The shouts from the walls came first.
"Bandits retreating!"
"They're running!"
"Hahaha!"
The sentries whooped with joy. "Look at them go! They came swaggering in, and now they're rolling back uphill like scared dogs!"
The whole Baijia Fort erupted into cheers.
Especially the twenty-four teams hauling the cannon-rounds—those folks laughed the loudest. Of course they did: they were the heroes of this battle. Nobody else even swung a blade; who could possibly steal their thunder today?
Cheng Xu, just as delighted, pointed toward the dust-choked slope. "Alright, little brothers—keep your eyes glued to that hillside! Once the bandits pull back for good, send a few fast-footed lads up to confirm. If they're truly gone, round up the laborers and get those shells picked up!"
This kind of grunt work didn't need his personal attention; the deputy inspector and banner men would manage it.
As for him?
His job was to write the report claiming all the glory.
He returned to his room humming, laid out fresh paper, and enthusiastically wrote:
"Bandit chiefs Buzhan-Ni and Zuogua-Zi rallied ten thousand rebels to assault Baijia Fort. Though I, your loyal servant, commanded but one hundred men, I vowed to defend Chengcheng County with my very life. Thus, I organized the villagers, chopped timber, built… flying missiles to repel the enemy…"
His brush froze.
"Flying missiles."
A term he had borrowed from Bai Gongzi. Nobody in this era had ever heard such a phrase.
If he wrote this into the memorial… would His Majesty even understand it?
The emperor would definitely ask:
"What is a flying missile?"
Then the entire civil and military court would be confused. And the emperor, being curious, might issue an imperial decree:
"Deliver this flying missile to the capital at once for Our inspection."
That would snowball into a disaster.
Once the missiles were presented, they'd have to explain where they came from. They couldn't hide the fact that they came from the so-called "ghost village." And once that truth came out, Cheng Xu's beautiful victory would no longer be his. All credit would go to some mysterious ghost-folk instead.
Horrifying.
He immediately shoved the draft into the stove and burned it to ash.
Then he picked up the brush again.
This time, when he reached the part about cutting down trees, his writing veered sharply:
"I, your servant, charged into the enemy ranks, and by my own hand slew several fierce bandits. My valor shook Huanglong Mountain as bandits fled trembling. Though they numbered in the thousands, not one dared face me. I pursued them for over thirty li, and only ceased my advance due to fear of ambush."
He reviewed it with great satisfaction.
"Hahaha! With this accomplishment, those sour-faced bureaucrats can't touch me now!"
"Baijia Fort won again!"
A courier on horseback burst into Gaojia Village, yelling before he even reached the gate:
"Thanks to the divine missiles granted by Dao Xuan Tianzun, Baijia Fort is victorious once more!"
The villagers cheered in response. The air practically shimmered with joy.
Madam Bai and Bai Gongzi climbed the watchtower and offered a grand salute to the heavens.
A house servant hurried up the steps to report the details. Shansier, Gao Yiye, and the others gathered around to listen.
Outside the box, Li Daoxuan was slurping his twenty-nine-yuan spicy chicken skewers, ear pressed against the wood to listen in.
When the servant described the "immortal missiles," he grew increasingly dramatic, claiming one shot killed fifty bandits, one shot leveled half a mountain… to the point Li Daoxuan nearly dropped his chicken pot.
"It's just a plastic toy cannon," he muttered, trying not to laugh. "Mountain-leveling, my ass."
Realistically, not even a real boulder could be knocked over by those plastic things. Once they faced a real fortified city, his toy missiles would be about as useful as wet noodles.
When the servant finally finished his grand performance, he bowed toward the sky.
"My master says the bandits have been scared senseless and will not dare return. He will soon come to Gaojia Village to offer thanks."
Li Daoxuan didn't care for the gratitude, but Bai Ying visiting was always fun. That man was like a domesticated husky—just watching him act silly was entertainment in itself.
Bai Gongzi, meanwhile, swelled with pride.
"Since the immortal missiles defeated the bandits, surely my merits this time are not small? If so… Mother, that talking bird I asked for last time—can I buy it now?"
Madam Bai slapped him on the head.
"Foolish child! Toys will ruin you! You're supposed to be studying! Don't think that winning one battle earns you a pet bird!"
Bai Gongzi clutched his head in disbelief.
Madam Bai added, "Fine. As reward, I will buy you a full set of Taiji Tongshu, Ximing, Zhengmeng, Family Rituals, and Imperial Canon of Governance. Is that not wonderful?"
Bai Gongzi collapsed onto the floor like a man dying of sorrow.
Outside, Li Daoxuan blinked. He had no idea what those books were, but judging by the kid's tragic expression, they were probably the ancient equivalent of a stack of summer cram-school textbooks.
All this fuss reminded him: he'd been so busy watching battles these days that he'd neglected his own "little people's" education. That wouldn't do. Without new knowledge and new ideas, the world would never change.
Take men like Wang Er, Buzhan-Ni, Zuogua-Zi, Li Zicheng, or Zhang Xianzhong. They were not revolutionaries; their peasant uprisings were just struggles for power. Even when they won and founded new regimes, they had no ideology—so the system stayed the same. They killed the old landlords and became new landlords. Nothing truly changed.
To break this cycle, new ideas had to be planted.
He sighed and shifted his attention to the Study Well. Children stood in neat rows, reciting surnames:
"Zhao, Qian, Sun, Li… Zhou, Wu, Zheng, Wang…"
Should he start with them? That could take years—maybe generations.
Just as he thought this, a young man in ragged, threadbare clothes stepped nervously toward Teacher Wang.
"Sir… you asked for me?"
Footnotes
"Flying missiles" – gunpowder-powered projectiles did exist in late Ming China, but nothing resembling the guided or shaped-charge concept here. The author is parodying early rocket artillery.
"Thirty li" pursuit claim – Ming officials often exaggerated battlefield reports; inflating personal valor was common in memorials to the throne.
Baijia Fort villagers' panic reactions mirror real Ming militia behavior; most were untrained farmers pressed into service.
Book titles Madam Bai lists – all heavy Confucian classics, often used for moral cultivation. Giving these to kids was basically the ancient version of "Here's a full set of advanced philosophy textbooks. Enjoy."
Peasant uprisings – Li Zicheng and Zhang Xianzhong indeed overthrew local elites but largely reproduced old systems due to lack of revolutionary ideology.