Li Daoxuan—manifested this time as the plush, wide-eyed puppet of Dao Xuan Tianzun—perched on Bai Mao's shoulder armor, staring north toward a lonely city wrapped in the winter light.
Hequ had become an island of stone and defiance.
Nineteen imperial camps—more than twenty thousand soldiers—ringed the city in a perfect circle, cutting off every road, every courier, every whisper of help.
That was the tax for calling yourself King.
Once, Wang Jiayin had swaggered at the head of three hundred and fifty thousand bandits and drifters. Now, fewer than a third still answered his banners.
Because bandits are bandits—half-wolves, half-beggars. They followed the smell of silver, not the sound of loyalty. Expecting them to understand unity was like asking a pack of rats to build a bridge. If they did, they wouldn't be bandits; they'd be bureaucrats.
Bai Mao exhaled softly.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun," he said, "not long ago, Wang Er and I were riding with Wang Jiayin's army. Now he's surrounded by imperial troops. I… can't help feeling a little…"
He couldn't find the word.
Li Daoxuan's plush, paw-like hand patted his cheek—comforting yet wordless.
Bai Mao understood. It was that odd guilt of a former thug watching his old drinking buddies march toward the gallows: half pity, half relief, no tears required.
Then came Wang Cheng'en, Grand General of Shaanxi, striding up with officers in tow. His voice cracked the air:
"Where are the shield wagons I ordered? How many finished?"
A lieutenant puffed up. "Five, my lord!"
Moments later, a detail of soldiers trundled five massive wooden walls on wheels into view.
Bai Mao blinked. The things looked like mobile fortresses—timber faces plated with rawhide, big enough to hide a dozen men. Soldiers crouched behind them, invisible to arrows or bullets. He imagined five rolling forward together like slow, invincible beasts. Against that, what could musketeers even do?
He leaned close to his tiny passenger. "Dao Xuan Tianzun, these shield wagons look unstoppable. Our muskets couldn't scratch them."
Li Daoxuan smiled, the corners of his painted mouth twitching.
"Cannons," he said simply.
Bai Mao got it instantly. What gunpowder couldn't dent, high-caliber artillery could turn into sawdust.
But Wang Cheng'en was already barking new orders.
"Remember Shaanxi Grand General Wang Guoliang's defeat? Wang Jiayin seized two Western cannons in that battle. He's mounted them in Hequ. Shield wagons alone won't cut it."
Bai Mao gaped. "The rebels have cannons now?"
Dao Xuan Tianzun's wooden eyes glinted. "Then use cannons against cannons."
As if on cue, Wang Cheng'en turned. "Have the local officials delivered the pieces I requisitioned?"
"Yes, my lord! The Governor of Shanxi sent four Western guns—they're en route!"
"Excellent. Position them behind the shield wagons. Protect the advance!"
Bai Mao's brow furrowed. "So warfare is about… countering the enemy's weapons, then flanking to take their artillery. Cavalry would be best for that, wouldn't it?"
Dao Xuan Tianzun gave a subtle nod.
Bai Mao grinned. "Heh. I'm starting to understand this general business."
His confidence lasted exactly ten seconds—until Wang Cheng'en snapped,
"Erect chevaux-de-frise here, cover both flanks! Archers and crossbowmen behind them. Cannons between the barriers!"
Bai Mao froze. So… the "insight" he'd just discovered had been common military practice for centuries.
"What now?" he muttered helplessly.
Dao Xuan Tianzun chuckled softly.
"War isn't won by cleverness, Bai Mao—it's won by wealth. When you can't outthink your enemy, out-produce him. If four cannons can't break their walls, bring fifty. Strategy is seasoning; victory is national power—and national power comes from science, labor, and invention, not plunder."
Bai Mao caught pieces of it. What he did grasp was this: Dao Xuan Tianzun despised thieves who only took and never built.
He lowered his voice. "Dao Xuan Tianzun… so Wang Jiayin's finished?"
Li Daoxuan raised his plush hand, intending to divine fate—but then paused, remembering that plush paws had no fingers to pinch. He sighed and simply declared,
"He won't die this time."
Bai Mao blinked. "Really?"
He thought it through.
"Yes… the imperial army's only twenty thousand. Enough to defeat him, not to destroy him. Spread that thin around a siege, and the ring has gaps. If Wang Jiayin's half as smart as he thinks he is, he'll gather his hundred thousand at one point and punch through."
Dao Xuan Tianzun's wooden head nodded approvingly. "Very good. He'll escape—but he'll abandon the old, the weak, and the women. Prepare to receive another batch of surrendered rebels."
"Understood, Dao Xuan Tianzun."
"And Bai Mao," the puppet added slyly, "earn some merit. Get yourself promoted. Maybe an official post in the Ming army."
"Me? An official?"
"Truly," Dao Xuan Tianzun purred. "Once you're an officer, you can raise troops of your own."
Bai Mao's eyes widened. Ah. The Gao Family Village Militia had begun the same way—private soldiers legitimized through paperwork. The god was playing the long game again.
But how did a mortal climb that ladder of merit?
"South," Dao Xuan Tianzun said.
Just one word, but it cracked open like thunder.
Bai Mao straightened, fire in his chest. He strode to Wang Cheng'en and bowed.
"General, I request permission to travel south and scout!"
Hequ lay to the north. So… south?
Wang Cheng'en nearly laughed. Coward, he thought. The silk-clad brat's looking for an excuse to run. But Liang Shixian—their supply lord—had vouched for this man. Wang Cheng'en couldn't offend the hand that fed him.
He waved irritably. "Fine, go south. Just don't panic my soldiers."
Bai Mao saluted and slipped away, leaving the camp's roar behind.
In a quiet ravine he found a narrow pass—a perfect ambush point. There, he settled behind a rock, pulling out a fowling piece that looked like an ordinary musket but hid rifled grooves inside the barrel.
That twist of metal meant range, precision… superiority.
He rested it on his knee and waited. The puppet of Dao Xuan Tianzun perched beside the muzzle, its lacquered face gleaming like a lantern.
Two hunters. One divine, one mortal. Both silent.