Liang Shixian's gaze locked instantly onto the object in Bai Yuan's hands.
It was a firelock—no, not just a firelock. The barrel was absurdly long, the firing mechanism so intricate it looked less like a weapon and more like an argument with physics.
With Liang Shixian's very respectable level of "educated late-Ming scientific literacy," he understood exactly none of it.
He pointed stiffly at the dead bird on the ground.
"White… Bai Yuan. You shot that?"
The moment Bai Yuan heard this, his expression brightened like a scholar who'd just discovered footnotes.
"Yes! Me!" He burst into laughter. "A hundred paces! One shot! Direct hit! Hahaha! Of the Six Arts of the Gentleman, the art of shooting—I dare say, under Heaven, none can rival me!"
"Haha—ha—ha—"
Liang Shixian's smile froze halfway.
Something about that felt wrong.
The Six Arts… shooting… surely that didn't mean any object that launches death loudly?
His brain immediately flipped open its internal archive. Scrolls flew. Classics spun. Definitions clashed like bureaucrats at court.
Ding.
He landed on the Rites of Zhou.
"Shooting," as it turned out, involved posture, ritual, etiquette, moral cultivation, and bows. Plural. Definitely bows.
It did not involve shouting "boom" and erasing birds from the sky.
He was about to say something—anything—when Bai Yuan had already begun reloading. The motions were smooth, confident, and frankly unsettling.
He raised the gun again.
Boom.
Another bird dropped from the sky like Heaven had personally unplugged it.
Bai Yuan whooped, jogged over, picked up the earlier corpse—the one that had struck Liang Shixian's official hat—and shoved it straight into the magistrate's hands.
"A gift for the County Magistrate! I'll fetch the next one!"
And off he ran, white robes flapping like a crane that had learned sprinting.
"Wait—!" Liang Shixian reached out helplessly. "Don't run! I came to discuss serious matters—where are you even going?!"
He hitched up his robes and chased.
At that exact moment, Zhao Sheng came walking from the other direction, waving a document.
"County Magistrate! Excellent timing! The refugees from Qingjian County wish to formally transfer their household registration to Chengcheng. For someone of your authority, this should be simplicity itse—"
Whoosh.
Liang Shixian shot past him like a startled civil servant possessed by destiny.
Zhao Sheng blinked.
"…lf."
Then sighed and chased after them too.
Two hundred steps later, Bai Yuan stopped, laughing loudly as he retrieved yet another unfortunate bird.
Liang Shixian finally caught up, grabbed Bai Yuan by the sleeve, and wheezed, "Enough running! I am not built for this!"
Zhao Sheng staggered in behind them, bent over. "County… Magistrate… I have… very… important…"
Three scholars. One clearing. Many overlapping sentences.
After a chaotic exchange, everything was finally sorted out.
Zhao Sheng's request—moving refugee household registrations—was, in fact, easy. The dynasty loved rules, but it loved mass relocation even more. Paperwork could always be persuaded.
The real problem was darker.
All five frontier generals had marched east to protect the capital.
Which meant the northwest was suddenly thin-skinned and bleeding.
Bandits would multiply. Chaos would breathe freely.
And worst of all, Fan Shan Yue—stationed just across the border in Heyang—was still wearing an official title.
A bandit with paperwork was more dangerous than one without.
Bai Yuan asked calmly, "County Magistrate, how do you intend to deal with Fan Shan Yue?"
Liang Shixian sighed. "There is no clean solution. He holds office in Heyang. I am magistrate of Chengcheng. I cannot legally interfere. If he crosses into our county, I may act—even execute first and report later. But if he stays in Heyang…"
"…you must wait," Bai Yuan finished.
"…and hope," Liang Shixian admitted.
Bai Yuan frowned. "That's too passive."
"So is the law," Liang Shixian replied.
They both sighed.
Then Li Dao Xuan spoke.
"Yiye," he said mildly.
Gao Yiye appeared at once. "Dao Xuan Tianzun has spoken."
Both men straightened.
She gestured at the rifle. "Bai Yuan, you have already been granted a divine tool. With it, you can end a life from two or three hundred paces away. Why hesitate?"
Bai Yuan's eyes widened.
"…Right."
Liang Shixian frowned. "Wait. What does that mean?"
Bai Yuan's smile turned sharp. "County Magistrate, we cannot openly arrest an official in Heyang."
"Yes."
"But if a man dies mysteriously in the wild, struck down from afar, and no one sees the killer—"
Liang Shixian inhaled sharply. "That would be assassination. Utter lawlessness!"
Bai Yuan shook his head. "Lawless, perhaps. But without Heaven? That I cannot accept. This is Dao Xuan Tianzun's will."
Liang Shixian froze.
Bai Yuan continued smoothly. "Fan Shan Yue enslaved civilians as a bandit. As an official, he does the same. He is no different from Li Ying. Killing him is enforcing Heaven's justice."
Liang Shixian felt something hot surge up his chest.
His nose tingled.
Was he… inspired?
Or was this just what happened when moral clarity collided with fear?
Either way, his nose started bleeding.
He wiped it slowly.
"…You're right."
He straightened.
"Heaven's law stands above man's law. Even the emperor is called the Son of Heaven—still one rank below."
Bai Yuan grinned. "Then wait for my good news."
Liang Shixian nodded, then turned sharply. "Bring paper and brush. I will write to the Heyang magistrate."
History, after all, preferred cooperation.
Heaven preferred results.