The morning sun had only just begun to scatter its pale light over the hills when Zao Ying woke with a pounding headache.
Her first thought: Where the hell am I?
She blinked groggily, staring at the unfamiliar stone ceiling. The air smelled faintly of ash and clean earth. Around her — a single bed, a wooden table, and a coat rack. No fancy drapes, no ornaments, just… austerity.
Then she remembered the feast.
The wine.
The eight bowls.
Oh. Right. That ridiculously strong liquor.
Groaning, she clutched her temples and stumbled to her feet, pushing open the door.
What greeted her outside was not a bandit's lair, nor a military barracks — but a maze of small stone chambers built neatly into a cavernous hall. Every room was identical, their doors aligned in perfect order along a central corridor.
It looked less like a rebel camp and more like a monastery designed by an obsessive architect.
Zao Ying blinked.
"What kind of army lives this tidy?"
She peeked into one of the rooms. Inside, one of her own men lay snoring, drool bubbling at the corner of his mouth, clutching his belly like a blissed-out pig.
Yeah. He'd eaten well.
With a sigh, she left the building. Outside, on the training field, the "Guyuán rebels" were already awake — five hundred armored men moving as one, their fists slicing through the cold dawn air.
At the front stood the man they called He Instructor — though yesterday, the bandits had whispered another name for him: the Old Demon of Guyuán.
He was demonstrating a vicious sequence of moves — choke, twist, snap. Every motion screamed killing intent.
Even watching from afar made Zao Ying's back break out in cold sweat.
If I ever had to fight one of them head-on, she thought, I'd be dead before I drew my sword.
The instructor glanced her way and smiled faintly.
"Morning, Chief Zao! We're busy with drills. Go to the kitchen — breakfast should be ready."
Breakfast? After last night's banquet? Surely it'd just be porridge and broth, right?
Curious, she wandered toward the cooking tents — and stopped dead.
Rows upon rows of meat buns, steaming hot, stacked in baskets taller than a man. The smell — savory, rich, almost sinful — hit her like a slap.
She bit into one. Juicy pork exploded across her tongue.
Zao Ying staggered back, nearly dropping the bun.
"This… this isn't human. What kind of place is this!?"
Even in a famine year, these people were eating like landlords.
She decided to see more.
Still gnawing on her second bun, she wandered out of the valley. A paved gray road ran ahead — smooth, straight, and unnaturally solid. Too hard for horses, but beside it, someone had laid a softer dirt path. Whoever built it had thought of everything.
Beyond the ridge, her jaw dropped again.
A fortress — massive, three stories high, surrounded by fertile farmland. Smoke curled peacefully from chimneys. There were even small colored buildings, little trains chugging along on rails that hummed.
Her mind short-circuited.
What is this?
Heaven?
Or some devil's trick?
"Good morning, Chief Zao!"
The voice came from behind her — a middle-aged man with an annoyingly bright grin. He clasped his hands in greeting.
"I'm Shansier, steward of Gaojia Village. Welcome! Our humble little settlement is honored by your visit."
Zao Ying blinked. The way he said "humble little settlement" while gesturing to a fortress the size of a palace almost made her punch him.
She bowed slightly. "Steward Shan. I'm new here and don't know your customs — if I've trespassed, forgive me."
He smiled warmly. "Not at all, not at all! So, what do you think of our village?"
Zao Ying hesitated, glancing around at the fields, the stone walls, the orderly soldiers, the smell of real food.
"It's… wealthy. Innovative. In this age of famine and war, it's nothing short of a miracle."
Shansier chuckled to himself. Hooked.
That morning, Dao Xuan Tianzun himself had sent down a written command — quite literally "from above" — instructing him to persuade Zao Ying to stay and train their cavalry. This was the opening act.
He sighed theatrically. "Yes… four years of drought. The common folk suffer. The province is chaos. Bandits everywhere, trade collapsed… one could say the empire has reached the stage of 'gold spent, fur worn through.'"
Zao Ying frowned. "Uh… what?"
He coughed. "Er, means: times are hard."
She nodded gravely. "They are."
"Even the bandit profession, once so promising," he added lightly, "has become… difficult?"
That struck home. She gave a wry smile. "Harder by the day. Used to be, when the harvests were good, you could rob grain convoys or a birthday tribute and make a killing. Now? The convoys are gone, and the officials who guard them — they're not even human anymore."
Shansier thought briefly of Hong Chengchou, the ruthless grain inspector of Shaanxi, and shuddered.
So even the outlaws fear him, huh?
"Well then," he said softly, "if the roads grow perilous, have you never thought of finding a place to rest? A safe haven? A taoyuan of your own?"
Zao Ying's eyes narrowed. Ah, so that's your play.
She'd been courted before — every minor warlord and gang chief wanted her cavalry. But this was the first time she hesitated.
Because here… the power was real.
The food was real.
The people were loyal.
What if… I stayed?
For the first time in years, the idea didn't feel ridiculous.
"Tell me," she asked cautiously, "did you use this same honeyed tongue to recruit the Guyuan rebels and Yongji's Red Wolf too?"
Shansier chuckled. "No trickery, I assure you. The Red Wolf stayed of her own will — she came often to trade, grew fond of the place, and one day simply never left. She could leave any time she wanted, but now…" He smiled. "Now she calls this home."
"Home…" Zao Ying murmured.
"As for the real Guyuan rebels…"
Shansier's grin turned sly, teeth slightly yellowed. "Would you like to see them?"
Her brows furrowed. "See them? What do you mean?"
"Come, come. This way."
They climbed to a watchtower overlooking the valley. He pointed toward a cluster of gray stone buildings beyond the fields — barred windows, reinforced gates.
"There," he said cheerfully. "That is where the real Guyuan rebels live. We call it the 'Reform and Labor Zone.'"
Inside the fenced compound, dozens of rough, scarred men were being herded out by guards — not beaten, not chained, but carrying tools, heading toward the fields.
Even from afar, Zao Ying could feel it — these were killers, the genuine article. Men with blood on their hands.
Her stomach tightened.
So the army she'd eaten with last night… wasn't the rebel army at all.
It was something else entirely.
Ming Context:
By the late Ming dynasty, private militias known as mintuan (民團) were often formed by wealthy landowners to protect villages from bandits and famine refugees. In this story, "Gaojia Village" represents an idealized version — self-sufficient, disciplined, even technologically advanced under the supernatural guidance of Dao Xuan Tianzun.
Meanwhile, figures like Hong Chengchou were real officials infamous for brutal tax and grain enforcement during Shaanxi's famine years, inspiring deep resentment from both peasants and rebels.
Trivia:
The term "金盡裘弊" ("gold spent, fur worn through") is an idiom meaning utter exhaustion of wealth and resources — here, Shansier misuses it, showing his tendency to sound clever even when he isn't.
Zao Ying's name (皂鶯) literally means "black oriole," likely a tongue-in-cheek nod to her reputation as a female bandit with both grace and sharpness.
The "Labor Reform" setup humorously mirrors Ming penal colonies, foreshadowing how Dao Xuan Tianzun's governance blends divine order with modern management.