The two train drivers continued their drill runs.
Li Daoxuan insisted they practice until muscle memory took over—they must instinctively know the exact braking distance, maintain relentless vigilance over the rails ahead, and halt at the slightest disturbance.
(This obsessive safety culture was revolutionary. The world's first railway safety regulator—Britain's Railway Inspectorate—wouldn't be founded until 1840, a full decade after passenger trains began claiming lives. Li's "zero-tolerance" safety doctrine was centuries ahead, born not from regulation but from a god's direct concern for tiny human lives.)
Simultaneously, public education campaigns rolled through the village: no lingering on the tracks. Anyone caught damaging the celestial rails would be sent directly to the Labor Reform Settlement. Cause a fatal accident? Life for life—no appeals.
And as Li Daoxuan prepared Refugee Valley and the Iron Serpent...
---
Bai Family Fort.
Bai Yuan stood solemnly watching Yellow Dragon Mountain's northern slopes. After the ten dan grain delivery, Dian Dengzi had indeed stayed quiet. His three thousand now huddled among the summit's trees.
They made no effort to conceal themselves. From the fort walls, one could see the ragged figures scouring the mountainside for wild greens, digging roots, stripping bark.
Thin cooking smokes rose—they were stretching Bai Yuan's grain by mixing it with foraged weeds and roots.
Cheng Xu observed, "They show no aggressive intent."
Bai Yuan nodded. "Not yet. But ten dan among three thousand is barely three mouthfuls each. When it's gone... who knows what hunger will drive them to do."
As they spoke, Solar Bus No.3's distinctive rumble announced another delivery. They turned to see a large truck laden with grain approaching.
The driver hurried into the fort, presenting a letter. "Master Bai, from Third Steward—the Tianzun's instructions."
Bai Yuan's posture straightened. He brushed imaginary dust from his sleeves, smoothed his robe, then accepted the letter with both hands—the ritual of receiving correspondence was part of the "Six Arts" he took seriously.
(For Ming gentry, letter-receiving was ceremonial theater. The two-handed acceptance showed humility before authority; the dust-brushing performed purity of intent. Even in a military outpost, Bai maintained Confucian theater—because performing virtue was how one became virtuous.)
He read carefully.
His expression softened marginally. "The Tianzun decrees we attempt contact with the mountain bandits. If they prove redeemable, persuade them to descend. He will settle them."
Cheng Xu felt both inspiration and dread. "Contact bandits? That's... walking into a tiger's den. Send underlings? Most lack subtlety—they'll blunder even good intentions. Go ourselves? Entering a bandit camp offers nine deaths against one life."
He glanced upward instinctively—and saw a "granny" floating above the summit, spinning lazily in the air...
Bai Yuan noticed Instructor He's masked face couldn't conceal the fear in his eyes. He smiled. "Instructor He, command the fort in my absence. I will ascend the mountain."
Cheng Xu stared. This scholar actually has...
Bai Yuan's voice grew grave. "Months ago at Gao Village, when the Tianzun first granted me protection to defeat the Supreme Bright King, he entrusted me with a sacred duty: save the suffering, shield them from hardship and violence. These bandits have shown no evil. If they are truly good people caught in desperation, they are precisely those the Tianzun wishes saved."
Cheng Xu: "!"
Bai Yuan lifted his chin. "I style myself a gentleman. A gentleman prioritizes righteousness, honors the virtuous while accommodating the multitude, praises the capable while pitying the inadequate. Before me lies a chance to save three thousand souls. Shall a gentleman retreat from danger?"
(His speech wove Analects 19:1 with 16:8—not just showing off classical education, but using Confucius as armor. By framing courage as ritual performance, Bai made danger bearable: if he died well, he'd die a gentleman, which beat living as a coward.)
Cheng Xu sighed inwardly: Your courage shames me.
Bai Yuan waved. "Two men, with me."
Two retainers fell in step as Bai Yuan exited the fort toward Yellow Dragon Mountain.
After a dozen paces, Cheng Xu leaned over the battlement and shouted, "Master Bai! What of 'The gentleman does not stand beneath a precarious wall'?"
Bai Yuan froze, sweat beading. The temptation to turn back warred with face-saving. He stiffened his neck. "Hmph! A gentleman fears three things: Heaven's Mandate, great men, and the sages' words. Bandits aren't on the list. Await my return... though... Instructor He, if things turn foul, come rescue me promptly."
Everyone: "..."
Bai Yuan began the ascent, step by cautious step toward the bandit encampment.
Two subordinates only—mirroring Dian Dengzi's own minimalist approach days earlier.
Bandit lookouts alerted Zhao Sheng.
The scholar-turned-rebel had just finished a thin porridge, stomach still hollow, mourning their wretched journey when the report came. He rushed to the slope and saw the white-robed figure climbing with two attendants.
He startled. "Master Bai himself? With only two men? He fears us not?"
A subordinate panicked. "What's his play?"
Dian Dengzi: "Three men means parley. Why panic? I'll receive him."
He straightened his robe—tattered, soiled from months of flight—but carefully smoothed the wrinkles before descending.
They met on the steep path. Dian Dengzi offered a deep bow. "Your presence honors this wretched place."
(The phrase 蓬荜生辉—"makes my humble home shine"—was tragically misplaced. Zhao Sheng's scholarly reflexes betrayed him: no home remained, just wilderness. The automatic formality revealed how deeply he still clung to civilized identity.)
Immediately he regretted it. The phrase belonged to receiving guests in a study, not on a bandit-ridden mountain. Awkward.
Bai Yuan didn't blink. When others offered propriety, he doubled it—returning a bow deeper still. "I intrude uninvited."
(See? Even to bandits, I observe ritual. Add points to my "Propriety" mastery, hahaha.)
"I come to speak with you... valiant sir." The honorific stumbled—"valiant" felt absurd for this thin scholar.
Dian Dengzi caught the hesitation and smiled bitterly. "Valiant? I'm just a poor scholar who read by lamplight, forced onto this rebel path. Call me Dian Dengzi."
Bai Yuan: "You sound... burdened."
He shouldn't have asked. The question broke something in Zhao Sheng. Tears spilled—grievances long pent up, with no civilized ear to hear them. Facing another educated man, the dam broke.
---
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[Historical Context: The Reluctant Rebel]
Zhao Sheng's type—the educated man driven to banditry—was common in late Ming rebellions. Failed examination candidates, minor gentry ruined by tax demands, or low officials caught in factional fights often became rebel leaders not by ambition but desperation.
Their Confucian upbringing created cognitive dissonance: they organized armies while maintaining scholarly manners. Historical records show such leaders often imposed stricter discipline than peasant-born rebels—prohibiting rape, limiting looting—not from kindness but understanding that terrorized populations couldn't sustain long-term rebellion.
Bai Yuan's courage mirrored real Ming gentry who negotiated with bandit groups. Local elites often served as intermediaries between rebels and authorities, using personal prestige to prevent violence. Successful mediators gained immense "social credit"; failed ones became brief entries in magistrate reports: "So-and-so, killed while treating with bandits."