Tie Niao Fei had already decided how he was going to die.
Then the ship fired.
Boom.
The sound rolled across the Yellow River like a giant slamming a door shut. The air shook. The water rippled.
The bandits froze.
The militia froze.
Everyone on both sides stiffened, hearts skipping half a beat.
A black iron cannonball arced through the sky and plunged into the middle of the bandit ranks.
It didn't hit the front line.
Smoothbore cannons were temperamental monsters, and the sailors knew it. They had deliberately aimed deeper, preferring to miss the enemy rather than hit the wrong people.
The shot missed every human body.
Instead, it carved a crater into the earth, blasting mud and stones outward like a sudden storm.
That alone was enough.
The bandits nearest the impact went pale, a cold dread crawling straight up their spines.
Then—
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Five cannons roared in sequence.
The ship carried five guns on one side, and now all of them spoke.
This time, the iron balls behaved.
One dropped straight into the densest cluster of bandits, crushed a man into the ground, then bounced forward and smashed into two more, shattering their legs.
They didn't die immediately.
The force traveled through bone and spine.
Both were dead before they finished screaming.
The remaining shots landed where men were thickest, and the bandit formation erupted into chaos—screams, curses, bodies stumbling over one another.
At the rear, Old Zhang Fei felt his scalp tighten.
"Damn it," he muttered. "Government navy?"
The thought made no sense.
No one sailed warships this far upriver.
But sense mattered very little when iron was falling from the sky.
At the front, the bandits thought the same thing—and panic spread fast.
Yes, some of them had once worn uniforms. Border troops. Garrison soldiers. But they knew the truth better than anyone.
Against real government firepower, they lost.
Almost every time.
The charge slowed.
That hesitation was fatal.
Tie Niao Fei's remaining men surged forward, blades flashing. A handful of bandits who had scrambled over the wicker barricade were cut down in seconds.
"Hold!" someone shouted. "Hold the line!"
The bandits faltered, heads turning toward Old Zhang Fei's banner.
Advance?
Or retreat?
Old Zhang Fei hesitated.
And that hesitation bought Xing Honglang everything she needed.
The warship surged closer, cutting the river cleanly. Within a few hundred paces, it swung smoothly, presenting its opposite flank.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Another broadside.
Five more cannonballs tore into the bandit ranks.
This time, the screams came sooner—and louder.
Now they were close enough.
Rifles cracked.
The Bai Fortress sailors followed a proud tradition: when the moment came, they did not fight alone.
Bang.
A bandit's head snapped back and vanished in red mist.
Bang.
Another dropped.
The riflemen aimed without hesitation. No worry about accuracy. No fear of hitting allies. They targeted the men at the front—the ones shouting, the ones leading.
Bandit heads fell one after another.
Morale didn't crack.
It disintegrated.
Old Zhang Fei finally roared, his voice hoarse with urgency.
"Withdraw! Pull back—now!"
Gongs rang.
The bandit army collapsed, fleeing in a chaotic wave, leaving weapons, wounded, and dignity behind.
On the wharf, cheers erupted.
"I thought we were dead!"
"We're saved!"
"The government really doesn't play around!"
Relief swept through the crowd like a warm tide.
Tie Niao Fei felt none of it.
Ordinarily, he would have been gone the moment he spotted a warship—long before it came within shouting distance.
But now?
Run with the bandits? He'd be cut down.
Stay put? Worse.
Once officials started asking questions, a salt smuggler of his reputation didn't get interrogated.
He got a blade.
His remaining twelve men closed in around him.
"Boss," one whispered, "what do we do?"
Tie Niao Fei clenched his jaw.
"We gamble."
"If they're careless and think we're just a militia, we live."
"If they dig deeper…"
His hand tightened around his saber.
"…then we fight."
No one argued.
They watched as the warship slowed, massive and ominous, until it eased up beside the wharf.
Then a woman leaned over the rail.
Broad shoulders. Rough features. The kind of presence that made men instinctively straighten their backs.
She waved.
"Hey, Tie Niao Fei, you stupid bird," she laughed. "You used to love stealing business from me. How does it feel needing me to save your life?"
Tie Niao Fei stared.
"…Xing Honglang?"
She threw her head back and laughed.
"That's me."
His eyes flicked to the ship, the cannons, the guns.
"This ship…"
She waved it off. Explaining now would only invite trouble—for herself, and for Gao Chuwu.
"Bought it with salt money," she said lightly. "Impressive, right?"
Tie Niao Fei sucked in a breath.
"How much salt does it take to buy something like this?"
Xing Honglang snorted.
"Is this really the moment for curiosity?"
She pointed at herself.
"I just pulled you back from the edge. Say the proper words."
Tie Niao Fei didn't hesitate this time.
He stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Iron River's Tie Niao Fei owes Yongji's Xing Honglang his life today. From now on, I will never compete with her again. If she ever calls on me, I will go through blades and fire without hesitation."
Xing Honglang laughed, loud and satisfied.
"Good. That's how it should be."
She clapped him on the shoulder.
"You're unbearable when it comes to business, but at least you understand the rules. That already puts you above most bandits."
Tie Niao Fei could only smile awkwardly.
Xing Honglang's gaze swept the wharf.
Hundreds of people. Bloodied. Exhausted. Too many familiar faces—old partners, old rivals, people she'd drunk with and argued prices with.
Her expression tightened.
"Bring out the wound medicine," she ordered.
"Treat everyone."
The river flowed past the wharf, indifferent as ever.
And Shanxi, laid bare, offered no room for optimism.