The instant Fang Wushang saw the bandits retreating, his fury nearly exploded out of his armor.
He gripped his spear, veins pulsing, and roared:
"Chase them!"
But right as he took a step forward, his deputy inspector latched onto him like an octopus in uniform.
"General, chasing is forbidden! Chasing is absolutely forbidden!"
Fang Wushang's glare could've roasted a boar.
"Earlier you prevented me from charging down the slope—fine. Reasonable. But now the bandits are running, and you still stop me? What dog-hearted motive is this!?"
The deputy wiped cold sweat.
"General… this hillside ends at the boundary with Heyang County."
Fang Wushang froze mid-stride.
He was the Inspector of Chengcheng, not Heyang.
If he crossed that invisible, bureaucratic murder-line with troops…
—If the court favored him: "A brave general so committed he didn't notice he'd crossed the border! Promote him!"
—If the court wanted a head to chop: "Left his jurisdiction without authorization. With troops. Suspicious motives. Possibly treason. Execute."
In Ming bureaucracy, swords weren't sharpest—ink brushes were.
Fang Wushang wasn't afraid of bandits.
He was afraid of memorial-writing scholars playing God.
His fury collapsed into helpless grief.
"…Fine. We won't chase."
The deputy finally breathed again.
Compared to this new commander, the previous one—Cheng Xu—was at least cunning. He didn't need to be persuaded; he taught them how to avoid danger, disgrace, promotion, and effort all at once. A true master of survival arts.
The deputy even felt nostalgic.
"General Cheng… I wonder if you're doing well in the afterlife?"
Far away, Cheng Xu sneezed.
"Achoo!"
Meanwhile, Fang Wushang sat aside, brooding at the sight of bandits slipping away mere steps beyond the county line.
Being a soldier yet barred from killing bandits by a bureaucratic border—nothing in life was more suffocating.
The troops cleaned the battlefield, slicing off ears for merit reports and burying corpses in shallow, pragmatic soldier-pits.
A soldier ran over.
"Report! General, we found many bandit corpses in the ravine nearby!"
"What ravine?"
Fang Wushang followed and was startled—there lay Sui Fengxiong, Erchun, and nearly a hundred bandits crushed like dumplings at a festival gone wrong.
"Good grief… must be the Min-tuan from Gaojia Village."
The deputy whispered, "Their militia isn't ordinary. Last time Wang er raided them, he got badly injured, and Zheng Yanfu and Zhong Guangdao died. Of course, officially we credited the whole thing to General Cheng."
Fang Wushang lifted a brow.
"So that's the truth. Seems I underestimated this militia."
Just then, a noisy group emerged from the western slope—Gaojia Village's Min-tuan.
Cheng Xu and Xing Honglang had already slipped away; the militia wore only thin underclothes now, carrying no armor.
At the front swaggered Flat-Rabbit.
He had been shocked to receive the temporary "team leader" order.
Logically, Gao Chuwu or Zheng Daniu should've led, but since both were too simple to act convincingly, the responsibility fell to the sharpest mind available.
Flat-Rabbit puffed his chest.
Of course his master trusted him—he was the smartest rabbit in the burrow.
He strolled up, bowing dramatically.
"General Fang! You repelled the bandits? Amazing! Truly mighty! Thank you so much!"
Fang Wushang stared.
This idiot—the one who tripped over him earlier—this was the Min-tuan leader?
He felt spiritual damage.
"Hmph. Your militia did decent work. These rolling logs were your preparations, right? And the bandits crushed in the ravine—also your doing?"
Flat-Rabbit threw his head back in exaggerated heroism.
"Hahaha! All the work of this Rabbit! I routed the bandits and dominate the world!"
"…Then why weren't you at the slope when I arrived?" Fang asked.
Flat-Rabbit proudly declared,
"A strategic withdrawal! To seek a better opportunity!"
Fang Wushang snapped,
"Just say you ran away!"
"Run? Me? Impossible!" Flat-Rabbit whipped out his rusty sword.
"I waited outside the village to unleash my ultimate art—'Sky-Rabbit Severing Tyrant Blade'!"
Fang Wushang slapped a hand over his face.
"Enough. You may leave."
Flat-Rabbit: "…"
He grinned anyway.
Mission accomplished!
He'd shown his face, spouted nonsense, and prevented the officials from getting suspicious. Time to leave.
"Alright, we'll go now! Got training to do—so busy, so very busy!"
But after two steps—
"STOP!" the deputy yelled.
"Help bury the corpses!"
Flat-Rabbit pointed at himself.
"This rabbit kills, not buries."
"If you don't bury them, plague will break out. Gaojia Village will suffer first!"
Flat-Rabbit turned pale.
Plague? Rabbit-plague??
He immediately snatched a shovel.
"Everyone dig! Dig like your furry little lives depend on it!"
Soon soldiers and villagers worked together, burying bodies fast enough to impress the ancestors.
From a distance, Li Daoxuan watched calmly.
This battle, he hardly intervened—only provided some rolling logs and help for Cheng Xu to scout terrain.
No deadly gadgets, no ridiculous divine weapons.
And yet the little humans fought beautifully.
Self-reliance, he thought.
That's the true path. I'm a caretaker, not a tyrant. They must grow on their own.
He stretched lazily.
Time to visit his father and pick up a new set of storybooks.
Oh—and he dragged out the fish-tank artifact on his way out.
He'd need it again soon.
Footnotes
1. Ming Border Bureaucracy Culture
County borders were treated like sacred lines. Crossing with troops without written approval could be interpreted as treason—an example of how civilian officials held enormous power over military officers.
2. Min-tuan (Village Militia)
These self-organized militias were common in late-Ming rural areas. Some were cowardly, others surprisingly competent, depending on local leadership and experience with bandit raids.
3. Rolling Logs & Stone Traps
Popular real-world anti-bandit defenses in southern and central China: villagers used logs, boulders, and gravity to break charging forces without needing trained soldiers.
4. Rustic Boasting Culture
Flat-Rabbit's exaggerated bragging reflects a common rural comedic trope: the "village blowhard," a man who talks like a wuxia hero but runs like a startled chicken.