Bai Yuan crawled back to the riverbank and, a few hundred paces from the water, selected a small dirt pit that had clearly given up on life long ago. He flattened himself into it.
The white robe did not survive the maneuver.
One dive later, it had fully converted to yellow, like history intended.
He pulled out the flintlock musket.
Loading.
Packing powder.
Compressing.
Pausing.
Then repeating everything again, because early firearms were less "technology" and more "suggestions with confidence issues."
By the time he finally understood which part was supposed to do what, the pirate flotilla had already reached Qiaochuan Wharf.
The fishing boats that normally crowded the dock had vanished. Entirely. Gone with the efficiency of people who had learned survival the hard way.
The pirate ships docked.
Bai Yuan swept his gaze across them, searching for the flagship.
He found it immediately.
A mid-sized merchant vessel flew a ragged banner, torn half to death by river wind. On it was a single character: Wang. It snapped loudly, as if offended by its own reputation.
Bai Yuan's eyes lit up.
"So," he murmured, delighted, "Wang Jiayin came in person?"
If he could drop Wang Jiayin here with one shot, the pirate army would implode on the spot. At minimum, they'd panic. At maximum, they'd cry. Both were acceptable outcomes.
He focused harder.
Then paused.
Something felt… off.
The man standing on deck looked familiar.
Uncomfortably familiar.
That made no sense. Bai Yuan had never met Wang Jiayin. Which meant—
A household guard beside him whispered sharply, "Wait. That's Wang Er of Baishui. I saw him once during the chaos in Cheng County."
Bai Yuan froze.
Then memory clicked.
"Right," he said quietly. "Baishui Wang Er. I met him once in Gaojia Village."
Very clearly.
He lowered the musket.
The guard panicked. "My lord? Why stop? That's Wang Er! You're just letting him go?"
When Bai Yuan had rushed alone to support Gaojia Fort against Zheng Yanfu and Zhong Guangdao, none of his household guards had been with him. Later, Wang Er lied deliberately, claiming he had failed to attack the village and been wounded in the process—just to avoid dragging Gaojia Village into deeper trouble.
So no one here knew the truth.
Not even Bai Yuan's own men.
Bai Yuan exhaled.
"Wang Er is a real hero," he said. "Shooting him without knowing why he's here? I can't do it."
He watched instead.
The pirate fleet docked—but did not disembark.
Wang Er shouted something. The entire flotilla immediately behaved itself and waited like children who'd been threatened with homework.
Wang Er jumped ashore with fewer than ten men.
He scanned left and right, paranoid, then broke into a fast march west.
Bai Yuan straightened.
"Oh," he thought. "I see."
He pushed off the dirt pit and rose in one clean motion.
Wang Er was on edge already. When someone suddenly appeared in front of him like a system error made flesh, he nearly jumped out of his skin. His hand flashed to his blade—
Then he froze.
"…White Scholar Bai of Bai Fortress?"
Bai Yuan smiled. He flicked open his folding fan with a snap. The words Gentleman gleamed calmly.
"At your service."
Wang Er stared. Then his face broke open in pure joy.
"I was planning to return to Gaojia Village," he said quickly. "I never expected to meet you here. This is—this is insanely lucky."
He had not forgotten.
How Zheng Yanfu and Zhong Guangdao betrayed him.
How he'd been stabbed, abandoned in a mountain cave.
How Bai Yuan had marched through the night to pull him back from death.
History remembered violence.
Men remembered who showed up.
Bai Yuan folded his fan.
"Hero Wang," he said evenly, "you chose to leave Gaojia Village and walk the jianghu. We respected that. Now you return with Wang Jiayin's men. Why?"
"I came back because of this," Wang Er replied. "Please. Take me to Gaojia Village."
Bai Yuan nodded once.
"Then follow me."
Evening.
The doorbell rang like it was owed money.
Li Daoxuan, holding a bowl of fried instant noodles in his left hand and a pair of chopsticks in his mouth, opened the door with his right.
Outside stood Cai Xinzi, smiling brightly.
"Yo, Daoxuan. The first ship model you ordered is done. I figured I'd deliver it personally—and check out your new place."
Li Daoxuan laughed. "It's just a trash villa."
Cai Xinzi stared at him. "Three hundred square meters. Detached. You call this trash?"
He toured the first floor enthusiastically, clicking his tongue. When he headed for the stairs, Li Daoxuan grabbed him.
"Second floor's off-limits."
Cai Xinzi's face shifted instantly into I know exactly what this is.
"Oh?" he whispered. "Women upstairs?"
Li Daoxuan rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Fifteen of them. All naked. We're hosting a no-clothes summit. If you see something you shouldn't, I'll get jealous and gouge your eyes out."
Cai Xinzi burst out laughing. "You're terrible at lying. If there were fifteen women here, you wouldn't be eating instant noodles. You'd open the door holding a lobster."
"…Fair."
"All right," Cai Xinzi said. "Bro code. Privacy respected. Come look at the ship."
He opened the case and lifted out a fifteen-centimeter-long model.
Per Li Daoxuan's request, it was made of thick iron plating. Structurally solid. Unreasonably serious for a model.
To prevent overheating, the deck and superstructure were layered with composite material. The exterior was painted with faux wood grain, successfully tricking the eye into thinking it was wooden.
The design copied a traditional inland Chinese tower ship.
Three stories tall. Elegant. Aggressively stylish.
The roof featured recessed firing ports—perfect for archers or musketeers. Maximum intimidation.
There was a bow cannon. A stern cannon. Two rows of cannons along each side—fake, obviously. Making real ones would have been extremely illegal.
The idea of pellet cannons had been abandoned. At this scale, the cannons would have been longer than the deck. Fire-based designs were also canceled due to their tendency to set the user on fire.
Li Daoxuan counted.
Five per side. Plus bow and stern.
Twelve cannons total.
Not many.
But the ship itself was only fifteen centimeters long.
Translated into the late-Ming world, that was roughly thirty meters.
About the size of an early Spanish galleon.
Later galleons grew to fifty meters once technology caught up—but even so, this ship would be small at sea.
On the Yellow River?
It was a monster.
Li Daoxuan nodded, satisfied.
"The only flaw," he said thoughtfully, "is that it's not painted in Heavenly Lord colors."