At the foot of Xicheng Mountain, the night was almost peaceful.
Almost.
Xing Honglang and her people lounged beside their horses, voices low, moods relaxed—as if they were waiting for a market to open rather than the collapse of a rebel empire.
Above them, however, the mountain burned.
Flames clawed at the sky.
Screams tore through the dark.
The night wind carried the stench of blood and scorched canvas.
The chaos had begun hours earlier.
That evening, Zhang Shi had smiled.
She poured wine with gentle hands, her sleeves brushing Wang Jiayin's arm, her voice soft, her laughter light. Cup after cup, she coaxed him, praised him, toasted him.
Wang Jiayin drank like a man who believed tomorrow belonged to him.
By the time his head lolled back against the pillow, consciousness long drowned, Zhang Liwei entered the tent.
He wore the insignia of personal commander.
That single title dismissed the guards at once.
Inside the tent, Zhang Liwei did not hesitate. He drew his blade and swung.
The sound was dull. Heavy.
When Wang Jiayin's head rolled across the carpet, history quietly turned a page.
Zhang Liwei had already prepared everything.
The moment the head was secured, torches were lit.
Orders flew.
Flames erupted.
The mountaintop encampment became an ocean of fire in the blink of an eye.
Zhang Liwei led his personal guard straight through the inferno. Whenever a familiar face appeared—a man loyal to Wang Jiayin—he would stride toward them with urgency, shout a few words of false camaraderie, then slash.
Clean. Fast.
The betrayal was perfect.
Soon, several hundred soldiers gathered behind him, shouting with all the strength left in their lungs.
"Wang Jiayin has been decapitated!"
The roar rolled down Xicheng Mountain like thunder.
Every one of the one hundred sixty thousand rebels heard it.
At the foot of the mountain, Cao Wenzhao's eyes lit up.
"Attack!"
Three thousand Guanning Iron Cavalry surged forward.
Steel climbed the mountain.
It was textbook.
Inside and out. Above and below.
In the darkness, rebel units smashed into one another, screaming accusations, cutting wildly. No one knew who was who. No one knew whom to trust.
Morale collapsed before blades even met.
Bu Zhan Ni took one look and laughed inwardly.
Rescue the commander?
Not a chance.
Cao Wenzhao only had three thousand men. He couldn't seal the mountain.
Bu Zhan Ni turned and fled, slipping down a side path with his followers, vanishing cleanly into the night.
Others followed.
Right Prime Minister Bai Yuzhu surrendered outright.
Left Prime Minister Zijing Liang fought his way out with brutal discipline.
Chuang Wang scattered.
The Southern Camp Eight Great Kings scattered.
The Western Camp Eight Great Kings scattered.
Cao Cao—Luo Rucai—ran.
Lao Huihui—Ma Shouying—ran.
Leaders vanished into the dark, and the men beneath them dissolved into screaming, directionless masses.
At the southern foot of the mountain, Lao Nanfeng squinted.
"They're coming," he said cheerfully. "Time to recruit."
"Not recruit," Zao Ying corrected with a grin. "Harvest."
Xing Honglang nodded once. "Raise the banner."
With a sharp snap, a massive flag unfurled in the darkness.
The character XING blazed white against black cloth.
Torches flared deliberately beside it.
Six hundred voices thundered together:
"Xing Honglang of Yongji is here!"
"Brothers with nowhere to go—come quickly!"
Gao Chuwu blinked. "Won't this attract government troops?"
Lao Nanfeng laughed. "Cao Wenzhao only wants Wang Jiayin's head. He doesn't care about anyone else tonight."
He gestured uphill. "He doesn't even have time for Zijing Liang or Chuang Wang. Why would he bother with a salt smuggler?"
"Oh," Gao Chuwu said sincerely. "That makes sense."
Sure enough, far above, Cao Wenzhao heard the shouting.
He glanced downhill.
Dismissed it.
And continued upward.
Xing Honglang was not a priority.
She hadn't slaughtered cities. She hadn't burned prefectures. To the court, she was a negotiable problem—someone to pacify later.
The Iron Cavalry pressed on, carving a bloody path up the mountain.
Below, panic reigned.
Rebels tumbled into forests, slid down slopes, broke ankles, dropped weapons. Units shattered. Leaders vanished.
The night swallowed them.
Then—voices.
"Xing Honglang of Yongji is here!"
Lost men looked up, eyes wide.
She's one of us.
She'll take us in.
They ran toward the torches like moths.
By dawn, five thousand routed rebels stood beneath Xing Honglang's banner.
Among them was a minor chieftain—Cui Shanhu—who somehow still had a hundred men intact.
After catching his breath, Cui Shanhu straightened his back and swaggered over.
"Boss Xing," he said loudly, "we've got five thousand again. Rescuing Boss Wang is impossible now. So what's next? Say the word—I, Cui Shanhu, will follow you."
Xing Honglang laughed once. "We're leaving."
"Leaving?"
"Back to Yongji."
Cui Shanhu frowned. "Not finding Zijing Liang? Chuang Wang? The Eight Great Kings? Cao Cao? Lao Huihui?"
"In the dark?" Xing Honglang replied. "Scattered in every direction? You think we have divine sight?"
She mounted her horse. "We go home first. Then we look."
Cui Shanhu considered it.
Reasonable.
He nodded and fell in line.
Five thousand able-bodied men moved out—but discipline was nonexistent. Drinking while marching. Shouting. Wandering into abandoned homes and stealing junk.
On Gao Chuwu's shoulder, the Puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun watched silently.
Gao Chuwu whispered, furious. "Dao Xuan Tianzun, look at them! Drinking on the march! I want to punch them!"
The puppet hummed darkly.
"And that group just looted an oil lamp from a village!" Gao Chuwu continued. "If people lived there, they'd be robbed clean!"
"Remember their faces," Dao Xuan Tianzun said calmly. "When they enter labor reform, give them to Lao Nanfeng's old units."
Gao Chuwu's eyes lit up. "Oh! I get it! Road construction!"
"The heaviest sections," Xing Honglang added sweetly.
"The heaviest," Dao Xuan Tianzun confirmed.
Lao Nanfeng frowned. "Five thousand men. We only have six hundred. Can we really control them?"
"How do we disarm them safely?"
Dao Xuan Tianzun chuckled.
"At Gudu Ferry," he said. "Once we reach Gudu Ferry… they'll put the weapons down themselves."
The night wind howled.
Behind them, Xicheng Mountain burned.
Ahead, Yongji waited.