Cheng Xu stood before more than six hundred captured soldiers, a crooked grin spreading across his weathered face.
The prisoners trembled as one body. None dared resist; after all, the sky-shattering golden hand could come down again at any second. Courage had already leaked out of them like water from a cracked jar.
Now they could only wait—silent, resigned—for whatever fate would decide.
They knew rebellion meant death. Not just their own, but that of their nine clans as well. If they were lucky, they might be sent off as labor convicts to some distant mine or fortress—though that was merely a slower kind of dying.
Cheng Xu was about to announce, "You'll be sent to Gao Village for reform labor."
Then a thought flickered. Hold on. Right now I'm supposed to be playing the role of the rebel captain, Ghost Qianhu. A 'rebel' has no authority to hand anyone over to Gao Village.
Time to make an exit.
He chuckled darkly, turned toward the county magistrate who had just emerged from the city gates, and shouted,
"Lord Liang! I've kept my promise. The job's done. I'm heading back to Huanglong Mountain. The rest of this mess—your problem now!"
Liang Shixian still looked half-dazed. His brain hadn't yet processed the miracle that a "celestial god" had descended, and the supposed "ghost captain" standing beside him wasn't scared in the slightest—a glaring logic hole he was too shell-shocked to notice.
He bowed deeply.
"Many thanks, Commander Ghost. You've rendered great service. On behalf of the people of Chengcheng County, I thank you. I swear I'll speak in your favor at court—petition for your back pay and have your rank restored."
Cheng Xu gave a lazy grin.
"Fair enough—just don't stab me in the back."
He waved to his militia.
"Let's go, men! Back to Huanglong Mountain!"
And just like that, the Gao Village militia withdrew in fine theatrical fashion, leaving the magistrate alone with six hundred quivering prisoners.
Liang Shixian rubbed his aching temples. What now?
By law, rebels should be sent under escort to Xi'an for judgment by the regional governor. But he had nowhere near enough troops to do that.
Fang Wushang's patrol unit numbered barely a hundred. Six hundred captured frontier soldiers? Escorting them that far would be a bad joke. Sure, they were cowed now, but give them a day or two to recover and even unarmed they could overpower their guards.
Yet he couldn't simply order a massacre—those men had surrendered. And besides, the heavenly being above hadn't struck them down. Who was he to show less mercy than a god?
Liang glanced upward at the low-hanging cloud still drifting above the city. In that instant, the pieces connected: the cloud and Tianzun were one.
He was still pondering when two figures approached—Mr. Wang, ever-smiling, and a mysterious woman beneath a bamboo hat.
"Lord Liang," Wang said pleasantly, "these six hundred captives trouble you?"
"Indeed," Liang admitted, coughing. "We've defeated the rebels thanks to divine aid, but as for what to do with them…"
Wang's eyes twinkled. "Do you recall those two thieves who stole steamed buns?"
Liang nodded instantly—he remembered everything these days without needing his mental lantern trick.
"You mean…?"
"No need to hand them to the court," Wang said. "Turn them into labor convicts instead. Let them atone for their crimes through work."
Liang frowned.
"But rebellion is a capital offense—execution of nine generations. Can labor make that right?"
Wang sighed softly.
"Did you notice, when Tianzun struck, he slammed the ground in front of them, not their heads? That was no accident. It was his message. 'Heaven cherishes life.' These men are low-rank soldiers. Many were forced into this uprising. The guilt lies with their commander, Wolf Qianhu—and he has already met his end."
Liang nodded slowly.
"Heaven cherishes life… fitting words indeed."
Wang went on,
"You lack the manpower to send them to Xi'an. If you request reinforcements, Governor Hu Tingyan will only make a mess of it. The man's a notorious fool, and his soldiers are worse—undisciplined vultures. If they march into Chengcheng County, they'll loot the place before lifting a finger."
That gave Liang pause. True enough. He'd heard of Hu Tingyan's corruption—his troops were famed for drinking more than they fought. The thought of them "helping" made his stomach turn.
"So," Wang concluded gently, "pretend these men already died in battle. Write a letter to the governor, enclose Wolf Qianhu's head, and report that the rebellion was crushed completely. That will close the matter neatly."
Liang gave a weary laugh.
"Lying to my superiors… Why does it somehow feel like the most righteous course?"
Wang sighed.
"Because this world rewards deceit. The honest suffer most."
Liang had no answer for that.
"If administering them is too much trouble," Wang added, "entrust the captives to Gao Village. Let them handle it."
"To Gao Village? Is that proper?"
Wang pointed toward the drifting cloud overhead.
"Tianzun will watch over them."
Liang's eyes brightened. His gaze rose once more to the sky.
He clasped his hands and bowed deeply.
"I have served as magistrate of Chengcheng County for over a year, receiving Tianzun's protection without even knowing it. Today I finally understand. I am unworthy."
Li Daoxuan, far above, smiled faintly.
Beside Wang, the woman in the bamboo hat—Gao Yiye, the Saintess—leaned close and whispered a few words.
Wang nodded and relayed,
"Tianzun says you need not be so formal. You are a good official, one who truly cares for the people. He hopes you'll keep that heart. The people's welfare must always come first; everything else can wait."
Liang's face softened. He had always lived by that principle, and hearing divine confirmation filled him with quiet pride.
"Then I shall inform Patrol Officer Fang to escort the captives to Gao Village for supervision," he said.
Wang smiled.
"Excellent. Leave the rest to us."
Liang turned and headed back toward the yamen, his robes brushing the dust.
Meanwhile, Li Daoxuan's divine vision shifted to Fang Wushang and his weary band of a hundred men. They were already gathering to march the prisoners from Chengcheng to Gao Village—about thirty li, half a day's trek. Still, one hundred guards for six hundred captives was a thin margin.
Fang's soldiers felt the pressure—duck under a mountain pressure, as they muttered.
Li Daoxuan zoomed in, watching through the "Heavenly Feed." The rebels were broken men, cowed by the earlier display of divine might. No thoughts of rebellion stirred among them.
Half a day later, as dusk painted the fields in copper light, they reached Gao Village.
Before them loomed the fortified compound—massive walls, strange rails gleaming like dragons of metal, and that miracle of smoke and iron the locals called a train.
The captured soldiers gawked, dumbfounded. In their minds, they'd left the empire and wandered into a realm of gods.
(Ming Context: Fortified rural settlements known as baozhai were common in troubled Ming provinces; walls kept out bandits, but Gao Village's "train" would have been unimaginable—a mechanical beast centuries ahead of its time.)
Somewhere above, Li Daoxuan chuckled softly. Welcome to reform, gentlemen. Population management just got six hundred new units.