The battle at Hejin County was over before dusk had even fully settled.
Bu Zhan Ni's grand army of fifty thousand rebels—so fierce and loud in the morning—was now a sea of tattered banners, streaming northward in complete disarray.
They had been smashed apart by Wang Cheng'en's disciplined forces, broken like clay dolls under an iron hammer. Not even a hair of the general's armor had been touched.
Yet, victory carried no joy.
What Hejin County reclaimed was not a city, but a grave.
The streets were filled with corpses. Three or four out of every ten townsfolk lay dead. Another two were taken away to serve as unwilling soldiers. Less than half of the people still breathed—and even they sat amidst ruins, their eyes empty as old wells, staring at the burned skeletons of their homes.
Their tears had long since dried.
Wang Cheng'en walked through the wreckage, his boots crunching over shattered tiles and bones. His face was set in grim silence. When he finally reached the county yamen, he sank into the magistrate's chair—the seat of authority now turned into a memorial of ruin—and muttered under his breath,
"Everywhere looks the same... Whether by rebel hand or foreign barbarian, the result never changes."
Shi Jian, standing nearby, asked quietly, "The Jiannu do the same, General?"
Wang Cheng'en let out a hollow laugh. "The same? Worse! When I went north months ago to serve His Majesty, I saw towns that the Jiannu had taken—villages soaked in blood, every home looted, corpses stacked in the streets. Three days of slaughter for every city captured. Tell me, what's the difference between them and these so-called 'bandits'?"
The air thickened with silence. Even Bai Mao, usually quick with a joke, said nothing.
Dao Xuan Tianzun, perched quietly on Shi Jian's shoulder in the form of a small puppet doll, sighed. His porcelain face caught a glint of firelight from the burning ruins. Mortal cruelty is a cycle that not even Heaven can untangle, he thought, but someone has to try.
Wang Cheng'en straightened slightly. "The people of Hejin County will starve. I'll write to the imperial court—petition for funds and grain."
Shi Jian exchanged a glance with the puppet on his shoulder.
Dao Xuan Tianzun whispered directly into his ear, his tone sardonic but tinged with sympathy:
"Write all you like, but don't expect a single copper to fall from the sky. The court can barely feed its own soldiers. Tell him Gao Family Village will handle the relief—on one condition: we take control of the Dragon Gate Ferry."
Shi Jian's eyes lit up instantly. He clasped his fists. "General, our Chengcheng County still holds some grain in reserve. We can ferry it from Heyang's docks up to Dragon Gate Ferry. With your permission, we'll distribute it to the Hejin refugees."
Wang Cheng'en's brows lifted. Hope, rare and fragile, flickered across his face—then quickly turned to concern.
"You've already lent grain to this general before," he said. "Wouldn't this be too great a burden for your village?"
Shi Jian's voice was firm. "Saving a life is more meritorious than building a seven-story pagoda. As long as our people can help, we will not sit idle."
For the first time in days, Wang Cheng'en smiled. "Very well. I'll entrust this to you."
Shi Jian bowed. "Then I request permission to remain at Dragon Gate Ferry, personally overseeing the escort of relief grain."
Wang Cheng'en nodded almost absently, thinking, So, this one wants to stay far from the front lines. Can't blame him—connections from Liang Shixian's circle, never trained for war, probably terrified after his first real battle.
Let him have the ferry. It'll keep him safe, and I'll still get my grain.
He waved his hand. "Approved. I'll send a hundred garrison soldiers with you for protection."
Shi Jian's heart leapt. He saluted with all due ceremony, then hurried out of the tent with Bai Mao.
Once out of sight, Shi Jian leaned close. "Wang Xiaohua, I'll head to Dragon Gate Ferry to handle the relief. You stick close to Wang Cheng'en and report back when things move."
Bai Mao chuckled. "Alright, I'll handle the frontlines."
The puppet of Dao Xuan Tianzun suddenly jumped from Shi Jian's shoulder with a soft thump—landing perfectly on Bai Mao's.
Bai Mao froze, wide-eyed, then bowed slightly. "Tianzun... has blessed me?"
Dao Xuan Tianzun crossed his tiny cloth arms. "Just making sure you don't get killed, kid. Try not to embarrass me."
Shi Jian burst out laughing. He bowed to the puppet and took his leave, leading the hundred soldiers assigned to him toward the Dragon Gate Ferry.
Bai Mao, now carrying the divine doll like a badge of fate, returned to the command tent.
Wang Cheng'en raised an eyebrow. "Shi Jian gave you his doll?"
Bai Mao smiled nervously. "Yes, General. His protective charm."
Wang Cheng'en snorted softly. A soldier relying on a doll for courage... these 'connections' from Liang Shixian's camp are truly something else.
Meanwhile—Gao Family Village, Number Two Railway Station
For the first time in Ming history, a column of steam hissed into the winter sky.
Young Master Bai, standing proudly atop a wooden platform, had eyes shining brighter than the furnace behind him. Before him lay six li of railway track—stretching from Gao Family Village to the Valley of Exiles—a metallic vein that shimmered under the sunlight.
It had taken him half a year of sweat, sleepless nights, and singed eyebrows to get this far.
San Shier, ever the pragmatic administrator, had approved the project with the same indifference one might show to a hobbyist tinkering in a barn.
"Moderate support for research," Dao Xuan Tianzun had once said, and San Shier had taken that as gospel. No lavish funding, no hundreds of craftsmen—just three blacksmiths, a hundred laborers, and whatever scrap iron they could melt down.
Yet somehow, they had done it.
The locomotive—an iron beast weighing thousands of jin—sat on the tracks, its surface rough and riveted like armor, its chimney breathing little clouds of steam. The villagers whispered in awe, unsure whether to fear or worship it.
Even Magistrate Liang Shixian and Magistrate Feng Jun had come from Chengcheng and Heyang to witness the test run. Bai Yuan, Young Master Bai's father, stood beside them, unable to hide the tremor in his hands.
And Madam Bai—always supportive, always dramatic—had hired a chorus of village girls to act as cheerleaders. Their red scarves fluttered like flames as they shouted,
"Go, Young Master Bai! Go, Steam Dragon!"
Dao Xuan Tianzun observed from afar through his puppet's vision, smirking. "If nothing explodes in the first five minutes, I'll call it divine engineering."
Young Master Bai took a deep breath and shouted, "Add coal! Stoke the furnace!"
The blacksmiths threw in baskets of coal. The firebox roared. Steam whistled through the iron pipes, and the whole machine began to tremble.
Cogs turned, pistons moved, and with a groan like a waking dragon, the locomotive's wheels began to roll.
"Move!" he shouted.
And move it did. Slowly, painfully, the massive iron beast lurched forward. The villagers gasped. The magistrates exchanged looks of disbelief.
Within seconds, the engine was chugging steadily along the rails—puffs of steam bursting from its chimney in rhythm with its beating pistons.
Liang Shixian's jaw dropped. "By the ancestors..."
Feng Jun muttered, "It's alive."
Bai Yuan couldn't hold back a laugh. He threw an arm around his son and cried, "He did it! My boy actually did it!"
Madam Bai's hired cheerleaders screamed so loudly half the chickens in Gao Family Village took flight.
And Dao Xuan Tianzun, somewhere beyond mortal sight, chuckled softly. "The wheel of history turns—sometimes literally."