When Tie Niaofei returned to Hedong Circuit with Huang Yunfa's men, he walked straight into a scene that could only be described as spiritually bankrupt.
Huang Yunfa sat rigidly at the center of the room, back straight, hands folded, sweat soaking through his inner robe. Across from him, Master Zhan Seng sat cross-legged, prayer beads clicking softly in his left hand while his right formed a solemn mudra. His lips moved without pause.
"Amitābha… Amitābha…"
Tie Niaofei blinked.
When I left, he thought, this monk was one sentence away from being thrown out the gate. Now he's practically running a full exorcism business.
Before he could ask, one of Huang Yunfa's subordinates hurried over and whispered urgently:
"Master, I personally inspected the shipment with Tie Niaofei. It's real. Hundreds of flintlock rifles. All first-rate."
Huang Yunfa's eyes lit up.
Fear evaporated instantly—like dew under the sun of profit.
"Any tricks?" he asked sharply.
"No ammunition. No powder. Just guns," the subordinate replied. "Exactly as Tie Niaofei said. Runaway blacksmiths. No channels for lead or saltpeter."
That was all Huang Yunfa needed to hear.
His heart started counting silver on its own.
Selling salt was good.
Selling salt licenses was better.
But selling weapons to the Later Jin?
That was drinking blood from a golden cup.
He turned to Tie Niaofei, smiling for real this time. "I like your goods."
Tie Niaofei grinned. "As long as you're satisfied, Master Huang. Then let's talk price."
Huang Yunfa produced a stack of salt warrants from his sleeve and pressed them into Tie Niaofei's hand. "You want salt? Take it. And once this deal is done, I'll introduce you to friends beyond the passes."
Tie Niaofei bowed deeply. "This humble man thanks you."
"Where do we exchange?" Huang Yunfa asked.
"On the river—"
"No." Huang Yunfa cut him off instantly. "Too dangerous. Zhouqing Village. Six li west of Dayu Crossing."
Tie Niaofei's smile didn't change, but inwardly he sighed.
So the cannon ships really won't get to eat tonight.
Huang Yunfa trusted cavalry. Flat land. Horses. Speed.
He didn't trust water.
"Very well," Tie Niaofei agreed. "Zhouqing Village it is."
Deal struck.
As Tie Niaofei rose to leave, his gaze flicked briefly toward Master Zhan Seng.
The monk's eyelids remained lowered—but one eyebrow rose, just a hair.
That was enough.
Outside the Salt Administration residence, Tie Niaofei turned into a narrow alley.
A half-man-tall wooden figure stepped out silently.
Tie Niaofei clasped his hands. "Greetings, Dao Xuan Tianzun."
The puppet's jaw knocked together in a dry laugh.
No words needed.
A black cloth bag appeared. The Dao Xuan Tianzun obligingly climbed inside.
By the time night fell, everyone who needed to know was already gathered at Xiao Lake. Xing Honglang, Gao Chuwu, Zao Ying, Lao Nanfeng—listening as Tie Niaofei laid out the plan.
"Zhouqing Village?" someone laughed. "Flat land, no cover, nowhere to hide. He picked our favorite battlefield."
"Good," Zao Ying said calmly. "Let him believe cavalry decides everything."
Two days later.
Zhouqing Village lay exposed beneath a pale sky.
No crops. No trees. Just cracked earth stretching to the horizon.
Perfect terrain for horses.
Huang Yunfa arrived cautiously, Later Jin cavalry riding loose formations around him. Scouts fanned out first, sweeping the surrounding li until they reported back: clean.
Only then did the main force enter.
Tie Niaofei was already waiting. Dozens of men. Several carts. Flintlock rifles stacked openly, almost carelessly.
Huang Yunfa didn't approach. He sent men to inspect first.
Authentic.
Only then did he wave his hand. "Take them."
Tie Niaofei smiled. "Then I'll be on my way. I'll cash in the salt warrants, make a little profit, and return to do business beyond the passes."
"Of course," Huang Yunfa said magnanimously.
Tie Niaofei left without looking back.
Only after he vanished did Huang Yunfa finally relax.
"So it really was business," he chuckled. "Lads, move the goods."
As rifles were transferred, a subordinate suddenly froze.
"Master—there's paper stuffed inside one of the guns."
"What?"
The man handed it over.
Three words.
Your time has come.
Huang Yunfa inhaled sharply.
Before he could speak, hooves thundered.
From the east.
From the west.
From the north.
A Later Jin soldier shouted, "Cavalry! Three directions!"
Three hundred riders closed in, forming a tightening arc.
To the south—only the Yellow River.
Huang Yunfa's face went white. "That bastard Tie Niaofei… where did he get cavalry?!"
"Government troops?" someone cried. "They found out!"
"Break through!" Huang Yunfa shouted. "Now!"
A Later Jin cavalryman laughed, teeth flashing. "Central Plains cavalry?" he scoffed. "Cowards. One of us can kill ten. Stick close to us, Mr. Huang—we'll smash through."
Above them, unseen, the Dao Xuan Tianzun observed in silence.
History loved moments like this.
Moments right before confidence turned into obituary text.
Trivia:
Why Steppe Cavalry Still Died to Infantry (A Short Lesson Written in Blood)
Later Jin cavalry loved to boast that one rider could slaughter ten men of the Central Plains.
It wasn't entirely false.
But it also wasn't the whole truth.
Steppe cavalry were terrifying in open pursuit, raids, and broken formations. Speed, composite bows, and lifelong horsemanship made them natural predators of panic. Once an infantry line collapsed, the killing became effortless.
The problem was this:
Infantry did not always collapse.
When infantry stood still—properly—cavalry died.
History recorded this lesson again and again, usually at great expense.
A disciplined infantry formation, armed with long spears, halberds, pikes, or early firearms, turned horses from weapons into liabilities. A charging horse would not willingly impale itself. If forced forward, it would rear, twist, or fall—crushing its own rider beneath several hundred jin of panicked flesh.
Once a cavalryman was unhorsed, the battle ended for him.
Steppe warriors were excellent riders. They were not trained to fight on foot in dense formations.
Firearms made the situation worse.
Early matchlocks and flintlocks were slow, inaccurate, and unreliable—but against cavalry, they didn't need to be perfect. Horses were large targets. Smoke startled them. Noise disrupted charges. Even a wounded horse could break an entire assault by throwing riders into chaos.
This was why cavalry hated choke points, riverbanks, villages, muddy fields, and prepared ground. It was why they preferred maneuver over collision, encirclement over frontal assault.
And it was why every general who underestimated infantry formations eventually learned the same lesson:
Cavalry ruled the battlefield only when infantry allowed it.
Those who mistook arrogance for invincibility often discovered—far too late—that the Central Plains did not lack courage.
They merely required the enemy to come close enough to die properly.