"Five hundred warhorses… that's a huge number." Xing Honglang stood before Cheng Xu, her tone serious. "I only have thirty-eight riders. There's no way we can escort that many horses safely on our own. He Jiaoxi, I'll need your help this time."
The moment Cheng Xu heard it was an order from Dao Xuan Tianzun, he didn't hesitate. "No problem. I'll personally lead the militia and bring those horses back."
This time, Gao Chuwu and Zheng Daniu didn't make the same dumb joke about carrying the horses back on their shoulders. Instead, both raised their hands proudly. "We can lead horses!"
Xing Honglang exploded. "You two idiots, what's there to brag about? Who in this world can't lead a horse?"
"…"
Gao Chuwu and Zheng Daniu shrank back, faces red.
Cheng Xu chuckled. "If we really get those horses, Gaojia Village can finally form its own cavalry."
Xing Honglang nodded. "That should be what Tianzun intends as well."
Cheng Xu grinned. "Good. Then we'd better handle this right. Have you chosen the rendezvous point with the seller?"
Xing Honglang frowned thoughtfully. "I'm still thinking about it. It can't be too close, or we'll bring trouble straight to Gaojia Village. But too far, and we'll risk losing the horses on the way back."
The two leaned over a map, studying the terrain.
High above, Li Daoxuan glanced through his divine sight — and immediately spotted the perfect spot.
Southeast of Huanglong Mountain, a small, abandoned hamlet named Duzhong Village.
It lay right at the edge of Li Daoxuan's spiritual field of vision — within his reach, yet far enough to stay discreet. The place had been deserted for years, no more than a dozen crumbling houses left. Perfect.
Just as he prepared to "print" the village name onto his heavenly scroll, both Xing Honglang and Cheng Xu pointed to the same spot.
"Duzhong Village!"
Xing Honglang explained, "It's part of Huanglong Mountain's range. If we trade there with Wu Zimian, we can later claim the horses were stolen by some bandits hiding in the mountains — no one will trace it back to Gaojia Village."
Cheng Xu nodded. "Good thinking. The surrounding terrain's rough. Once we get the horses, we can sneak them back easily."
"Then it's settled," Xing Honglang declared.
"I'll take a team to scout it first," said Cheng Xu. "We'll map every path around the area and hide nearby. You send word to contact Wu Zimian."
Meanwhile, outside Li Daoxuan's heavenly box, his gaze fixed on the words "Duzhong Village." The world blurred — and his vision shifted instantly.
There it was: a lonely, decaying village. No more than ten-odd houses, half collapsed. The drought years had driven everyone away long ago. The north side was steep and narrow, but to the south, Li Daoxuan could see every trail — winding gullies and hidden slopes stretching toward Chengcheng and Hancheng counties.
A perfect crossroads for destiny to meet.
That same evening, Wu Zimian, the corrupt General of Yansui, was just preparing to sleep.
His personal aide slipped into the tent. "General, we've finally found a buyer."
Wu Zimian's eyes gleamed. "Five hundred top-grade warhorses — that's no small deal. You've verified they can afford it?"
In good years, one horse fetched twenty taels of silver. But now, with famine, bandits, and Manchu raids beyond the border, prices had tripled to fifty, even seventy taels each.
Five hundred horses meant over twenty-five thousand taels. Only someone with deep pockets would dare.
The aide bowed. "The buyer wouldn't reveal their identity. But judging by their accent and manner, I believe they're yanxiao—salt smugglers—from Shanxi."
Wu Zimian frowned, thinking a moment. "Shanxi salt smugglers? Heh. Could it be… Yongji's Xing Honglang? If it's her, she's got the guts and the gold. Fine. We'll sell to her."
"The buyer suggests meeting at Duzhong Village, on Huanglong Mountain's southeastern slope."
Wu Zimian unfolded his campaign map, smirking. "That's not far from here. Fine. We'll deliver the horses there."
"But, General," the aide whispered, "to reach it, we must cross Huanglong Mountain — and the bandit king Yichuan Wang Zuogua is still hiding there."
Wu Zimian laughed. "If I don't go hunting him, he should be burning incense in thanks. He wouldn't dare pick a fight with me. If he does — I'll crush him, then claim the merit and collect another reward from the court!"
The aide burst out laughing. "Brilliant as ever, General."
Wu Zimian puffed his chest. "Send word to Inspector Zhang Mengjing — tell him this general is personally marching into Huanglong Mountain to destroy the bandits of Yichuan. Ha! Also, pass the order — tomorrow we march at dawn. Through Huanglong Mountain! Destination: Duzhong Village!"
The aide bowed deeply. "The general's foresight rivals the gods."
Meanwhile, to the east of Huanglong Mountain — near Hancheng.
A hundred ragtag horsemen were fleeing for their lives, dust billowing behind them.
Pursuing them was another mounted unit, men in matching liveries — the household guards of Hong Chengchou, the provincial Grain Inspector of Shaanxi.
The fleeing riders were led by none other than the notorious female bandit of Yichuan, Zhao Ying — a real historical figure.
Zhao Ying was fierce and wild, her looks… well, strikingly similar in spirit to Xing Honglang.
She cursed as she rode. "That damn Hong Chengchou! All I wanted was to raid his grain convoy, and he sends half his household guard after me!"
Zhao Ying called herself a righteous thief. She robbed the corrupt and rich, never the common folk. Famous for her unmatched riding skills, she'd spent years raiding government transports — especially those carrying tax silver or tribute. If it was marked "official," she took it personally.
But this time, she'd hit the wrong target — the grain wagons escorted by none other than Hong Chengchou himself.
A fatal mistake.
She and her crew had been beaten soundly, armor shattered, weapons lost — and were now galloping in full retreat. Only their horsemanship had saved them from being slaughtered outright.
After ten li of frantic escape, the slope of Huanglong Mountain loomed ahead.
Seeing the mountain, Hong's men finally gave up the chase. After all, any soldier worth his salt knew the saying: Never pursue into the forest… or the mountains.
The household guards halted and shouted after them, "Filthy horse thieves! We'll spare you today, but if you ever cross paths with the Hong family again, we'll chop you into seventeen pieces!"
Zhao Ying seethed but knew better than to answer. To rage now would be to admit defeat twice. So she spurred her horse, leading her crew deeper into the woods. Only once they reached the mountain's heart did they dare stop.
Breathing hard, she turned to her men. "Where the hell are we now?"
One of her riders replied, panting, "Huanglong Mountain… Duzhong Village."
Zhao Ying blinked — then laughed bitterly. "Duzhong Village, huh? Guess fate dragged us to the same damned place."
Ming Context:
During the late Ming, the northwest was plagued by both peasant rebels and corrupt generals. Real figures like Hong Chengchou and the "Salt Smugglers of Shanxi" often appeared in records, blurring the line between officials and outlaws.
Trivia:
Many bandit leaders of the "Thirteen Families, Seventy-Two Camps" styled themselves after heroes of Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Water Margin. Names like "Zhao Ying," "Xing Honglang," and "One-Eyed Dragon" were as much branding as rebellion — early versions of street nicknames or gamer tags.