Liang Shixian, scholar of ten thousand scrolls and survivor of ten thousand bureaucrats, immediately entered full analytical mode.
In his mind, the Tianzun decree, the Saintess's motives, Gao Family Village's politics, and the entire web of human nature branched and coiled like a living map of the cosmos—each path spiraling toward a single conclusion.
Then, with an almost audible click, his thoughts locked in place.
Ah. Tianzun would never meddle in mortal intrigue. Therefore…
It must be the Saintess's fabrication! She must have invoked divine authority to secure military placements for her childhood companions—those earnest young men of Gao Family Village—to help them earn merit and, one day, official titles.
Yes. That was the only logical explanation.
Liang Shixian sighed through his nose, a bureaucrat's sigh that contained both pity and resignation.
He had served too long in the Ming administration to be shocked. The empire was a vast stage of whispering factions, self-promotion, and moral theater. Saints and sinners differed only in presentation.
He had once believed Gao Family Village to be a sanctuary from such games. But now… alas. Human nature was a beast that prowled everywhere, even beneath divine banners.
He looked at Gao Yiye—earnest, luminous, and entirely sincere—and decided not to expose her "fabrication."
So what if she's arranging positions for friends? That's practically a filial duty in officialdom.
He even chuckled inwardly. If the Tianzun truly favors her, she's untouchable anyway. When I burn incense, I'll quietly inform Him. But this is a small matter. Even the gods must have their favorites. If Heaven had no bias, how else did all those odd spirits in Journey to the West receive promotions?
Satisfied with this world-weary logic, he composed himself and returned to his yamen, waiting.
That evening, a courier thundered into Chengcheng County on horseback. Dust swirled as he dismounted and bowed.
"I come on behalf of the Shaanxi Grand General, Wang Cheng'en. We humbly request a loan of grain."
Liang Shixian's expression barely flickered. "Ah, of course. General Wang is a loyal commander. We are always glad to assist. However—" he smiled with practiced subtlety—"there are a few promising young men here who wish to serve under him, to gain real battle experience. I wonder if General Wang might be… accommodating?"
The envoy didn't even blink. "No problem!"
He knew the unspoken rules. In exchange for food, one must leave a few empty chairs for the lender's men. Otherwise, who would lend anything?
"Excellent," Liang said, rising with the serene dignity of a man who had just performed a moral transaction. "We'll organize the delivery to Han City immediately. Tell General Wang to await our grain."
The envoy thanked him profusely and galloped off, dust trailing like a comet.
Meanwhile, in Gao Family Village's hidden barracks, two masked men sat across from one another in flickering lamplight.
Cheng Xu spoke first. "Tianzun order is clear. We must plant our own within Wang Cheng'en's army—men loyal to us, who can turn the Shaanxi General into one of our own from within."
He gestured to his mask. "I can't go. And you, Wang Er, aren't exactly suited either."
Wang Er shrugged. "Agreed. I'm too recognizable."
Cheng Xu exhaled. "So far, I've only chosen Shi Jian. Do you have anyone else in mind? They must be brave, incorruptible, sharp-tongued, and capable of inspiring soldiers with the Tiqnzun doctrine."
Wang Er smirked. "A riot of colors isn't always beautiful. I do have one man—Bai Mao. He's unbreakable. No bribe could sway him."
Cheng Xu tilted his head. "Wasn't he once a rebel? Won't the authorities have him on record?"
Wang Er waved it off. "Not at all. He was always a small fish. No name, no fame, no wanted posters. Now that he's with us, no one would connect him to any rebel band. He's just another honest salt-worker turned soldier."
Cheng Xu nodded. "Good. Then it's decided—Shi Jian and Bai Mao. By the way, what's Bai Mao's real name?"
Wang Er coughed lightly. "…Wang Xiaohua."
Cheng Xu promptly choked on his tea. "What? That's adorable! Who names a battle-hardened man 'Little Flower'?"
Wang Er spread his hands. "He's suffered for it all his life. But names are a parent's decision—you can't exactly file a complaint with Heaven."
Up above, Li Daoxuan—eavesdropping as usual—nearly dropped his celestial teacup. Wang Xiaohua? Merciful heavens! Thank the stars my parents weren't poets.
Far away, in Hequ County—the so-called "Prince's Mansion" of the self-styled Heaven-Defying One-Character King, Wang Jiayin—the evening was taking a different turn.
Wang Jiayin lounged on a couch, half-drunk and smug, his arm draped around his wife, Zhang Shi.
Zhang Shi was the sister of Zhang Liwei—the very man who had once tried to kill Wang Er.
She had been forced into this marriage six months ago, when Wang Jiayin's army conquered her hometown of Yaomao. Her father, Zhang Maoxiu, had offered her to save their clan. Their estates, servants, and treasury had all been "patriotically donated" to Wang Jiayin's cause.
Zhang Shi had endured the humiliation in silence, trading her freedom for her family's survival. Her brother pretended loyalty; her father bent the knee.
Wang Jiayin, drunk on power and delusion, believed his wife adored him.
"My dear queen," he said, grinning. "I have proclaimed myself king. Soon, when I overthrow that pitiful Zhu Youjian and take the throne, you shall be Empress."
Zhang Shi smiled stiffly. "Your Majesty flatters me beyond measure."
He puffed his chest. "I now command three hundred and fifty thousand troops!"
Just as his ego reached critical mass, a servant rushed in. "Your Majesty! Bu Zhan Ni requests an audience!"
Wang Jiayin frowned, then straightened. Bu Zhan Ni was one of the most formidable rebel generals in the region. He couldn't afford to offend him. "Let him in."
Moments later, Bu Zhan Ni strode into the chamber, exchanging perfunctory greetings before cutting to the point.
"Your Majesty, I come seeking judgment."
"What's wrong?" Wang Jiayin asked, frowning.
Bu Zhan Ni's face hardened. "That cursed salt smuggler, Xing Honglang, killed my Fifth Company Commander, Old Zhang Fei. She's entrenched at Gudu Ferry—armed with ships, cannons, and an ironclad fortress. I cannot let this stand. I ask Your Majesty to lend me several more companies. This grudge must be avenged."
The hall fell silent.
Wang Jiayin leaned back slowly, tapping his cup against the armrest.
"Xing Honglang…" he murmured. "A salt dealer who kills generals? Interesting."
A dangerous smile crept across his face. "Very well. Let's discuss vengeance."