While Gaojia Village was busy welcoming Zhao Ying and building its first cavalry battalion, trouble was already brewing beyond its peaceful fields.
Far to the northwest, on the rugged slopes of Mount Huanglong, Wang Zuogua sat with his four lieutenants around a weathered boulder. The campfire between them burned low, spitting sparks into the cold wind.
"Damn it all," Wang Zuogua growled, his face dark as iron. "I had those five hundred warhorses in my grasp! Then out of nowhere, some nameless rabble swooped in and stole them right from under my nose!"
Miao Mei, his second-in-command, spoke in a low voice. "That 'rabble' came from the south. Their leader called himself the Old Ghost of Guyuan, and with him were Yongji's Red Wolf King and Yichuan's Zhao Ying. Those aren't simple bandits—they're a powerful jianghu alliance."
Wang Zuogua didn't curse them as "traitors" or "turncoats." He knew better. The world was full of rebel bands, each carving their own path. In the chaos of the late Ming, one man's "heroic uprising" was another man's "thieving horde."
They were all blades dancing on the same bloody edge.
Wang Zuogua stared into the flames. "If they went south, that means they're headed for Chengcheng County, right?"
Fei Shanhǔ nodded. "Aye. South from here, and you're in Chengcheng territory."
"That reminds me," Wang Zuogua said, narrowing his eyes. "Last year I joined forces with the Bu Zhan Ni rebels and tried to take Chengcheng. We were beaten back at Bai Fortress by strange weapons I've never seen before—some kind of thunderous flying bomb. I still remember that sound."
He clenched his fist. "And now this new 'magic bomb' that shredded my men—it must be from the same place."
Lang-Si, his fourth brother, opened his hand. Resting in his palm was a small, round iron pellet. "This came from one of those bombs. When it explodes, these iron beads shoot everywhere. Anyone nearby—dead or maimed."
The group leaned closer. Even hardened killers like them shuddered.
"This sort of weapon…" Wang Zuogua muttered, "there's no way to defend against it. It must be the work of that Bai Yuan."
Lang-Si nodded. "Without a doubt."
Wang Zuogua's jaw tightened. "So from now on, every time we attack Bai Fortress, we'll be facing this kind of madness?"
"No way to fight it head-on," Lang-Si said grimly.
"So I just swallow my loss?" Wang Zuogua slammed his fist into the rock. "Those horses were mine!"
Lang-Si grinned, the kind of grin only a jianghu killer wears. "Then don't fight him head-on. We go silent. We disguise ourselves, slip into his stronghold, and strike from the shadows. Assassinate Bai Yuan."
"Easier said than done," Wang Zuogua replied. "That fortress is tighter than a drum."
Just then, a scout came running down the slope. "Boss, we've got word! Chengcheng County is forming a huge militia—thousands of men—to fight against the rebel bands."
Wang Zuogua spat. "So that's their excuse to come for me, huh?"
The scout added, "It's led by none other than Bai Yuan himself. He's in the county seat right now, meeting with militia captains and planning defenses."
For a moment, the fire's light flickered across Wang Zuogua's face—and his eyes glinted like a predator's.
"So the man leaves his fortress… and walks into a crowded city full of refugees and beggars?" He laughed low. "Perfect. In chaos like that, our men can sneak in easy."
He turned to Lang-Si. "Fourth Brother, pick me a dozen good hands. Jiānghú men, quick with a blade and calm under pressure. Dress them like refugees, slip into Chengcheng, and watch for a chance to strike. If you find that Bai Yuan… kill him."
Lang-Si gave a toothy smile. "Heh, leave it to me."
At dawn, Li Daoxuan awoke as usual.
He sipped tea, ate a piece of golden coconut cake, and watched over his miniature world.
Within the high walls of Gaojia Village, all was peaceful. Zhao Ying had already taken command of her riders—the hundred and twenty horse bandits who'd followed her here. Their horsemanship was first-class, but their equipment was laughable. Torn armor, dull blades, and half-fed horses.
But that was easily fixed.
Soon, wagons rumbled out from the Workshop, loaded with new armor, polished sabers, long spears, and compact crossbows that could be fired from horseback.
Zhao Ying raised an eyebrow at the crossbows. "You folks really like these, huh? Too small. Range is short, reload's slow—not fit for mounted use."
Cheng Xu coughed awkwardly. "Well… most of our militia are farmers. Training them on the bow takes too long. The Heavenly Master said we'll eventually move to firearms, so why waste time with archery?"
Zhao Ying almost laughed at that. Firearms instead of bows? In the Ming dynasty, that was madness.
But then she remembered the thunder weapons she'd seen in battle. Maybe "madness" wasn't the right word. Maybe it was genius.
"Fine," she said. "You lot use your crossbows. My people will keep their bows. Saves time."
"Ah, but we're short on bows," Cheng Xu admitted. "Tell you what—go find Master Song at the school. Have him draw up a new design for you, then bring it to the Workshop for crafting."
"School?" Zhao Ying blinked. "You have a school?"
She followed his directions—and as she walked through the hallways of the great building, passing room after room of children reciting aloud, she couldn't help but feel a strange awe.
This wasn't some bandit hideout. This was a dream being built.
"Training farmers, raising scholars, teaching children…" she murmured. "All this… just to prepare for rebellion?"
Even in the wildest corners of the jianghu, she'd never seen anything like Gaojia Village.
Ming Context Trivia (Wuxia Edition):
During the late Ming, rebel leaders like Zhu Yuanzhang began as peasant bandits who built secret "utopias"—villages that mixed farming, militia training, and education. The famous motto "Build high walls, stockpile grain, and bide your time" became the playbook for both emperors and jianghu dreamers.
Jianghu Note:
Nicknames like "Lang-Si" (Fourth Wolf) or "Old Ghost of Guyuan" aren't random—they mark one's rank and reputation in the brotherhood world. To be called "Wolf" meant ferocity; to be called "Ghost" meant you always came back alive.