Whenever Liang Shixian came to Gaojia Village, it was never because he missed the scenery.
Back then he borrowed food, later he borrowed bows, and today—judging from that twisted half-smile of his—he was back to borrowing something again. The man carried the kind of embarrassment officials got when forced to do grassroots work: smiling like an uncle who showed up at New Year with empty hands but a long request list.
Shansier hurried to greet him. Up on the watchtower, Gao Yiye dashed off to change into her proper ceremonial outfit—because one must never allow a visiting magistrate to see yesterday's shirt, even if the shirt survived a battle, a thunder ritual, and three chickens.
Li Daoxuan, on the other hand, set out a stool, sunflower seeds, peanuts, and settled into spectator mode.
The moment Liang Shixian and Shansier met, the air filled with those swirling, entangled pleasantries that only officials and village stewards could produce. The kind that looped around and around until listeners felt their souls drifting out of their bodies. Fang Wushang and Li Daoxuan shared a silent look of mutual suffering. Even Tianzun, who rarely interfered in mortal nonsense, seemed to sigh.
Only after a long exchange of polite nonsense did Liang finally tiptoe toward the actual reason he'd come.
"Well… I'm here to… ahem… borrow a few bows again…"
Even he felt the shame. You could see his knees wanting to fold inward.
Shansier nodded. "Bandits again?"
Liang exhaled with the weight of ten county budgets on his shoulders.
"Yes. And it's our old acquaintance—Bu-Zhan-Ni of Luochuan."
Shansier blinked. "That fellow? After losing twice in Chengcheng, he dares return?"
Liang gave a tired smile—the kind worn by a man who watched the world unravel while holding a flimsy government paycheck.
"Then let me explain the northern situation…"
And so he did.
A few days earlier, Wang Er of Baishui had marched north from Yijun County into Luochuan. The Luochuan inspector responded heroically—but reality disliked heroism. The government troops were crushed, scattered back into their own county seat, and Luochuan essentially became an open-door buffet for rebels.
Wang Er marched wherever he pleased.
Bu-Zhan-Ni—who had crawled out of the ravines of Huanglong Mountain—suddenly found room to breathe again. Being a Luochuan native, he enjoyed local support. He came down the mountain and instantly gathered multiple groups of roving rebels. Momentum surged like a river after a storm.
At this moment, Bu-Zhan-Ni commanded seven squads—each a miniature nightmare:
• First Squad: Yanqian'er
• Second Squad: Point-Lamp Zhao Sheng
• Third Squad: Li Jinwang
• Fourth Squad: Scorpion-Stone
• Fifth Squad: Old Zhangfei
• Sixth Squad: Chaos-King
• Seventh Squad: Night-Runners
Li Daoxuan couldn't help sighing.
Seven squads. When the eighth joined, that was when history flipped over and caught fire. Because the eighth squad—when it finally formed—would be led by none other than Li Zicheng.
Right now, though, that dreaded eighth squad was still empty.
Liang continued.
"Bu-Zhan-Ni has grown stronger. His seven squads march in multiple directions. Two of them are headed straight toward our Chengcheng County."
Shansier frowned. "Why separate? Why not group together for a big push?"
Fang Wushang answered with the sort of sharp soldier-logic scholars often missed.
"If seven squads stay together, that's tens of thousands of mouths. They can't break county walls, so they'd be robbing only from villages. How many bushels can a village offer? They must split to gather food."
Shansier nodded, face darkening.
"So the villagers suffer even more…"
Liang sighed.
"The people of Luochuan are in misery. But I only govern Chengcheng. I can't speak for them. However, if bandits march here, then I must act."
He unrolled a government-issued map—a surprisingly detailed one, considering how much ink the Ministry of Revenue normally wasted on irrelevant borders.
Liang pointed.
"First Squad, Yanqian'er, likely enters from Fengyuan Town. Second Squad, Point-Lamp Zhao Sheng, slipped into Huanglong Mountain, so he'll probably emerge from Baijiabao."
Shansier waited for the inevitable request.
Liang delivered it.
"We must defend both fronts. My plan: I lead the militias of the county seat and Fengyuan Town to hold that direction. Baijiabao must be held jointly by the Baijiabao militia and the Gaojia Village militia."
Fang Wushang added,
"I'll station forces between the two. Whichever side gets attacked—I reinforce."
Li Daoxuan gave a small approving nod.
Good structure. Reasonable deployment. Not the usual "pray and hope the bandits feel merciful" plan.
Liang continued.
"So I request Gaojia to send its militia to Baijiabao. Bai Yan—the instructor there—is a respectable man. I'll convince him to house your people inside their fort."
Just then, hooves thundered. A line of horses rushed into view, the leader clad in flowing white, riding like he practiced every day before breakfast.
Bai Yan.
He saluted upward immediately—a grand bow toward Dao Xuan Tianzun, because Bai Yan took the art of ritual so seriously that even chickens walked more politely in his presence.
He dismounted in a smooth, showy motion and landed before Liang and Shansier, sweeping a perfect formal salute.
"What fortune! County Magistrate Liang? General Fang? Truly an honor to meet you here."
Liang smiled.
"We were just speaking of you. Bu-Zhan-Ni is splitting forces again. I plan to have Gaojia's militia join your defense."
Bai Yan nodded.
"I came to warn Gaojia myself. Hunters spotted movement in Huanglong Mountain—bandits gathering again. And also…"
He suddenly grinned, reached into his saddlebag, and pulled out a very familiar book.
The Primary-School Mathematics Grade 6, Volume 2.
He waved it like a victorious general flashing a captured banner.
Li Daoxuan immediately understood—Bai Yan had finished studying the entire twelve-volume set of primary-level mathematics. The man was glowing with the kind of pride only a scholar discovering algebra could produce.
Liang blinked.
"What book is that? And what does it have to do with your… rebellious son?"
Bai Yan laughed.
"This is mathematics."
Then he turned to a guard on the wall.
"Fetch my son. Tell him his father challenges him again. I will defeat him in mathematics today without leaving a single survivor!"
Liang's eyes brightened.
"Mathematics? Interesting. I'm good at that as well."
Bai Yan's eyebrows shot up.
"The magistrate is skilled in it? Wonderful. Try this one. The classic problem of chickens and rabbits in the same cage. There are thirty-five heads, ninety-four feet. How many of each?"
Liang's mind switched instantly to calculation mode.
In his imagination, a flock of chickens and rabbits materialized, hopping and clucking, heads bobbing, legs flashing. As numbers danced, lines connected them, forming crude but functional equations. A full mental diagram snapped into place.
He pressed an invisible pause button.
Counted each animal with bureaucratic precision.
Twenty-three chickens.
Twelve rabbits.
He straightened, smug as a rooster at dawn.
"Twenty-three chickens. Twelve rabbits."