The southern road was dark and dusty when Zao Ying followed Cheng Xu's militia out of Huanglong Mountain.
They didn't move fast — everyone was wrapped in mismatched armor, clanking with every step. By the time they reached the open yellow-earth plateau, the sky had gone completely black.
Traveling on level ground was easier. Their steps grew lighter.
Ahead, the smugglers who had ridden out first were already waiting — five hundred captured warhorses lined up in the moonlight.
"Mount up!" Cheng Xu shouted. "It's pitch-dark already! If we keep walking, we won't make it home till dawn!"
Gao Chu-wu scratched his head. "But… we can't ride!"
"Then lie on the saddle and hug the neck!" Cheng Xu barked.
Gao Chu-wu had done this before — when he'd raced back to Gaoxia Village for help, he'd clung to a horse like a terrified sloth and somehow made it back alive. Now he demonstrated with seasoned grace.
Soon, everyone was copying him, clutching horse necks for dear life.
Five hundred mounts weren't quite enough; some smugglers doubled up two per horse, but they made it work.
Five hundred riders — plus Zao Ying's hundred-and-twenty bandits — thundered across the plains like a storm.
What once took half a day on foot now passed in barely an hour.
In the distance, a glow appeared — a spread of red and gold lights twinkling against the night.
Zao Ying blinked.
Lights? Here?
A rural mountain village shouldn't shine like a small city.
Cheng Xu grinned. "That's our place."
Zao Ying was still under the impression that Cheng Xu's band were rebels from Guyuan. Her mind spun.
These rebels have built a whole town in the mountains? With lights, people, even nightlife? No wonder they had no fear inviting me in — with this many civilians around, their secret's long been out. And yet no one's betrayed them. That means… the people love them.
She felt a surge of respect.
Zao Ying had always prided herself as a "righteous thief" — stealing from corrupt officials but never from common folk. A rebel army beloved by the people? That, she could respect.
"We won't head into the marketplace tonight," Cheng Xu said. "Marching in covered in armor would scare the locals. We'll rest at the camp."
"Agreed," Zao Ying nodded.
She expected a messy sprawl of tents and mud.
Instead, when they reached the militia's base, her jaw nearly dropped.
It wasn't a camp — it was a fortress.
A massive stone stronghold filled an entire valley, its walls gleaming under rows of lanterns. The place looked like it could shrug off an earthquake.
After the militia had expanded past five hundred members, the old Gao Fortress had become too cramped. Li Daoxuan — their unseen "Heavenly Lord" — had long since built them a new base near the Firearms Bureau, using his usual brand of divine absurdity.
Each structure was made from gigantic overturned stone vats, their walls so thick that even a cannonball would struggle to pierce them.
Inside, craftsmen had carved out living quarters, storerooms, and even a hidden granary — just in case the militia ever had to hunker down under siege.
Highly unlikely, of course. But the Lord liked to be thorough.
As Cheng Xu reached the gate, he bellowed,
"Where's the logistics crew? Get the cooks up! We've been marching for miles on empty stomachs!"
At the mention of food, Zao Ying suddenly snapped out of her awe.
Wait… it's a famine year. Can they even afford to feed us? One meal for a hundred twenty guests could bankrupt a village…
Then a voice rang out from inside.
"Teacher He! You're back!"
Zao Ying blinked.
Teacher He? Wasn't he called Ghost Captain?
The cook sergeant came running, grinning from ear to ear.
Cheng Xu raised a brow. "What's got you so happy?"
"Heaven's Lord has already sent food!" the sergeant said, almost trembling with excitement. "He said the militia did great today — so he's rewarding everyone with a special feast!"
Cheng Xu's eyes lit up. "Oh? What kind of feast?"
"Bring it out!" the sergeant roared back into the camp.
A moment later, a whole line of cooks and porters emerged, eight to a row, each holding a massive bowl. Steam poured into the cold night air.
Zao Ying's jaw dropped.
"Braised Chicken! Steamed Pork with Rice Flour! Jujube Pork Belly! Whole Knuckle! Wind-Dried Chicken! Cured Meat! Eight-Treasure Rice—"
She stopped, eyes wide. "This… this is luxurious!"
Half an hour earlier, Li Daoxuan's Meituan delivery had arrived.
He had carefully unpacked the Xi'an Eight Great Bowls, divided them into portions, and placed each set into storage boxes — then handed them off to the cooks with a smile.
Now, those divine take-out boxes had become an army feast:
five sets, each consisting of eight glorious dishes — eight steaming basins rather than bowls.
Behind Zao Ying, her riders were practically drooling.
"Is that… Xi'an Eight Great Bowls?"
"Looks like it, but in basins!"
"More like Xi'an Eight Great Basins!"
"Wait—are we sure this is still a famine year?"
"How rich are these people?"
Even Cheng Xu felt the shock in his gut.
He'd seen Li Daoxuan's tricks before, but hearing the stunned chatter behind him, he realized what this was: a show of power.
The Lord was sending a message — This is Gao Village. This is prosperity. Be impressed.
He couldn't afford to look humbled in front of outsiders.
So he straightened his back, put on a calm, almost bored smile, and said lightly,
"Just a few side dishes. We eat like this all the time."
Zao Ying blinked. "All the time?"
Her riders nearly fainted.
Inside, Cheng Xu was laughing like a madman, but his face stayed perfectly serene.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" he said. "Grab your bowls and dig in!"
Ming Context
The "Xi'an Eight Great Bowls" (西安八大碗) were once a signature banquet of northwest China — a mix of braised meats, cured fowl, and glutinous rice desserts served in large porcelain bowls. In famine years of the late Ming, such a meal was an impossible luxury; having it appear here shows the almost divine abundance under Li Daoxuan's "management."
Trivia
The real "Eight Bowls" set was often used in Shaanxi wedding banquets. Here, Li Daoxuan unintentionally hosts the most morale-boosting dinner party of the Ming collapse.
Cheng Xu's deadpan "We eat like this all the time" became a running joke among later villagers — the official slogan of Gao Village prosperity.