The bandits froze in shock.
"Firearms—so many of them!"
The frontline frontier troops were hit hardest by the first volley. Yet, ironically, they were also the quickest to react.
As soon as they saw their comrades drop, they immediately crouched behind their iron shields, careful to keep their entire bodies hidden.
Iron could still hold against musket fire—but only if you made yourself as small as possible and didn't so much as stick a toe out.
They shuffled forward, shields up, bodies folded tight like crabs.
Behind them, the turncoat garrison troops and bandits screamed in chaos.
Still, one volley wasn't enough to shatter their morale.
A few men shouted,
"Don't be afraid! How many firearms can one county even have? That first round—must've emptied their powder! Keep going! Once we reach the walls, we win!"
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The second volley came.
The Gaojia Militia didn't yet have enough training for the classic three-stage fire formation, so they were using a two-stage shooting pattern instead.
Two hundred and fifty muskets fired first—then, after ten blinks' worth of reloading—another two hundred and fifty answered.
In the blink of an eye, the beach was carpeted with bodies.
From his perch above, Feng Jun watched as entire ranks of bandits collapsed like wheat before the scythe.
The sheer volume of coordinated gunfire was terrifying.
He couldn't help thinking: Forget bandits—if these were imperial troops, they'd still get shredded. Incredible. Absolutely incredible. This is supposed to be a village militia? They're fighting like the Shenji Camp!
And it wasn't even over yet.
The grenadiers were up next.
Gao Chuwu and Zheng Gouzi swung their arms and hurled their fuse grenades.
The newly expanded grenadier corps—two hundred strong—followed their cue, throwing as one.
A rain of small, club-sized objects flew out across the sand.
"What the hell are those?" someone gasped.
Almost no one in the bandit ranks had seen one before.
Outside of Gaojia Village, the only people familiar with these gadgets were the survivors of Wang Zuogua's old gang—those who'd faced these "toys" at Huanglong Mountain.
But most of them now labored away in the Reform Camp Valley—a kind of "rehabilitation" project with excellent job stability and a lifetime contract.
Then came the storm.
BOOM!
The first grenade exploded—thrown by Gao Chuwu.
It landed square in the center of the enemy formation, the perfect throw.
Dozens of bandits dropped at once, some with only a grunt before crumpling lifeless.
Then Zheng Gouzi's grenade hit.
Another explosion—another section fell silent.
Everywhere a grenade landed, men dropped in concentric circles—some even outside the blast radius, collapsing like their strings had been cut.
No one understood what had killed them.
One volley. Just one.
And the bandit army was left completely dazed.
Even Bai Yuzhu, watching from his flagship, stood petrified.
"What in the hell was that?"
"Why does one blast drop everyone around it?"
"What kind of weapon is that?"
"Ahhh—too terrifying!"
The bandit army erupted into screams—
crying, wailing, begging their ancestors for help.
Bang!
Another sharpshooter fired.
A small-time bandit captain spun and fell, never even knowing who shot him.
Bang!
Another fell—his fancy robe fluttering dramatically as he dropped.
For all the self-styled "great heroes" among them, the rifled muskets were the end of the act—accurate, merciless, and unimpressed by costume flair.
The frontier troops and garrison men broke first.
They howled and rolled backward, fleeing for their lives.
Once they turned tail, the rest of the bandits followed—
and just like that, the entire force collapsed, fleeing in chaos.
They leapt back onto their boats—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The firearms roared again.
Those who turned to flee showed their backs—and paid for it.
Bullets tore through them.
Bodies toppled into the river, swallowed by the muddy Yellow waters.
The lucky few managed to scramble aboard boats and row frantically toward the center of the river—until they reached Bai Yuzhu's flagship.
Only when they were safely beyond the range of firearms and those hellish bombs did they dare stop.
That one assault had cost them hundreds of lives.
Bai Yuzhu sucked in a sharp breath.
"Are we seriously attacking just a county?"
A drenched, wild-eyed lieutenant clambered aboard his ship and shouted,
"Boss Bai, retreat! We can't take this place! Their defenses are stronger than General Wang Guoliang's back in Shanxi—he only had a few cannons and maybe a hundred guns! This—this is pure nightmare! We don't even know how much firepower they've got!"
"Retreat! Boss Bai, we can't fight this one!"
"This place is fiercer than Hong Chengchou's camp! I'd rather turn around and fight Yichuan again!"
"Or Hequ! Anything but here!"
The bandits had lost all will to fight.
They wanted only to run.
Bai Yuzhu took one look at them and sighed.
Fine. They were bandits after all—retreating wasn't dishonor; it was habit.
"Retreat!"
"North! Head north!"
The order spread.
Every ship—big and small—started paddling for dear life.
Men threw aside swords and used them as oars, splashing furiously like a school of panicked fish.
And so, Bai Yuzhu and his shattered army retreated upriver—
fleeing north until the fleet vanished beyond the horizon.
Onshore, Bai Yuan lowered his spyglass, watching them fade into the distance.
Finally, he sighed.
"Well, they're gone!"
Cheng Xu snatched the glass for a peek.
"Gone already? Damn, they ran fast. My men didn't even get to warm up."
Bai Yuan snorted.
"What, you wanted a longer fight? Gunpowder doesn't grow on trees!"
Cheng Xu chuckled.
"You don't get it. Dao Xuan Tianzun told me himself—the firearm corps needs real combat training. We can't just hoard gunpowder forever.
If we save too much, our soldiers'll turn soft. Then when the Jianzhou cavalry come, we'll have nothing left to fight with."
Bai Yuan raised an eyebrow.
"Jianzhou? Aren't they way up north? You really think we need them as our hypothetical enemy?"
Cheng Xu shrugged.
"When the Tianzun speaks, there's always a reason—hidden wisdom in plain words. Don't take it lightly."
Bai Yuan blinked, then hastily bowed to the sky.
"Right, right—respectfully noted!"
But the heavens were empty—no drifting cloud, no low-hanging light.
Apparently, Dao Xuan Tianzun hadn't bothered to watch this battle.
Indeed—
At that exact moment, the Tianzun was shopping.
Drifting above the streets while Gao Yiye walked below, they strolled together through Heyang County—a self-proclaimed "Yellow River Eco-Food Capital."
The place was full of snacks and specialty dishes.
Halfway down the main street, Gao Yiye stopped, eyes wide.
"Eh? What's this? 'Freshwater Dumpling House'?"
She pushed open the door.
🗒️ Trivia: Fuse Grenades (手榴彈)
Early Ming-era "grenades" were typically clay or cast-iron shells filled with gunpowder, ignited by a slow fuse.
The Gaojia design, of course, took a few centuries' worth of shortcuts.
Its most revolutionary feature: it actually worked.