The battlefield still stank of gunpowder.
Not the clean, sharp scent of fireworks—but the thick, choking bitterness that clung to the throat and refused to leave. Dust hung low in the air, mixed with smoke and the iron tang of blood.
Groups of defeated soldiers squatted on the ground in tight knots, hands clasped behind their heads, eyes hollow. Their weapons had already been confiscated and stacked neatly in the distance, forming grim little piles of surrendered violence.
Across the field, children ran like ants.
They darted between footprints and bloodstains, crouching, squinting, poking at clumps of grass and overturned stones. Whenever soone shouted—
"I found one!"
—others sward over.
Xing Honglang stood with her arms folded, watching.
She'd issued a simple order earlier: two copper coins for every lead bullet recovered.
That was all it took.
For children who normally counted a single copper as a treasure, this battlefield had turned into a gold mine.
Adults joined in too, though far fewer. Anyone with real strength had already been hired for heavier work—digging graves, dragging bodies, filling pits. That paid better.
Death, after all, always paid better.
"Report!"
A squad leader jogged up, fist to chest.
"Wang Guozhong has been executed. Confird dead." He swallowed. "Two hundred and thirteen fierce bandits killed in battle. Two thousand seven hundred and forty-six captured alive."
Xing Honglang nodded once. Calm. Clean.
"Process them the sa way as last ti," she said. "Able-bodied rebels go straight to the labor reform camp."
"Yes, ma'am!"
The man turned and ran.
As the dust settled, Xing Honglang's brow furrowed—just slightly.
"We didn't hand over a single captive to the court," she said quietly. "Every last one went to Gao Family Village. From the court's perspective, that's no different from killing them all."
She exhaled.
"When Yang He arrives… will this really pass cleanly?"
A head popped into view beside her.
Lao Nanfeng.
He looked far too relaxed for a man standing on a fresh battlefield.
"Boss Xing," he chuckled, "you still don't quite understand how the court thinks."
Xing Honglang glanced sideways. "Enlighten ."
"For a surrendered general like Wang Guozhong?" Lao Nanfeng waved his hand dismissively. "The court couldn't care less if he lived or died. He defected yesterday. He's disposable."
Xing Honglang blinked.
"And his three thousand n?" Lao Nanfeng continued. "Worthless. Worse than worthless—a burden. Feed them, pay them, watch them like hawks in case they rebel again. From the court's point of view, you didn't kill assets. You eliminated a headache."
A pause.
"Privately," he added with a grin, "they'll be delighted."
Xing Honglang frowned. "Privately isn't enough."
"Exactly." Lao Nanfeng nodded. "Which is why appearances matter. On the surface, we still need a story. A reason. That's where our move cos in—sending soone ahead to complain to Yang He first."
He smiled thinly.
"Accuse before being accused."
Realization dawned.
"So that's how it is," Xing Honglang murmured.
She straightened.
"Alright. Before Yang He arrives, hide the cannons. Most of the firelocks too. Leave only a few smoothbore bird-guns out in the open."
She paused, then beckoned.
"flat rabbit. Co here."
The flat rabbit trotted over, ears twitching, grin already loaded with mischief.
"What is it?" he asked brightly. "Need to take credit for sothing again?"
"When Yang He arrives," Xing Honglang said, "Chuwu, Daniu, Lao Nanfeng, Zao Ying—all of them are staying out of sight."
flat rabbit froze. "Huh? Why then?"
"They're not suitable."
"Not… suitable?" He puffed up. "Sister-in-law, that hurts."
"Lao Nanfeng looks like a governnt soldier even when he's asleep," Xing Honglang said flatly. "The others have lived in Gao Family Village too long. They're missing a certain… quality."
flat rabbit leaned forward eagerly. "Ah! The heroic, wandering aura of the jianghu?"
She sighed.
"No. The unique mix of ignorance and forced bravado you only see in bandits who've never left the mountains."
She looked him up and down.
"You're perfect."
flat rabbit stared.
"…That was not a complint."
Yang He Arrives
A few days later—
Yang He arrived.
Not from the north, as expected, but by a wide, deliberate loop. From Xi'an Prefecture, eastward through Weinan, past Huayin and Mount Hua, then to Tongguan Pass. There, he boarded a vessel, crossed the Yellow River, and entered the southwestern edge of Shanxi.
Only then did he head north.
He did not go straight to Yongji Gudu Ferry.
Instead, he entered Puzhou City.
The arrival of the Supre Commander of three border regions was an event that shook the ground. Over a thousand attendants poured into the city, banners fluttering, armor gleaming.
Prefect Qiu Qianfan nearly fainted.
He welcod Yang He personally, hosted an extravagant reception, and treated every word from the Supre Commander like an imperial decree.
Yang He accepted it all calmly.
But the mont he stepped into the city—
Sothing felt wrong.
The streets were… alive.
Thin, yes. Dry, yes. But not desperate.
No corpses by the roadside. No crowds clawing for scraps.
Yang He sipped his tea.
"Prefect Qiu," he said casually, "your Puzhou seems… well governed."
Qiu Qianfan bowed hastily. "Puzhou relies heavily on trade and crafts. Though the drought has hard us, we fare slightly better than purely agricultural regions."
Yang He nodded, then set his cup down.
"On my way here," he said, "I heard rumors. About Yongji. About Xing Honglang… and Wang Guozhong."
Qiu Qianfan's expression twitched.
Yang He smiled faintly and waited.
After a mont, Qiu sighed.
"Xing Honglang has been stationed at Yongji Gudu Ferry for over a year," he began. "Since the third year of Chongzhen, when the Shaanxi bandits flooded into Shanxi."
Yang He's brows lifted. "A year? Why wasn't this reported?"
"It was," Qiu replied bitterly. "Repeatedly. But the Governor and the General-in-Chief were too busy chasing Wang Jiayin across the province. No one spared attention for a single water fortress."
"And in this year?" Yang He asked softly.
Qiu's voice lowered.
"She didn't harass the people. She destroyed Old Zhang Fei's bandit group. She brought grain. She hired locals, paid wages, built fortifications."
Yang He stared.
"That sounds less like a rebel," he said slowly, "and more like a magistrate."
Qiu hesitated, then added, "She's more salt smuggler than rebel. Puzhou has always been a hub for smugglers. Most are rchants at heart."
Yang He said nothing.
Suspicion flickered—but so did curiosity.
Finally, he asked, "And Wang Guozhong?"
Qiu exhaled.
"After he arrived… conflict was inevitable."
Outside, banners snapped in the wind.
History had already moved on.
And Yang He, whether he liked it or not, had arrived too late.
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