Li Daoxuan's field of vision easily covered everything.
Zhengjia Village had been the first place where he expanded his "sight," barely five or six li from Gaojia Village. Since then, his view had grown wider and wider, spreading more than ten li in every direction, covering a good number of villages.
So the forests east of Zhengjia Village — the entire stretch toward Heyang County — all lay beneath his gaze.
Eight thousand bandits crawling uphill looked oddly comical, like ants climbing a toy mountain in a flowerpot.
A closer look revealed that although the bandits numbered eight thousand, fewer than half were actual fighting-age adults. Only the first three to four thousand had any combat potential; the rest were elderly, women, and children.
A classic feature of late-Ming peasant uprisings:
their "armies" were huge only because they swept up every villager in their path. The noncombatants often outnumbered the fighters.
They consumed food, slowed the march, and contributed nothing in battle. The result?
A "mighty force" of tens of thousands that was chronically starving, poorly clothed, and militarily pathetic.²
This was why these groups kept roaming endlessly, stealing to survive, producing nothing, destroying everything in their wake.
Glowing with renewed confidence, Cheng Xu shouted to his militia:
"Don't be afraid! Most of that mob can't fight. We only need to break the front ranks — the rest will collapse. Everyone, find big stones! Bring them to the cliff edge!"
Xing Honglang rolled her eyes.
Just now, your knees were knocking and you wanted to run. Now you're glowing with confidence? What changed?
Oh, right.
One simple sentence from some idiot — "The Tianzun will help us" — and suddenly this Wei-jiaoshi became a war god.
Ridiculous.
Still, over a hundred militia members spread out looking for throwable rocks.
Xing Honglang already wanted to retreat, but with all the militia preparing to fight, leaving now would look cowardly. Jianghu etiquette would not forgive that. A glance at her salt-smuggling subordinates showed the same dilemma: they wanted to retreat, but didn't dare lose face.
"Move stones!" she finally declared.
They obeyed.
Xing Honglang soon found a head-sized rock, but when she reached for it, her right arm throbbed — the wound hadn't healed. Using force would tear it open again.
She frowned.
A shadow moved beside her — a burly man lifted the stone easily and carried it to the cliff.
Gao Chuwu.
Xing Honglang shot him a glare.
"Hmph. I don't need help."
Still guilty about their last conflict, Gao Chuwu said nothing and hurried off for another stone.
It didn't take long before a pile of stones accumulated.
But…
Not enough.
Suitable rocks aren't plentiful. Too small won't kill anyone, too big can't be lifted. In normal preparation time it wasn't hard, but in one short hour? Impossible.
Cheng Xu glanced at the stone pile. Barely three hundred.
With a hundred people throwing, two volleys and they'd be gone.
Xing Honglang sighed.
"We don't have time to chop trees for rolling logs either."
Cheng Xu frowned.
"Then what do we do?"
Li Daoxuan, watching the entire scene, chuckled.
He reached into his accumulated stash — a giant box full of disposable chopsticks from countless food deliveries.
A treasure hoard of culinary waste.
He plucked a pair, snapped them with a crisp crack, clipped a few millimeters off, snapped again, cut again. Soon, he had a full handful of tiny wooden stubs — messy lengths of three to eight millimeters, created with no particular precision — and dropped them into a chest.
Just as Cheng Xu and Xing Honglang were despairing—
The clouds above parted.
A massive pile of wooden logs descended from the sky, borne by invisible force, and gently landed before them.
Xing Honglang nearly jumped out of her skin.
Her salt-smugglers fell backward in shock.
But the Gaojia militia?
Not even surprised. They bowed to the sky in unison, then burst into excited whispers.
"Tianzun really is protecting us!"
"We were just short on logs — and look! Rolling logs right from the heavens!"
"The size is perfect!"
"This is too good!"
Cheng Xu's spirit soared.
Whatever they needed, the Tianzun delivered.
He grabbed a log about as long as his arm and dragged it to the cliff, grinning.
"One shove, and this thing will roll down smashing those fools like beans! Hahaha!"
Before he finished bragging, a thunderous boom sounded beside him — Gao Chuwu and Zheng Daniu arrived, carrying a gigantic log nearly as long as a man.
"Push this one down and they'll cry for their ancestors!"
Cheng Xu: "…"
Generation after generation…
Truly, the younger fools will always out-fool the older ones.
He sighed inwardly.
Fine. I'll stick to commanding. Competing with these two in strength is suicide.
Xing Honglang finally found her voice.
Pointing at the pile of logs that had literally fallen from heaven, she stammered:
"These things… how did they drop out of the sky?"
Cheng Xu replied calmly:
"Tianzun gifted them."
"Tianzun is…?"
"A god!"
"!!!"
Xing Honglang had visited Gaojia Village many times. She'd always assumed "Tianzun" was some cult leader and Gao Yiye the "saintess," who, as in any cult, was there for show.
Only now did she realize —
Oh.
Tianzun really was a Tianzun.
And the saintess was actually a saintess.
She froze.
Her salt-smuggling subordinates were simpler creatures.
Seeing divine intervention?
They instantly threw themselves to the ground.
Cheng Xu laughed:
"Don't kneel — work! Move the Tianzun's logs to the cliff! The bandits are getting close!"
Footnote
2. Late-Ming rebel groups often grew so enormous that logistics collapsed instantly. Armies described as "tens of thousands" frequently had less than one-fifth actual soldiers; the rest were forced villagers. This made them look terrifying on paper but disastrously inefficient and perpetually starving.