Xing Honglang's forces released scouts like spilled beads.
One team after another fanned outward—north, south, east, west—riding hard, eyes sharp, blades loose at the waist. The land around Yangcheng County quickly became a living web of hoofprints and dust trails.
Cao Wenzhao was doing the same.
His Guanning Iron Cavalry might have been few in number, but when it came to reconnaissance, they were veterans who'd been killing enemies since before breakfast was fashionable. His scouts moved with discipline, overlapping routes, hand signals crisp, retreat paths planned in advance.
And up on Xicheng Mountain, Wang Jiayin's rebels weren't idle either.
They sent out wave after wave of riders, half-trained but numerous, buzzing like locusts down the slopes.
Yangcheng County—normally quiet, provincial, forgettable—suddenly became a battlefield without banners.
Scouts collided everywhere.
A flash of movement in the trees.
A whistle of arrows mid-gallop.
A brief clash—steel ringing once or twice—then someone fell, someone fled, and blood soaked into the dirt before the wind could carry the screams away.
Each side fought to compress the others' vision.
Whoever saw farther… lived longer.
Before long, the difference became painfully clear.
Cao Wenzhao's scouts were monsters.
They didn't just repel Wang Jiayin's men—they pinned them, pressed forward, and forced both rebel scouts and Xing Honglang's people to retreat again and again.
Xing Honglang's scouts were driven so far back they had no choice but to make a massive detour, circling wide around Cao Wenzhao's perimeter just to catch a glimpse of Xicheng Mountain's lower slopes.
Even Lao Nanfeng personally went out.
Disguised, alone, riding light, he crept all the way to the mountain's foot.
He studied it.
And frowned.
Xicheng Mountain was a nightmare.
Steep slopes. Dense forests. Natural choke points everywhere. Rebel generals guarded every pass, every ridge, every trail. Camps dotted the hillsides like ants clinging to a mound.
One hundred and sixty thousand men.
You could see them.
And down below?
Cao Wenzhao had three thousand Guanning Iron Cavalry.
Three thousand.
Against a mountain fortress stuffed with rebels.
No matter how you calculated it, the numbers screamed one thing:
Impossible.
Unless—unless—the Ming court sent a massive force to encircle the mountain the way they had at Hequ County, slowly choking it to death.
But—
Dao Xuan Tianzun had said Wang Jiayin was about to die.
Dao Xuan Tianzun did not lie.
Which made this entire situation deeply strange.
Lao Nanfeng spat into the dirt.
"Well," he muttered, "guess I'll just watch."
If heaven had written the script, the ending would reveal itself soon enough.
The main peak of Xicheng Mountain—Shengwang Flatland—rose to 1,889.5 meters.
High. Forested. Cruel.
The climb alone would kill half an army.
Wang Jiayin's main camp sat right at the top, commanding the slopes below like a hawk on a cliff. His subsidiary forces spread down the mountain in layers, forming a defensive ring thick enough to grind attackers into paste.
One hundred and sixty thousand rebels.
They were already sharpening blades, preparing to descend and swallow Yangcheng County, Jincheng County, and Zezhou Prefecture whole.
Below, the prefects of Zezhou and Jincheng, along with the Yangcheng magistrate, had no illusions. They armed local militias, stockpiled arrows, and prepared to die in place if necessary.
Up top, before a massive rock overhang that shielded it from wind and rain, stood Wang Jiayin's command tent.
Magnificent.
Inside, Wang Jiayin lounged at the head seat.
A white tiger skin draped over his shoulders, making him look every bit the bandit king he fancied himself to be. One arm hung lazily around the waist of Zhang Shi, his captive wife.
She sat stiffly, eyes lowered.
"Gentlemen," Wang Jiayin said lazily, "our scouts report Cao Wenzhao is on our tail again."
He chuckled. "Three thousand Guanning Iron Cavalry. Camped about twenty li from the mountain."
Zijing Liang, the Left Prime Minister, frowned deeply but said nothing.
Bai Yuzhu, the Right Prime Minister, laughed aloud. "Three thousand? Without support? He's got guts, I'll give him that—but he can't do a damn thing to us."
Wang Jiayin nodded. "Exactly. Cao Wenzhao is brave, but bravery doesn't feed soldiers."
His eyes hardened. "Our food stores are shrinking. If we don't take cities soon, we starve. Plans to attack Yangcheng, Jincheng, and Zezhou remain unchanged."
Nearby, Zhang Liwei—Wang Jiayin's brother-in-law—cast a complicated glance at his sister.
Zhang Shi's smile was stiff. Wrong. Forced.
Zhang Liwei clenched his jaw, then looked back to Wang Jiayin. "Brother-in-law. Xing Honglang has arrived as well. Her forces are camped at Chihong Fortress—forty li behind Cao Wenzhao."
At the mention of her name, Bu Zhan Ni sneered.
"Useless," he spat. "Cao Wenzhao blocks the road. She can't even get close."
Chuǎng Wang—Gao Yingxiang—shook his head. "Bu Zhan Ni, are you still stuck on that Old Zhang Fei nonsense?"
Bu Zhan Ni's eyes flashed. "She killed my subordinate!"
Chuǎng Wang spread his hands. "Yongji is her hometown. Old Zhang Fei raided it. Anyone would've reacted the same. If she marched troops into your Luochuan County, would you smile and offer tea?"
Bu Zhan Ni snorted and looked away.
Wang Jiayin waved dismissively. "Enough. Discuss the assault plans among yourselves. I'm tired."
He tugged Zhang Shi closer, grinning. "Come, my dear wife. Let's drink."
"Hehehe."
Zhang Shi followed him into the inner tent, her smile tight, eyes dull.
Zhang Liwei watched them go.
Something twisted violently in his chest.
He said nothing. Walked out. Sat at the cliff's edge, the wind at nearly two thousand meters ripping through his hair like knives.
That was when a soldier approached.
Just a patrolling grunt.
Zhang Liwei didn't look at him.
Then the soldier stopped beside him and murmured, very softly:
"General Zhang… you seem displeased with Chief Wang."
Zhang Liwei's head snapped around.
The soldier smiled faintly. "The Yaomao Zhang clan was once a respected family. Forced to give up Miss Zhang. Forced into rebellion. Forced into blood."
Zhang Liwei's face darkened. "Who are you?"
"I serve General Cao Wenzhao."
The world tilted.
Zhang Liwei's hand slid to his saber.
One cut. One shout. Merit. Reward.
But what then?
Bandit lord instead of bandit chief.
Still a bandit.
Slowly—slowly—his hand fell away.
The soldier relaxed imperceptibly.
Zhang Liwei exhaled. "Speak."
The soldier whispered the plan.
Stir ambition.
Gather those who wanted more.
Use Zhang Shi's access.
Enter the tent.
Kill Wang Jiayin.
Set fire.
"When the flames rise," the soldier finished, "General Cao will attack. Your merit will shake the court. The Zhang clan will rise again."
Zhang Liwei stared into the distance.
Death waited either way.
At least this path meant something.
Finally, he nodded.
"Tell General Cao," he said quietly, "that I will do it."
The wind howled.
And fate shifted.