That colossal palm descending from the heavens hadn't just crushed Cui Shanhu and his cronies.
It had crushed confidence.
Five thousand rebels stared at the ground like chastened chickens, necks tucked, shoulders hunched, souls rattling inside their bodies.
Even the Gao Family Village militia swallowed hard.
They'd read about this move before—ink and paper, heroic illustrations, exaggerated legends in The Epic of Dao Xuan Tianzun's Demon-Slaying Palm.
But reading was one thing.
Seeing the earth cave in was another.
At Gudu Ferry, villagers peeked out from behind doors and boat hulls, eyes round as bowls.
One whispered to another, trembling, "From today on, I won't even step on an ant."
Another nodded furiously. "Same. If I so much as steal a radish, that hand will fall on my head."
The river wind carried fear.
The five thousand who'd been shouting moments ago now didn't dare breathe too loudly.
Into that silence, Xing Honglang's voice cut clean and sharp.
"Oh? Just now you were all quite spirited."
No one answered.
Spirited?
No, no, no—that was earlier. That was before heaven itself came down and slapped the earth.
Xing Honglang lifted her chin slightly.
"Throw your weapons onto the hillside."
No threats.
No theatrics.
Just a statement.
Weapons clattered instantly.
Swords. Spears. Bows. Knives. Farming tools sharpened into murder.
Metal rang against stone as five thousand men scrambled to obey, arms flailing, terrified they might be a heartbeat too slow.
A few, however, remained seated.
Xing Honglang's gaze slid toward them.
They broke.
"Boss Xing! We're not resisting!"
One burst into tears. "Our legs—our legs won't listen!"
Another sobbed outright. "Please! We'll throw them away as soon as we can stand! Don't summon the hand again!"
"My knees—why are my knees traitors?!"
Snot. Tears. Dirt.
They clutched the ground like drowning men.
Xing Honglang said nothing.
Didn't smile.
Didn't frown.
Didn't nod.
That was worse.
Their crying intensified. The more they panicked, the weaker their legs became, until they were practically puddles of men.
After letting the fear ferment for a good long while, Xing Honglang finally looked away.
Instant relief.
As if a curse lifted, the men gasped, suddenly able to stand. They scrambled toward the pile, flinging away weapons like they were cursed objects, even shaking out sleeves and belts to make sure nothing hard remained.
Lao Nanfeng snorted quietly.
"See that?" he said to Gao Chuwu. "Your wife understands bandits. She grew up on the edge. You lecture these people, they stab you. You scare them harder than they scare others—that's order."
Gao Chuwu stared, awestruck.
"…My wife is amazing."
Lao Nanfeng slung an arm over his shoulder.
"Honestly? You're miles beneath her."
Gao Chuwu blinked. "Didn't I just… beat her in a fight and marry her?"
Lao Nanfeng stared into the distance, speechless.
The rebels were stripped next.
Armor off.
Helmets gone.
Left in coarse linen, empty-handed.
They weren't allowed inside the fortress.
Instead, they were herded to the riverbank, sitting in rows beside the Yellow River like a pen of sheep awaiting slaughter—or mercy.
They didn't know which.
Then—
The river churned.
Three massive gunboats appeared upstream.
Each bristled with twelve silver cannons, cold and merciless, black mouths yawning toward the shore.
Someone whimpered.
"Three… three gunboats?"
"Who is Xing Honglang?"
The cannons rotated.
Locked.
More ships followed—flat-bottomed cargo vessels gliding in, ropes tossed, anchors splashing.
Xing Honglang's expression hardened.
"Board."
No one hesitated.
They climbed aboard like condemned men, packed tight. Hundreds per ship. Over a dozen vessels filled to bursting.
The gunboats flanked them.
The fleet moved upriver.
No songs.
No chatter.
Only the creak of wood and the splash of water.
Eventually—
A familiar dock loomed.
Someone cried out, voice cracking.
"Qichuan Ferry!"
Another shouted, "We attacked this place last year!"
"Got driven off by fire-sticks and thunder bombs!"
"So these ships—"
Murmurs spread like ripples.
On shore, a figure in white robes stepped forward.
Still. Straight. Clean.
Instant recognition rippled through the crowd.
"That's him!"
"The instructor from Qichuan!"
"The one who broke us!"
Bai Yuan lifted a tin megaphone.
His voice carried across water and fear alike.
"Welcome," he said calmly, "to your new lives as labor reform prisoners."
He paused—just enough.
"I am Bai Yuan. Master of Bai Family Fortress. Chief Instructor of Chengcheng County Militia. And Admiral of the Gao Family Village Navy."
Titles rolled like thunder.
He snapped open a folding fan—gentleman written boldly upon it.
"You will disembark here," he continued lightly, "and walk several dozen li to Huanglong Mountain Prison."
A smile.
"Do not attempt anything clever."
"The Dao Xuan Tianzun is watching."
They looked up.
The clouds had parted.
And there—
Hovering just beneath them—
The golden hand waited.
Still.
Patient.
The effect was immediate.
Spines bent.
Heads bowed.
Absolute obedience.
But Bai Yuan wasn't done.
He closed the fan softly.
"When you fled Hequ," he said gently, "you left families behind."
A pause.
"Parents. Wives. Children."
Faces changed.
Hardened men blinked.
Throats tightened.
"You miss them, don't you?"
Silence answered.
Bai Yuan smiled kindly.
"They are already here."
Gasps.
"Settled in a valley of Huanglong Mountain."
"If you obey, you'll see them again."
He let the smile linger.
"But if you don't…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
The rebels filled in the rest themselves.
They bowed lower.
Promised obedience.
Swore loyalty.
They didn't know the truth—that Gao Family Village would never harm the old, the weak, women, or children.
The Dao Xuan Tianzun forbade it.
But fear didn't need truth.
It only needed belief.
And belief—today—was absolute.