For several days straight, Dao Xuan Tianzun kept switching perspectives, looking down across the region to oversee the handling of the so-called "returning home bandits."
What he saw was… ugly.
More than half of them had already given up on the idea of behaving like human beings.
On the road back, they robbed when they could and killed when they felt like it. When they ran into Fang Wushang's official troops, they would instantly switch masks—heads lowered, voices trembling, claiming they had accepted amnesty and only wanted to go home and live honest lives. Fang Wushang, bound by policy, would let them pass.
The moment his troops were out of sight, the knives came back out.
If Dao Xuan Tianzun hadn't been watching from above, several villages of ordinary civilians would already have been wiped out.
He got angry enough to start using the "Thanos hand" again, flattening multiple groups of returning bandits directly from the sky.
Six hundred reformed prisoners from the Guyuan rebels, the Gaojia Village Militia, the cavalry battalion, and the Bai Yuan-led Grand Militia were stationed along key villages and routes. Nearly every day, they were fighting returning bandits. Only after hundreds of severed heads were hung at village borders did the later arrivals finally calm down.
Seeing those heads swinging in the wind had a miraculous effect on morality.
Only then did the bandits obediently accept Gaojia Village's grain and grudgingly agree to start farming again.
Even so, Dao Xuan Tianzun did not dare let these people enter Gaojia Village or county towns. If trouble broke out when he wasn't watching, it wouldn't be soldiers dying—it would be his little people.
So he placed them instead in remote, half-abandoned villages, cutting off contact with real civilians. Then he sent grain regularly, hammering one idea into their heads:
You do not need to rob to survive anymore.
Only with time could they crawl back toward something resembling a normal human mindset.
And this was with infinite grain.
The difficulty of handling them made it painfully obvious how impossible the situation must be for the Ming court, which had no such luxury.
News quickly reached Liang Shixian. Around Hancheng, along the Tongguan route, returning bandits were running wild—burning, looting, killing—until the local population erupted in fury against the "amnesty policy."
This, in turn, enraged Hong Chengchou, who was stationed at Hancheng.
His response was simple and identical to Dao Xuan Tianzun's: catch troublemakers, kill them, hang their heads at town and village gates, and let the next batch decide whether they felt brave today.
Unfortunately, Hong Chengchou did not have infinite grain.
Heads could frighten people for a while—but hunger always won eventually. After a few days without food, the bandits would still rob civilians.
So he killed more.
This cycle dragged on for days, only ending once all the Heyang bandits had finally "returned home."
By October, golden autumn arrived, and Chengcheng County welcomed a massive harvest.
Every village and town brought in grain.
Dao Xuan Tianzun's sequence of miracles—dragging the Dragon King around for rain, creating lakes, digging reservoirs—had finally crushed the drought. Chengcheng County came back to life, green and loud and busy again.
At the same time, the expanded one-thousand-man Gaojia Village Militia began preparing to enter the mountains and wipe out bandits—avenging the four villagers who had been assassinated.
Early one morning, Gao Yiye arrived at the barracks.
The moment she showed up, everyone understood: the Tianzun was personally involved.
Months had passed, but Dao Xuan Tianzun hadn't forgotten a single drop of blood. Someone had clearly earned him the nickname Vengeful Tianzun, and he wore it proudly.
"Yiye," he said, "have them report their readiness."
At his command, a thousand militia formed ranks on the main training ground and began their report.
Three hundred flintlock muskets.
One hundred grenadiers.
The remaining six hundred armed with cold steel.
The amusing part was this: Dao Xuan Tianzun had never suggested it—but Gaojia Village's blacksmiths had independently invented the bayonet.
Apparently, human brains synchronize naturally once technology reaches a certain level.
The musketmen had complained once: "When enemies get close, the gun is useless."
So the blacksmiths thought hard and concluded—very reasonably—that adding a blade to the front would solve the problem.
Not too wide.
Not too thick.
Must not interfere with firing.
The result: a narrow, stabbing spike.
Thus, the bayonet was born, quietly and without ceremony.
Dao Xuan Tianzun swept his gaze across the militia, using his "Focus" function to inspect their equipment. He nodded in satisfaction. A thousand men like this, as long as they didn't do anything stupid, should be enough to deal with someone like Wang Zuogua.
And with Cheng Xu in command, stupid decisions were unlikely. He was steady. Reliable. Dao Xuan Tianzun trusted him.
"I'll be staying behind to watch over Gaojia Village," Dao Xuan Tianzun said seriously. "Once you enter Huanglong Mountain, I won't be able to help you. You'll fight this battle without me."
"This is something you'll all face sooner or later. I can't protect you forever. One day, you'll have to rely on yourselves."
The militia wavered.
They were used to having the Tianzun overhead, watching their backs. Hearing that he wouldn't follow them this time made more than a few hearts feel hollow.
Morale dipped—just a little.
Cheng Xu calculated rapidly.
With the Tianzun present, victory was guaranteed. Without him?
Wang Zuogua commanded over ten thousand men, including former border troops and deserters from official garrisons. Their combat strength was higher than before.
One thousand against ten thousand—even with firearms—it wasn't certain. If they walked into an ambush and the enemy closed distance, firearms would lose their edge.
He estimated a twenty percent chance of failure.
As that thought crossed his mind, a figure floated through the sky ahead—an old great-grandmother, young again, about twenty years old, drifting like a fairy with dozens of long, colorful ribbons trailing behind her.
Like Chang'e ascending to the moon.
Ah.
So this was what "twenty percent" meant.
The pressure hit Cheng Xu instantly.
Dao Xuan Tianzun saw their lack of confidence and shook his head.
But this risk was necessary. Whether sooner or later, the militia had to be tempered. He would let go one day. Better now, against Wang Zuogua, than later—when the enemy was the Qing.
"Understand this," Dao Xuan Tianzun said heavily. "Your lives come first."
"Do not throw yourselves away just to wipe out bandits. Bandits can be dealt with early or late. But if you die, that's the end."
The field fell silent.
And for the first time, the militia truly understood what it meant to fight without a god holding their hand.
Notes & Context
[1] Returning bandits and policy failure
Late-Ming amnesty often failed not because of mercy, but because food supply collapsed first. Hunger undermined every policy.
[2] Heads as deterrence
Public execution and display were standard psychological warfare. Effective short-term, useless without logistics.
[3] Independent invention of the bayonet
Historically, bayonets emerged organically once firearms became widespread. Close combat creates the same solution everywhere.
[4] Huanglong Mountain
Mountain strongholds favored bandits: narrow paths, ambush points, and terrain that neutralized numbers and firearms.
[5] Why Dao Xuan Tianzun steps back
Reliance on divine intervention creates fragile forces. Survival against future threats requires human decision-making under pressure.