Dawn at Huanglong Mountain Prison carried a bite of cold.
The prison sat high in the mountains; altitude stole warmth even under a clear sky.
Lao Nanfeng was already out of his cell.
He was running laps around the yard.
Behind him ran more than six hundred men—former Guyuan border troops turned convicts—keeping pace, boots striking the ground in steady rhythm.
They were the remnants of the Guyuan Rebellion that erupted at the end of the first year of Chongzhen (1628). They had pushed as far as Chengcheng County in early Chongzhen Year Two.
Now it was the end of Chongzhen Year Three.
Nearly two full years had passed.
Two years of reform-through-labor.
Yet training had never stopped.
Every morning, Lao Nanfeng dragged everyone out of bed. Formation drills. Running. Thrust practice with imaginary spears. Paired grappling—real bodies, real pain.
Once, a veteran quietly asked him:
"Commander… we're prisoners now. Why keep training?"
Lao Nanfeng kicked him straight to the ground.
"Because we're alive," he snapped. "Not dead. Alive means someday we walk out of here. When that day comes, you can't farm, you can't craft, you can't do shit—if you've even forgotten how to fight, what use are you?"
He leaned down.
"Useless men become bandits. Bandits get slapped to death by the Dao Xuan Tianzun."
That sobered everyone instantly.
No one complained again.
They trained harder.
The morning air was cold, but Lao Nanfeng was already sweating. Prison rations were steady. Meat appeared often enough.
Ironically, the men were stronger now than they'd ever been as border troops.
Training intensity had increased.
It was absurd.
That was when Zhong Gaoliang appeared atop the wall and waved.
Lao Nanfeng barked, "Chen Baihu! Take over!"
A scar-faced officer snapped to attention. "Yes!"
Lao Nanfeng walked to the wall and looked up.
"Warden Zhong," he said calmly. "What's the order?"
Zhong Gaoliang smiled and beckoned.
"You can climb this wall, can't you? Come on. Try."
Lao Nanfeng shook his head. "Can't. Not capable."
Zhong Gaoliang laughed. "You might fool others. You won't fool Heaven. One night you climbed out, crossed the ravine, sat on the ridge… then climbed back in. The Tianzun saw everything."
Lao Nanfeng froze.
He had no idea that Li Daoxuan often shifted his viewpoint to Huanglong Mountain at night—camera fixed on the prison—because this place caused the most trouble.
That was how the climb had been caught.
Zhong Gaoliang gestured again. "Come up. Heaven has something to say."
Lao Nanfeng nodded.
No more pretending.
He backed up, sprinted, kicked off the wall, caught the edge, hauled himself up in one smooth motion, and flipped over cleanly.
Zhong Gaoliang clicked his tongue. "Impressive. Ten of me wouldn't be enough."
Lao Nanfeng shook his head. "A hundred of me lose to firearms."
Zhong Gaoliang's expression turned serious.
"This comes from the Dao Xuan Tianzun."
Lao Nanfeng straightened. "I listen."
"You've behaved well during reform," Zhong Gaoliang said. "You stopped multiple escapes. Quelled prison fights. And most importantly—"
He grinned.
"You saved my life."
"The Tianzun said that alone is worth full commutation."
He paused.
"You're free."
Lao Nanfeng's breath caught.
Zhong Gaoliang continued. "You may leave. Or you may stay in Gaojia Village."
There was no hesitation.
"I stay," Lao Nanfeng said. "My skills will never be sold to an emperor again. I work for Heaven."
Zhong Gaoliang smiled. "Good. Then report immediately to Gaojia Village—Gaojia Fortress. Council Hall. There's a task waiting. Difficult. Honorable."
Lao Nanfeng's eyes lit up.
"I'm on my way."
He leaned over the wall and shouted down to the yard.
"Brothers! I've been pardoned by Heaven. I'm going to work for the Tianzun. Keep training. Follow Chen Baihu. Perform well—I'll bring every one of you out."
Six hundred voices roared back.
"Yes!"
"That's how it should be," Lao Nanfeng muttered.
He didn't return to his cell. No belongings to pack.
Outside the gate, a horse waited.
He mounted and rode toward Gaojia Village.
He knew the roads well.
The convicts often worked outside—pouring concrete roads, building houses, hauling stone, digging lime pits.
From afar, he'd long seen the rise of Gaojia Village.
Especially Gaojia Fortress.
Its depth was terrifying.
Serving here beat being a rebel—or a bandit—by a mile.
He passed Bai Fortress and spotted the train station.
He snorted.
"I've got a horse. Why ride a train?"
He spurred forward.
Moments later, the train howled past him.
The horse slowed.
"…Damn it."
A nearby stop came into view.
Years ago, trains never stopped here—the village was abandoned.
Now cornfields stretched out.
Gaojia Village had reclaimed the land.
The train slowed.
Lao Nanfeng charged straight on—man and horse—leaping aboard at the last second.
Only then did he relax.
At sixty kilometers per hour, the train carried Lao Nanfeng toward his next life.