The bandit force besieging the Old Yellow River Ferry belonged to an old acquaintance.
Not Bu Zhan Ni himself—but the captain of his Fifth Company: Old Zhang Fei.
After Bu Zhan Ni followed Wang Jiayin into Shanxi, his eight companies kept their usual habit—operating separately, rarely gathering in one place. The Fifth Company marched south along the eastern bank of the Yellow River, reached Puzhou, took one look at its tall walls and solid defenses, and very sensibly decided they weren't suicidal.
So they went around it.
Then they spotted a ferry wharf that looked… edible.
Old Zhang Fei gave the order.
Surround it. Take it.
Old Zhang Fei lived up to his name. Nearly fifty. Skin darkened by sun and wind. A wild beard, a broad, rough frame. He'd named himself after Zhang Fei not out of ambition, but honesty.
His force wasn't small.
Three thousand men.
Against a little river wharf, that was grotesque overkill.
Inside the wharf, merchants, fishermen, and farmers grabbed whatever weapons they had and fought back like people who knew exactly what would happen if they didn't.
Ironically, merchants made up the largest group. Anyone who ran trade routes learned early: the road punishes the unarmed. Most merchants kept guards, retainers, hired muscle. Every one of them could scrape together a small private force.
Much like Xing Honglang and her forty-two salt smugglers.
These people were hardened. Years of clashing with bandits had taught them how to stand their ground. Compared to ordinary farmers, they were viciously competent.
So despite the numbers, they held.
And held.
And held.
Old Zhang Fei lost his temper.
"Press harder!" he roared. "Break them!"
Inside the wharf stood a middle-aged man dressed like a respectable merchant—slightly plump, brows knotted tight with worry.
His name was Tie Niao Fei.
A nickname, naturally.
Because he wasn't respectable at all.
He was a salt smuggler.
Puzhou had always bred salt smugglers. It was one of the empire's key inland salt regions. There was even an old text—Zibu Yu: The Salt Smugglers of Puzhou—devoted entirely to their kind.
It did not, regrettably, mention Xing Honglang.
Because she was invented by a god with poor impulse control.
Tie Niao Fei had twenty enforcers.
Two dead.
Six wounded.
Twelve still standing—bloodied, intact, firing arrows from behind wicker barricades.
Tie Niao Fei knew the math.
They were finished.
Three thousand bandits—strip out the useless ones and there were still over a thousand fighters. The wharf held only a few hundred people.
Death was approaching at a walking pace.
Behind them was the Yellow River, roaring and indifferent. The fishing boats had been seized the moment the bandits arrived.
No boats.
No escape.
Backed against the water, there was only one option left.
Tie Niao Fei roared until his voice cracked.
"Kill! Kill as many as you can! If we die, we die expensive!"
The twelve men loosed arrows until their arms shook.
The bandits kept coming.
Then—
A wounded man at Tie Niao Fei's feet tugged weakly at his leg.
"Boss… boss… look at the river…"
Tie Niao Fei snapped, "They're about to storm the wharf! I don't have time to stare at water!"
The man screamed with what little strength he had left.
"THE RIVER!"
Something finally landed.
Tie Niao Fei turned.
Upstream—far to the north—a ship was approaching.
Still distant, yet already unmistakable.
Big.
Too big.
As it drew closer, he saw the raised superstructure. A towered deck. The silhouette screamed warship.
"The navy?" Tie Niao Fei's heart leapt. "They're here to suppress the bandits!"
The joy lasted one breath.
Then his brain caught up.
Government ships didn't come from the north.
And more importantly—
I'm a salt smuggler.
Bandits in front. Officials behind.
Either way, he was dead.
He'd celebrated too soon.
On the ship's bow, Xing Honglang was also watching the wharf.
Unlike Tie Niao Fei, she had help.
She pulled out a monocular spyglass, raised it, and took one look.
Her face darkened.
"Damn it. Bandits are attacking the ferry."
Old Zhu leaned over.
"They really crawled all the way back to our hometown. That ferry's where we made our first real money."
Xing Honglang nodded.
"And I see a familiar bastard down there."
Old Zhu squinted.
"…Tie Niao Fei?"
Xing Honglang snorted.
"That idiot. Always undercutting my prices. Cost me years of profit."
Old Zhu laughed.
"So what now? We watch him get carved up?"
Thump.
Xing Honglang smacked him on the head.
"Shut it. What kind of person do you think I am? Yeah, they're annoying—but they're from the same line of work, from the same hometown, eating from the same river. You don't stand by while your own get butchered."
Her gaze hardened.
"And there are plenty of our old friends down there."
Old Zhu's grin sharpened.
"So we fight."
"We fight."
Xing Honglang turned to the sailors.
"Brothers of Bai Fortress. Get ready. That ferry is not falling today."
The sailors laughed.
"Good!"
"Finally!"
"I was worried this trial run wouldn't get exciting!"
"Practice targets don't bleed."
"Brother, that enthusiasm's unsettling."
Jokes aside, they moved—fast.
They flooded into the gun decks.
They'd drilled endlessly. Loading. Aiming. Firing.
But drills weren't blood.
The moment they heard bandits, chaos bloomed.
"Slow down, damn it!"
The captain—a Baijiabao retainer with the most real fighting behind him—roared, veins bulging.
"Are you blind?! You can't load both sides! Only the east side has angle! EAST SIDE FIRST!"
Understanding dawned.
Everyone rushed east.
The ship tilted.
People shouted.
Then everyone rushed west.
The ship wobbled again.
The twenty "trainee sailors" from Heyang County shook like leaves, unsure where to hide.
The captain pointed at them.
"Stop shaking! Where are your hand crossbows? Load bolts! You shoot when I say shoot!"
Meanwhile, Xing Honglang's forty-two salt smugglers stood in silence, hands resting on their blades.
Eyes locked on the shore.
Ready to jump.
Ready to kill.
And ready—whether Tie Niao Fei wanted it or not—
To have his life saved.