders discuss looting, their eyes full of greed, their words filled with arrogance and disdain.]

[Scene 2: On the mountain path, logs fall. The Bandits sneer on the stockade wall, watching the Taiping Army fall in waves.]

[Scene 3: The Bloody Charge. The Taiping Army climbs up over the corpses of their comrades. The Bandits' smiles gradually freeze, finally turning into terror.]

[Scene 4: Atop the stockade wall, One-Eyed Dragon kneels and begs for mercy; Centurion Li's blade falls.]

[Scene 5: Deep in the cave, the Bandits' corpses are casually tossed down, piling up with the remains of the Taiping Army, no longer distinguishable.]

[Scene 6: Before the firelight, Centurion Li takes one last look at the cave, his expression complex and unreadable, then turns and leaves.]

[Subtitle: History has no absolute right or wrong, only individual perspectives. But some choices seal one's fate from the very beginning.]

With the script finished, Lin Feng began to call upon the system's asset library.

He pulled those vivid visionary images with ease, precisely timing them to every point in the script.

This time, he completely abandoned the Taiping Army's perspective. The lens was always focused on those Bandits—their greed, arrogance, fear, and despair, until their final deaths.

There was no beautification, nor was there a need to demonize; it was simply a cold and objective presentation.

The editing work continued until dawn.

When the first ray of morning light pierced through the gap in the curtains and cast a spot of light in the study, Lin Feng pressed the final shortcut key.

[Rendering Complete]

He clicked on the finished product and watched it in full from beginning to end.

The ten-minute short film had no narration or explanation, only the most primal environmental sounds.

The wild laughter of the Bandits, the shouts of the Taiping Army, the clashing of weapons, and the sound of tearing flesh.

All sound stopped abruptly at the end. The screen froze on the silhouette of Centurion Li standing before the soaring fire, turning his back to descend the mountain, desolate and resolute.

Lin Feng nodded, opened the Bilibili creator backend, and uploaded the video.

Title: [Old Crow Mountain · 1863—The Forgotten Other Side]

Description: [The content of this film is an artistic creation based on relevant historical data and does not represent any established position. This film is dedicated to the memory of those nameless individuals swallowed by the torrent of history.]

[Warning: This video contains some violent and bloody scenes; please watch at your own discretion.]

Click, publish.

Lin Feng leaned back against his chair and slowly closed his eyes.

Outside the window, the city began to wake up, and the sounds of traffic and horns gradually became clear.