Wu Shen didn't march onward. He turned back, his grand relief expedition reduced to a retreat.
The Baishui County Magistrate had been ladling out thin gruel to starving peasants, but that was over now. Wu Shen arrived, waved his hand like a weary god, and said, "Everyone—go to Chengcheng County."
The peasants blinked, confused but obedient. They packed their bowls and children, and shuffled toward the promised land.
But those weren't the people Wu Shen was truly worried about.
The real problem was the rebels.
He had an idea—a desperate one, but still an idea. Chengcheng County was fertile, stable, and already under Dao Xuan Tianzun's invisible protection. If anywhere could absorb thousands of ex-bandits and turn them into farmers, that was the place.
Yan'an Prefecture.
The air smelled of blood and fear.
Governor-General Hong Chengchou stood at the edge of a killing field. He had just executed the rebel leader Liu Liu and two hundred of his closest lieutenants. The "surrender banquet" had ended with the clatter of blades and the wet thud of bodies.
Liu Liu's eyes were still open—wide, glassy, and defiant.
General He Renlong prodded the corpse with his boot until it rolled face down. It made the scene slightly easier to look at.
Hong didn't step closer; he didn't want the blood on his official robes. He merely asked, "What about the rest?"
"Three thousand followers still outside," He Renlong said quietly.
Hong hesitated. He was a hard man—he'd ordered plenty of executions without blinking—but three thousand? That was no punishment, that was a massacre.
He looked to the heavens, muttering to himself, "Kill them, and Heaven weeps. Spare them, and chaos returns."
The dilemma was older than the dynasty itself.
He remembered years ago, when he'd passed through Chengcheng County as Grain Intendant. Gao Family Village had been a green jewel in the wasteland. Someone had asked him then: 'What should be done about the rebels?'
He'd answered in one word: "Kill."
Now he wasn't so sure.
Just then, an aide arrived, bowing deeply. "Censor Wu Shen requests audience."
Hong's eyes brightened. "Good. He has money."
The two men met, exchanged a few polite lines of official fencing, and got straight to business.
Hong said bluntly, "I've executed Liu Liu, but his three thousand men remain. I can't bring myself to slaughter them. Draw me two hundred thousand taels from your relief funds. We'll settle them instead."
Wu Shen's jaw dropped. "Two hundred thousand?! For three thousand people? Governor, are you mad?"
Hong gave a humorless smile. "Not mad—realistic. Land, oxen, tools, seed, and food until harvest. Count it all, and you'll see—two hundred thousand isn't generous, it's barely humane."
Wu Shen rubbed his temples. Thank heaven for Chengcheng County, he thought grimly. If I hadn't found that oasis, I'd be broke by breakfast.
"I can't give you silver," he said carefully, "but I can take those three thousand men off your hands."
Hong arched a brow. "Oh? How?"
"Chengcheng County will handle it," Wu Shen said with quiet triumph. "They've been spared by fortune—and by faith. They can feed and settle them."
"Chengcheng County?" Hong repeated, half in disbelief. The name stirred a flicker of memory—that strange village, that Heavenly Lord, that ridiculous Hot Pot Festival.
He almost smiled. "Can they handle it?"
Wu Shen straightened. "Whether they can or not—they must. We all serve His Majesty, Governor. The burden is shared."
Hong's expression sharpened. "He Renlong!"
The general stepped forward, saluting. "Governor?"
"Escort the three thousand followers to Chengcheng County. Deliver them to the Magistrate personally. I want to see how this miracle county handles three thousand devils."
He Renlong looked uneasy. "My troops are from Yansui, sir. We can't legally cross into Shaanxi."
Wu Shen waved it off. "With an imperial envoy here, legality is a suggestion. Go."
He Renlong nodded grimly. "As you command."
He chose a thousand soldiers, gathered the three thousand captives, and began the long march southeast—through the jagged passes of the Huanglong Mountains, toward the waiting fields of Chengcheng.
Wu Shen adjusted his robes, ready to depart as well.
"Wait," Hong Chengchou called.
Wu Shen froze mid-step. "Yes, Governor?"
Hong said, "I still need two hundred thousand taels."
Wu Shen's composure cracked. "What?! I just solved your rebel problem!"
Hong sighed. "The Yansui garrisons haven't been paid in years. If I don't send them silver soon, they'll become the next rebel problem. And believe me, when soldiers revolt, they're much deadlier than farmers with pitchforks."
Wu Shen's lips twitched. He wanted to swear—really, truly, gloriously swear—but his education wouldn't let him.
He forced a smile that could have curdled wine. "Fine. You'll have your silver."
As he turned away, he muttered under his breath, "A million taels wouldn't be enough. Not nearly enough…"
Huanglong Mountains
He Renlong rode at the front of his column, cutting through mist and pine.
Unlike most generals, who hid behind their flags, He Renlong preferred the front line. He was a jinshi of war—a scholar with blood under his nails. His men called him Madman He.
A scout rode up. "General, we're nearly at Chengcheng. Two more peaks, then Bai Family Fortress."
"Good," He Renlong grunted.
"Sir," the scout added nervously, "marching through these passes is dangerous. The rebels could ambush us. Perhaps you should ride farther back?"
He Renlong laughed—a booming, reckless sound. "An ambush? Perfect. Saves me the trouble of finding them."
The universe, always obliging, granted his wish.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than shadows moved in the trees.
An army burst from the forest ahead—ragged, unarmored, but burning with defiance.
He Renlong's grin widened.
"Rebels! Excellent!" he shouted, raising his blade. "I'll crush them myself!"
And with that, Madman He charged straight into the storm.