Madam Liu walked out of the school in a daze.
The teacher's words still echoed in her mind. Had she really been too anxious about sending her son to school?
Yes—perhaps she had. That must be why the teacher had spoken to her like that.
From now on, she told herself, she must choose her words more carefully when speaking to her son.
As she wandered aimlessly through the lively streets of Gaojia Village, her thoughts spinning, she didn't even realize where her feet were taking her—until the sound of women's laughter snapped her out of her trance.
Looking around, she found herself in front of another large building. Its layout looked remarkably similar to the school she had just left, though this one seemed slightly smaller, with fewer rooms and floors.
What struck her most, however, was that there wasn't a single man in sight. Not one boy, not even a male dog or rooster. Even the mosquito that just flew past her and bit her arm—she was certain it was female, judging by the way it drank her blood so boldly.
Madam Liu blinked. "What kind of place is this?"
Two middle-aged women passed by, chatting cheerfully about spinning and weaving.
"Did you hear?" one said. "Master Song has invented something called a 'miniature steam engine.' If you attach it to a spinning frame, it'll keep turning the crank on its own! Isn't that incredible?"
"What? Then what's the point of us learning weaving? Won't we be useless now?"
"Not at all!" the other woman laughed. "The steam engine only spins the wheel for us—you still need to guide the thread, manage the shuttle, and handle the yarn yourself. Learning to weave is still useful."
"Oh, that scared me for a moment!"
Madam Liu's head spun as she listened. She finally stepped forward and asked timidly, "Excuse me, sisters—what is this place?"
The women looked her up and down, immediately realizing she was new. One of them smiled. "This? It's the Women's Vocational School—where we teach women practical skills."
Madam Liu's eyes widened. "Only for women?"
"Of course!" the other replied proudly. "It's wonderful here. We learn weaving, tailoring, cooking, embroidery—everything a woman could use to earn an honest living!"
"Earn a living?" Madam Liu echoed.
"Sure! Once you learn the trade, you can take tailoring commissions. Each job can earn you dozens of copper coins!"
"Dozens…?" Madam Liu's heart skipped. That's real money!
Before she could think twice, the two women cheerfully dragged her into a classroom.
Inside, the tailoring class was already in session. The instructor was none other than Gao Sanniang, one of Gaojia Village's founding elders—a master tailor whose skills were said to rival palace seamstresses.
On the platform, Gao Sanniang held up a half-finished garment and explained, "When you make clothing, you must always leave half an inch of space here. Never make the seams too tight, or when the wearer puts it on—snap!—the stitches will burst."
A dozen women hurried to jot down notes.
The students varied in age—from little girls barely ten years old to grandmothers in their fifties—but every one of them listened with rapt attention.
Madam Liu couldn't help but envy them. She wanted to join, but hesitation held her back—until the two women who had brought her gave her a good shove, plopping her into an empty seat. Then, dusting off their hands, they waved goodbye and left.
Embarrassed, Madam Liu looked toward the podium.
Gao Sanniang met her gaze and gave her a small, approving nod—no hint of disapproval, only quiet welcome.
That was all the encouragement Madam Liu needed. She straightened her back and focused on the lesson with all her heart.
Meanwhile, far to the north—Fugu County.
The county's walls had long since been torn down, leaving the city as vulnerable as a shelled egg trembling in the winter wind. Bandit troops roamed the streets in chaotic packs.
At one house, a group of bandits hammered on the door. The old man inside, trembling, quietly tossed out what little silver he had left.
The bandits scooped it up and grinned. The old man, relieved, began to turn away—only for a blade to slash across his back.
He collapsed, blood spilling onto the snow, as laughter rang out behind him.
"Old fool. I didn't like his face."
"Ha! Me neither."
In the county yamen, Wang Jiayin sat in the magistrate's chair, the corpse of the county official lying at his feet. Yet his expression was grim.
The waterborne assault on Qiachuan Dock had failed. Wang Er was missing.
His plan to move south and occupy Huanglong Mountain had collapsed, forcing him to retreat and take Fugu instead.
But now, government forces were closing in.
To the south, the Shanxi Governor Song Tongyin had stationed his troops across the Yellow River in Baode County, blocking Wang Jiayin's path west.
Outside Fugu itself, Du Wenhuan, a fierce general under Grand Marshal Yang He, had surrounded the city with his men—ready to strike at any moment.
Du's army numbered barely two thousand, yet those two thousand had already routed Wang Jiayin once at the Temple of the Mountain God.
Among Du's troops were several hundred elite household soldiers loaned by Hong Chengchou, the newly appointed governor of Yansui. Hong had granted Du command over these troops—his personal guard, trained like tigers—so Du could avenge his slaughtered clan.
Since that day, Du Wenhuan had fought like a man possessed. Wherever he went, corpses followed.
Now, he had cornered Wang Jiayin once again.
Inside the ruined yamen, tension hung heavy.
Wang Jiayin sighed. "The pressure… it's unbearable."
His strategist, Zijin Liang, leaned close. "Then we fake surrender. Grand Marshal Yang He is pushing for reconciliation. With fifty thousand men under your command, the court won't dare confront us head-on. If we offer to submit, they'll accept—and while their guard is down, we cross the Yellow River and take Shanxi by storm."
Wang Jiayin considered, then nodded slowly. "Do it."
A letter of surrender was dispatched to Governor Song Tongyin, who forwarded it straight to Yang He.
The Grand Marshal was overjoyed. "If Wang Jiayin truly repents, we must give him a chance."
Du Wenhuan, however, slammed his fist against the table. "That thief butchered my kin! I will never accept!"
"Think of the greater good!" Yang He scolded.
As the two argued by letter, news came in—too late.
Taking advantage of their hesitation, Wang Jiayin had already launched his real plan: under the cover of night, his troops stormed across the Yellow River, striking directly at Hequ County.
The local garrison's commander, Wang Kegui, betrayed the defense and opened the gates.
General Wang Daliang hastily rolled out the Western cannons, hoping to blast the rebels back across the river—
—but one of the cannons exploded in its own barrel, annihilating the artillery line.
Hequ County fell.
Then, like wildfire, the uprising spread. Bands of rebels poured across the river one after another.
It was now the third year of Chongzhen.
From the east, Wang Jiayin, Zijin Liang, the Chuang King, Cao Cao (Luo Rucai);
From the west, the Eight Kings of the Western Camp (Zhang Xianzhong), Old Huihui (Ma Shouying), Bu Zhanni, the Chuang General (Li Zicheng), the Scorpion King, and others—
Together, they led their armies across the Yellow River, surging into Shanxi like a tide of vengeance.