Bai Yuan had already settled the militia issue with Feng Jun long ago. Feng Jun, for his part, had promised early on that Gaojia Village would bankroll the Heyang County militia.
Now that Zhang Yuanwai was also locked in, the rest of the process became easy mode.
"Brother Zhang," Bai Yuan said in a lowered voice, leaning in just enough to signal trust without triggering suspicion. "Once you're back, start expanding the militia immediately. Grain, weapons—Gaojia Village will cover all of it. First, inflate the numbers. Once the roster's big enough, it'll be much easier for us to team up later and deal with those large-scale bandit groups."
Zhang Yuanwai nodded like his head had been bound by an invisible spring. "I'll do exactly as Brother Bai says. The moment I get back, I'll get on it. I also know plenty of militia instructors from villages and towns across Heyang County. I'll call them all over to meet you. From now on, we move as one, under Brother Bai's command."
Bai Yuan laughed silently to himself. Outwardly, he didn't even blink. He clasped his hands and said calmly, "As long as everyone's on the same page, I'm confident we can block Wang Jiayin of Fugu."
"Then we'll be relying on Brother Bai for everything," Zhang Yuanwai said, with the kind of sincerity normally reserved for life insurance contracts.
…
Meanwhile, Wang Jiayin of Fugu had just eaten a catastrophic L.
A former border soldier turned rebel leader, Wang Jiayin's early game had gone suspiciously well. He gathered a core squad of ex-border troops, picked up massive refugee support, and snowballed fast. Soon after, he recruited two heavy hitters: Gao Yingxiang, the Ansai Chuang King, and Wang Ziyong, known as Zijin Liang.
Then Bai Shui Wang Er marched south from the Yulin region and linked up with him.
With Wang Er's reputation as the number-one rebel of the jianghu acting as free advertising, jianghu toughs and opportunists flooded in. Wang Jiayin's army ballooned, and by early Chongzhen Year Three, total headcount had officially broken fifty thousand.
At that point, Wang Jiayin started floating.
He stopped using fake names altogether and went full legal-name mode—Wang Jiayin, no filter, no shame. Confidence had officially outpaced caution.
He smashed Fugu County, opened the granaries, then knocked down the city walls and flattened the place. Next came Huangfuchuan Fort—walls pushed over, ground leveled.
Everywhere he passed, the map reset to blank terrain.
Smashing things, after all, is far easier than building them. A wall can be deleted in a day, but rebuilding it takes years, endless labor, and civilians who really did not sign up for this. For those few years, he could come back anytime and farm the area again.
A city without walls is just open-world content.
This was a trick he'd learned back when he served on the frontier, watching the Mongols play demolition mode. It worked. Extremely well.
And it felt great.
Win after win went to his head until he forgot a key detail: he was still a bandit, not the protagonist of history.
High on momentum, he even sent a river force across the Yellow River to attack Hequ County in Shanxi—attempting a cross-river siege that even professional armies approach like a cursed dungeon.
That kind of play naturally triggers punishment.
The Shanxi commander did not negotiate. Western cannons were rolled onto the walls, and Wang Jiayin's river force got absolutely deleted, crying all the way back to Shaanxi.
Wang Jiayin refused to accept the patch notes. He marched south along the Yellow River, planning to enter Huanglong Mountain. From there, he could set up a base and raid Yan'an Prefecture and nearby counties at will.
On paper, the plan was clean.
In reality, it required passing through Yichuan County.
And when Wang Jiayin swaggered toward Yichuan at the head of fifty thousand men, he ran into one man.
Hong Chengchou, Supervisor of Grain Transport for Shaanxi.
Had Wang Zuo Gua still lived, he would have offered a single piece of advice: if you see Hong Chengchou, leave. Do not engage. This was not a fair fight.
Unfortunately, Wang Zuo Gua was dead, and the dead do not leave tooltips.
Wang Jiayin took one look at Hong Chengchou's few hundred retainers and a little over a thousand militia and decided this was free loot. One F2A command later, fifty thousand men surged forward.
And then—
Now Wang Jiayin was hiding in a small fishing village by the Yellow River, surrounded by subordinates who looked like they'd been ragdolled by reality.
His wife's younger brother, Zhang Liwei, face caked with ash, scooped up a mouthful of river water and immediately spat it out.
"Damn it," he cursed. "This tastes like loss."
"Don't drink it raw," Wang Jiayin said darkly. "You'll get the runs. Boil it first."
"Who has the mood to boil water right now?" Zhang Liwei snapped. "That Hong Chengchou—what kind of monster is he? We charged him with fifty thousand men. He didn't even flinch. He counter-charged with two thousand and still beat us."
Wang Guozhong, a clansman, spoke up carefully. "Brother, Hong Chengchou may be a civil official, but his combat stats make no sense. Yichuan is blocked. Huanglong Mountain is unreachable."
Wang Jiayin nodded. Fifty thousand versus two thousand. Veteran border troops included. He still couldn't figure out how this turned into a wipe.
And when you don't understand the loss, you don't rematch.
Failure can teach you something—but only if you know what went wrong. Losing without understanding just means there's a skill gap.
Queue again and you lose again.
At that moment, a flotilla drifted into view. Mostly fishing boats, with a few merchant vessels mixed in. At the bow of the lead ship stood a broad-shouldered man.
Bai Shui Wang Er.
He looked nothing like the man he'd been at the start of the rebellion. His face was weathered, his beard rough, his body marked by attrition. Only his eyes remained the same—steady, burning, and very much alive.
Wang Er jumped ashore and hurried over. "Brother, why are you back here?"
"We couldn't get past Yichuan," Wang Jiayin said bitterly. "Hong Chengchou hard-stopped us."
"Oh?" Wang Er raised an eyebrow. "That Hong guy really that cracked?"
"Cracked doesn't cover it," Wang Jiayin said. "Yichuan is locked. Huanglong Mountain is off-limits."
"Then don't go," Wang Er said casually. "We pivot to Shanxi."
In truth, he very much hoped they would not enter Huanglong Mountain. South of it lay Baishui County and Chengcheng County—one his hometown, the other where he'd first raised rebellion with family support.
He knew Wang Jiayin's men. To them, burning and looting were default settings. If they entered Huanglong Mountain, nothing would stop them from spilling south.
Zhang Liwei snorted. "Shanxi? The Shanxi commander is running Western cannons. Shaanxi's five garrison commanders all went to the capital. Shaanxi is easier content. We should still find a way into Huanglong Mountain."
"I have one," Wang Guozhong said.
Wang Jiayin turned. "Say it."
"We take the river," Wang Guozhong said. "Sail south along the Yellow River. Land at Qiachuan Dock in Heyang County. From there, march west through Chengcheng County and enter Huanglong Mountain from the side."
Wang Er cursed internally.
"Good plan," Wang Jiayin said instantly. "We do that."
Wang Er stepped in fast. "Our boats can't carry fifty thousand at once. Brother, have the main force camp here for a few days. Let me take a detachment ahead and scout the route."
History, as always, advanced not through wisdom—but through plans that sounded reasonable right up until they ruined everything.