Liang Shixian felt his dignity sagging to the ground like a wet rice sack. Every time bandits appeared, he had to come to the Li family to borrow weapons. If word ever spread, his reputation as the county magistrate might as well be flushed down the river.
But bandits could appear any moment. In times like these, dignity was worth less than wet firewood. If necessary, one had to throw it on the ground, stomp on it, then pick it back up and polish it with a smile.
Shansier smiled gracefully. "Since Magistrate Liang asks, of course our Li family won't be stingy. The five hundred Zhang-bows from last time—we'll lend them again."
Liang Shixian lit up. "The Li family is truly virtuous."
While they exchanged polite nonsense, the new constable, Fang Wushang, was scanning the entire fortress like a wolf inspecting a sheep pen made of steel.
The towering three-zhang wall, the corner towers, the thick gates—he was startled. It felt like the first time a foreign scholar saw a massive Hakka walled village: overwhelming, intimidating, and very much "we should not mess with these people."
Fang Wushang had originally planned to "eat the biggest household" in Gaojia Village while waiting for the bandits to arrive. But this family was far too big. Too well-connected. Too well-armed. He was no fool—offending the wrong clan could get him impeached before dinner.
He turned to Shansier. "Steward San, have you heard about the bandit trouble in Héyang?"
Shansier nodded. "We have. Héyang is far too close. Everyone is uneasy. We're already organizing a civilian militia, preparing to fight if necessary."
Fang Wushang had already seen the "militia." Over a hundred young men sat obediently on an open field, listening to a girl lecturing them. The girl—dressed neatly, posture firm, expression strictly serious—commanded more respect than a general.
The militia listened with such focus that it felt like she was lecturing about fate and sin rather than battlefield discipline.
Fang Wushang sneered inwardly.
A militia… trained by a woman. No proper drills. No formations. Just… lectures. What a joke. Completely useless.
Just then, Gao Yiye finished her "political thought class," adjusted her sleeves, and walked back toward the fortress.
The militia instantly loosened up like deflated bellows.
Flat-Rabbit bounced to his feet at once. "Hahaha! Can we train real martial arts now? Come on, teach me punching! …Eh? Where's Instructor He? She was just here!"
He looked left, right—no instructor.
No Saintess.
No supervision.
Flat-Rabbit instantly reverted to his natural state: Chaos Goblin Soldier.
He whipped out a rusty sword from his belt. "Everyone! Watch my secret ultimate move—Heavenly Rabbit Splitting Tyrant Sword!"
Several men laughed. "Give it a rest."
"I've practiced this for years!" Flat-Rabbit declared, leaping into the air and swinging wildly.
Each strike came with exaggerated shouting:
""Holy! Rabbit! Super! Chop!"
From far away, Fang Wushang watched the nonsense swordplay, shook his head, and sighed.
As expected of a militia trained by a woman… completely worthless.
Meanwhile, Liang Shixian continued his diplomatic suffering.
"Steward San, I brought Constable Fang so he could meet you. He'll be leading forces to resist the bandits entering Chengcheng. Their numbers are large. Constable Fang lacks enough soldiers. When the time comes, he may need your militia's help."
Shansier hesitated. Internally panicking.
If they fought alongside the officials, they couldn't hide their equipment—or their strength. Not good.
But Fang Wushang cut in instantly.
"No need."
Liang Shixian blinked. "Hm?"
"I've already seen their militia." Fang Wushang snorted. "A group like that would only trip me up. Having them march with us would be like dragging a goat by the neck—slow, smelly, and pointless. We've come for nothing."
Shansier: "…"
"I'll exterminate the bandits myself." Fang Wushang declared, turned around, and strode away without another word.
Shansier: "…"
Liang Shixian coughed awkwardly. "Ah… Steward San, don't mind him. Military men are—well—rough and unmannered."
Shansier bowed politely and said nothing.
But inside, she was celebrating.
Mind you? Absolutely not. Please, take your attitude and go. The farther, the better.
We just spent a fortune upgrading half our militia with armor, and the other half has padded coats stuffed with armor plates. If we marched with you, you'd see everything we're hiding.
This is perfect. Thank you, you arrogant idiot.
She glanced at Flat-Rabbit in the distance, still flailing like a drunken duck.
Good. Very good. That fool deserves a bonus later.
Flat-Rabbit, unaware he had just saved the entire village from exposure, continued showing off with his rusty sword—until an armored figure strode toward him.
Flat-Rabbit froze. "???"
It was Fang Wushang.
The constable suddenly lunged, fast as lightning. Flat-Rabbit yelped—his sword reflexively swung toward Fang Wushang, completely by accident.
Fang Wushang sidestepped, hooked Flat-Rabbit's foot, and sent him crashing into the dirt.
"Useless trash," Fang Wushang spat, then walked away with a dramatic flourish.
Flat-Rabbit climbed up, face full of grievance.
"What the hell! I didn't even do anything! Why do officials always hit me? I didn't provoke him!"
The others shrugged.
Zheng Daniu said, "Don't worry about him. Honestly, I kinda want to hit you too."
Another man raised his hand. "Me too."
"Same here."
Within seconds, the entire militia—over a hundred men—raised their hands.
Except one.
Flat-Rabbit saw that Gao Chuwu hadn't raised a hand and dove behind him like a drowning man grabbing a plank.
"Chuwu! You're the only one who treats me well! Only you won't hit me!"
Gao Chuwu sighed. "I injured Miss Xing while she was hurt. I'm a disgraceful man."
Everyone: "…"
Flat-Rabbit broke into a sweat. "Chuwu… you didn't hear what they said?"
"Hm? What happened?"
"They said they want to hit me!"
"Oh? That's wonderful," Chuwu nodded calmly. "I've wanted to hit you too. Since everyone agrees—let's go."
"AHHHH!"
A hundred men threw Flat-Rabbit to the ground, lifted him by his limbs, and smashed him crotch-first against a nearby tree.
Rub–rub–rub–
rub–rub–rub—
the rhythm of doom.
Flat-Rabbit screamed, "Aaaah!! Stop! I'll never have descendants! Spare me!"
Village women watching from afar covered their faces and muttered, "Men are hopeless. Always doing the stupidest things."
---
Footnotes
1. Zhang-bows — A powerful Ming-era longbow design, often standardized for militia use.
2. Civilian militias — Historically common but often poorly trained; this chapter mocks their chaotic nature with accuracy.
3. Thought-class training — A playful exaggeration of early political education in rural militias.
4. Tree punishment scene — Traditional rural "discipline," exaggerated here for comedic effect.