The grenades exploded.
Night had fallen completely; the twin bursts of flame tore open the darkness like lightning in a thundercloud.
Shrapnel and torn iron whirled through the air, cutting men down before they even screamed. Some fell dead on the spot. Others rolled on the ground howling, clutching bellies that now had holes spurting blood.
"What the hell was that?"
"Some kind of demon weapon?"
"My stomach—it went inside me—ahhh!"
Two massive gaps were ripped into Wang Zuogua's spear formation. The air stank of iron and burning powder. Even the veteran bandits froze, staring in shock.
From her saddle, Zao Ying blinked, stunned. "What just happened?"
Then a voice roared from the southern ridge—wild, mocking, triumphant:
"The Old Ghost of Guyuan has arrived!
Hahaha! What are you idiots fighting for?
Every horse here belongs to me!"
Zao Ying's eyes widened, then a grin spread across her face. A black-eats-black raid.
From that name alone—Guyuan Old Ghost—she could tell these were mutineer border troops from Guyuan, survivors of the last rebellion.
Her spirit rekindled. "Perfect. I thought I was dead. But if they're hitting Wang Zuogua's lot, I might just slip out in the chaos."
She raised her saber high. "Brothers! Get ready to charge on my mark!"
A hundred voices answered in unison. "OHH!"
Up in the hills, Wang Zuogua turned sharply. He'd been watching Wu Zimian's crumbling flank, but the explosions had ripped his attention toward Zao Ying's sector.
"What was that blast? Why are Feishan Hu and Da Honglang's lines breaking?!"
Indeed, the grenades had landed right in Da Honglang's division—the very one guarding the southern side near Duzhong Village, which happened to face Cheng Xu and Xing Honglang's approach. The damage was catastrophic.
Da Honglang spun around, roaring, "Who the hell did that?!"
A single gunshot cracked through the night.
Bang!
The flintlock fired instantly—no need for sparks, no need for delay.
One of his men dropped dead beside him.
Da Honglang's eyes bulged. "A… fire-gun?"
Ahead, shadows moved—dozens of figures advancing with slow, deliberate steps, each carrying a weapon that glimmered with faint, burning cords.
"Fireguns… so many fireguns…" Da Honglang dove for cover, rolling instinctively.
But his men weren't so quick. They were bandits, not trained soldiers; they'd never faced musket fire before.
A chorus of cracks split the air.
"Bang! Bang! Bang-bang-bang!"
The Gaojia Village Militia opened fire—their ten Three-Eyed Divine Guns flashing alongside old-style arquebuses. Bandits dropped like wheat under a scythe.
The gunners whooped.
"Haha! Got 'em! I thought these damn guns were useless—turns out they work great on bandits!"
"Reload! Reload!" their captain shouted.
Then came the tedious part:
Scrubbing the barrel with a brush, pouring powder from a cartridge, ramming the ball home with a rod, tamping it firm—two minutes, minimum, between each shot.
Da Honglang hauled himself upright and bellowed, "They're reloading! Charge! Kill them before they fire again!"
But before his men could move, two more black orbs came spinning down from the sky.
Boom! Boom!
The second volley of grenades tore through the spear line like thunder.
Gao Chuwu and Zheng Daniu were already winding up for their next throws—no reloading needed, just arm strength and willpower.
Men screamed. Smoke swallowed the formation. The few who'd survived the first blast now saw clearly what had killed their comrades—small, metal spheres lobbed from the enemy's hands, exploding in fire and iron.
Those who saw it froze. Human beings fear what they don't understand.
Especially when that unknown thing can vaporize your friends in an instant.
The morale of Da Honglang's division shattered.
They were bandits, not hardened soldiers. None had the discipline of Guyuan's border troops.
Some stood trembling, others outright fled into the woods.
Meanwhile, the once-impenetrable spear wall that had trapped Zao Ying… was turning.
A moment ago, all spears had pointed inward toward her riders.
Now, they pivoted outward—toward Cheng Xu's militia.
And that moment's distraction was all she needed.
Zao Ying's instincts screamed opportunity.
She raised her saber, eyes flashing.
"Charge!"
Her horse shot forward like lightning, blade cleaving through the nearest spearman.
Blood sprayed high, painting half her face crimson.
Behind her, a hundred and twenty riders bellowed their war-cry and surged after her, sabers flashing in the firelight.
Within moments, Da Honglang's men were collapsing, screaming, breaking apart.
Without the spear formation, foot soldiers were nothing against charging cavalry.
Zao Ying's band burst through the southern ring in one unstoppable wave.
For a split second, she feared the new "Guyuan troops" might shoot her down too—but instead, as soon as her riders broke free, the muskets lowered. No shots. No hostility.
Zao Ying blinked.
"So… they weren't rescuing us by accident," she murmured. "They meant to help."
"Boss!" one of her men shouted. "No time to think! We need cover!"
"Right."
She pointed toward a nearby hillside. "That ridge—move!"
The riders thundered away from the killing ground, regrouping on higher ground to watch the chaos unfold below.
Back amid the smoke and blood, Da Honglang was losing his mind.
"Damn it! The ducks were in my mouth—and they flew away! All because of those cursed Guyuan bastards! Tiger! Feishan Tiger! Get over here!"
From the eastern flank, Feishan Hu's troops came running fast, blades gleaming in the firelight.
The battlefield was about to ignite all over again.
Ming Context:
By the late Ming collapse, "black eating black" fights—bandits ambushing other bandits—became routine across Shaanxi and Gansu. The appearance of grenades and muskets in peasant militias marked the earliest grassroots firearm production in Chinese history.
Trivia:
Zao Ying's line "They didn't save me by accident" is often quoted by readers as a turning point—when she begins to see the mysterious "Guyuan militia" (Li Daoxuan's people) not as rivals, but as allies chosen by fate.