Flat Rabbit's little stunt had truly opened everyone's eyes.
Zheng Gouzi and the others quickly followed his lead—grabbing pre-packed gunpowder charges, sticking in slowmatch fuses, lighting them halfway, and pitching them toward the riverbank in wild arcs.
A chain of boom-boom-boom thundered across the sandbar, scattering the bandits in a haze of smoke and panic.
The blasts weren't lethal, but the terror they caused was enough.
The bandits' boats suddenly lost their nerve; none dared press in.
Those border troops who had managed to reach shore now found themselves stranded.
Caught between explosions and arrows, they broke formation—half their bodies submerged in the shallows, some retreating into the river entirely, clinging to their ship rails with only their heads above water, hiding behind their shields while the rest of them cowered beneath the surface.
The attack stalled.
Bai Yuan watched, unable to help a wry sigh.
Ordinary disciplined soldiers would never think to throw cannon gunpowder by hand.
Only someone like Flat Rabbit—habitually reckless, delighting in absurdity—could improvise something so strange yet effective.
The man always managed to shine at the oddest moments.
Just as Bai Yuan thought that, a house servant beside him handed over a rifled firearm.
"Master, your firearm is reloaded."
Bai Yuan's firearm unit was unique.
Everywhere else, gunners fired and reloaded their own weapons.
He, however, had evolved—firing once, then handing the gun off to a servant to reload while he posed for the next shot.
Grinning, he took the weapon, aimed at a border officer's head bobbing above the river, and fired.
Bang!
Then, with unhurried grace, he handed the firearm back. "Load it again."
"Master," the servant ventured, "you missed that shot. Shall I mark it off your record?"
Bai Yuan rolled his eyes. "I turned away dramatically to hide that fact—did you have to announce it?"
"…Understood, sir."
Before anyone could laugh, Feng Jun's shout cracked from the watch-tower above:
"Not good! North side! Look north!"
Bai Yuan snapped his head around.
Up along the unguarded cliffs of the riverbank—a sheer wall everyone had thought impassable—a cluster of outlaws was actually climbing up. That stretch had no palisade, no militia, just bare rock and a churning current below. No one had believed it could be used for a landing.
Apparently, Bai Yuzhu wasn't an idiot.
While his main force attacked Qiachuan Pier, he had quietly sent a detachment of agile raiders farther upstream—men who specialized in climbing. They had risked their lives scaling the cliff face and now appeared behind the defenders.
Only a few could climb that way, and they carried almost nothing—light armor, short blades, perhaps a small hide shield or even a pot-lid.
Such light troops would've been useless against regular Ming or Qing armies.
But against the Gaojia Militia of Heyang County, their sudden appearance was a psychological grenade.
Compared with the well-drilled Gao Village troops, the Heyang militia was barely trained. Behind a wall, they could manage some semblance of defense.
But when word spread that the enemy had flanked them—scaled the cliffs and come from behind—their morale simply evaporated.
Formations crumbled.
Militiamen no longer knew which way to face—toward the river or toward the cliffside raiders?
The arrow fire toward the river thinned instantly, giving the bandit fleet breathing space.
The pressure lifted, and the boats surged forward again.
Shields up, lids raised, bandits splashed ashore once more.
Feng Jun panicked. "Sir Bai, think of something!"
Bai Yuan's fan snapped open with a rustle. "No need to panic, Magistrate Feng."
Even as he spoke, the drumming of hooves rolled from the rear.
Roughly a mile away, the cavalry camp—previously spectating—had moved.
At their head rode Zao Ying.
She was no longer the scruffy recruit who'd joined Gao Village months ago. Now she wore mountain-pattern lamellar armor that gleamed like scales, a Kaiyuan bow slung across her back, a long spear in her hand.
Left hand on the reins, right hand on the shaft—she charged like a thunderbolt, a figure of pure momentum.
The only pity was that one could call her impressively gallant, not beautiful.
"Drive them back into the river!" she roared and led the charge against the cliffside raiders.
The outlaws turned at the sound of hooves and blanched.
Three hundred cavalry, bearing down on them.
What kind of cursed county is this?
Cannons, gunpowder bombs, and cavalry?
Before the thought was finished, Zao Ying was among them.
Her spear thrust clean through the foremost raider—
a sharp puff as blood sprayed, the man collapsing instantly.
Her veteran riders followed close.
One of them skewered a bandit, then yelped, "Damn, lost my spear!"
The horse hadn't slowed; the body jammed on the shaft tore the weapon from his grip.
Zao Ying whirled, furious. "What are you doing?!"
He grimaced. "I'm used to sabers, ma'am. First time spearing on horseback. Slipped by accident!"
He drew his blade with a flash of steel. "Knife feels better anyway."
Zao Ying sighed through her teeth. "…Back to training. Ten thousand spear thrusts before sleep."
Despite the comedy, cavalry against light infantry was never a fair fight.
The riders swept through the raiders like a storm, spears and sabers flashing, cutting them down in waves.
Those few who had climbed the cliff were fewer still than the horsemen; they had no chance.
Screaming, the survivors jumped back over the edge.
Below waited the roaring Yellow River.
They plunged in—splash—and vanished, then bobbed up downstream, where their comrades' boats scrambled to haul them out.
Zao Ying reined in at the cliff's lip.
A hundred-twenty veteran riders lined up beside her, spears leveled across their saddles, jeering at the wet survivors below.
They laughed—until Zao Ying suddenly frowned. Something felt off.
Too few riders.
She turned her head sharply.
Behind them, some thirty paces back, stood another hundred-eighty cavalrymen—new recruits, freshly trained after joining Gao Village. They lingered well away from the edge, hesitant and pale.
"What are you doing back there?" she barked. "We've won! Come gloat with us!"
The recruits looked embarrassed.
"Our riding's not so good yet, Commander. If the horses spook near the cliff, we might, uh… go over with them."
Zao Ying's nostrils flared. "Useless! When we return, you eat and sleep on horseback till you grow spines!"
[Historical Note: Ming Cavalry Training]
Ming light cavalry drilled in both lance and saber, but most soldiers favored the blade—it required less reach control and less trust in the horse. Many commanders complained that "men treat their spears as banners, not weapons." Zao Ying's frustration would've been entirely authentic.