Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
Outside Puzhou City
Wang Guozhong stood with his hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed out, staring at the neat line of siege engines arrayed before him.
Fifteen shield carts.
Four catapults.
Four battering rams.
They stood there in the morning light like obedient metal-and-wood beasts, silent, heavy, intimidating.
Wang Guozhong felt his heart swell.
"So this," he said slowly, savoring every word, "is what it feels like to be an official."
He turned, spreading his arms grandly.
"Back when I followed Wang Jiayin, I was always the one getting smashed by these things," he said with a crooked grin. "Shield carts rolling over us. Catapults pounding us. Government troops everywhere."
"Now look." He laughed loudly. "Now I conscript civilians, build machines, and smash other people instead."
"So refreshing."
"So satisfying."
"Hahahahaha!"
A subordinate immediately leaned in, laughing along a beat too fast.
"General Wang speaks truth!" the man said enthusiastically. "Following you really brings glory. With these siege engines, taking down Xing Honglang's little water stockade will be effortless. She's just a salt smuggler—what can she do?"
Wang Guozhong slapped him on the shoulder.
"Well said!" he roared. "Pass the order! The entire army moves out!"
The Army Marches
Three thousand men surged forward.
They still smelled like bandits—patched armor, mismatched weapons, loose discipline—but now they marched under official banners, hauling massive machines that only government forces were allowed to possess.
The road toward Gudu Ferry, Yongji, trembled under their footsteps.
On Puzhou's City Walls
Prefect Qiu Qianfan watched the column depart, his expression dark.
He let out a long, weary sigh.
"There was never any need to provoke Xing Honglang," he muttered to himself. "If she gets angry and wipes out Wang Guozhong, what then?"
"And if she turns around and strikes Puzhou City afterward…"
He rubbed his temples.
"Then I'll be the one unlucky again."
He looked away, unwilling to watch anymore.
Gudu Ferry Water Stronghold
"They're moving!"
The scout rushed in, breathless.
"Wang Guozhong's army is on the march!"
The stronghold erupted into motion.
Zao Ying swung into the saddle without hesitation.
"Cavalry!" she barked. "With me!"
Three hundred horsemen thundered out of the gates, sweeping across the outskirts like a steel tide, hunting down enemy scouts.
What followed was not so much a battle as a very rude greeting.
The scouts from both sides met, shouted a few obligatory insults about each other's ancestors—pure courtesy, of course—then drew bows and sabers and fled for their lives.
Against a full cavalry battalion, Wang Guozhong's scouts didn't stand a chance.
They were chased, harried, and driven more than ten li away.
The perimeter was clean.
The Foxholes Awaken
With the area secured, the next phase began.
Two hundred Chassepot riflemen and one hundred riflemen quietly left the stronghold, each carrying dry rations and waterskins.
They split into small groups of five or six.
Silently, they reached the flanks of the battlefield.
One by one, they lifted turf and wooden planks.
Dropped into the earth.
Then carefully sealed themselves back inside.
From above, the land looked untouched.
From below, five or six men waited in each foxhole, rifles cradled, breathing slow and steady.
They waited.
Through daylight.
Through dusk.
Through the slow crawl of time.
Nightfall
By the time Wang Guozhong's army finally entered the outer ten-li perimeter, the sky had already begun to darken.
Dragging siege engines was no easy task.
They had advanced only twenty li in an entire day.
Night assaults were impractical.
With no understanding of proper encampment, Wang Guozhong ordered a sloppy camp thrown together on the spot.
If attacked at night, they would suffer heavy losses.
But Gao Family Village did not strike.
A night raid might succeed—
but it might also let Wang Guozhong slip away in the chaos.
That was unacceptable.
And so, the foxhole soldiers endured.
They ate dry rations.
Shared waterskins.
Slept sitting upright, backs against dirt walls, weapons within reach.
Dawn
The mournful blare of bugles cut through the morning air.
Wang Guozhong's army was moving.
Once again, a messenger jogged to the gates of the water stronghold.
"Xing Honglang!" he shouted. "This is your final chance to accept pacification!"
Xing Honglang didn't even bother stepping forward.
She snorted.
"Go back and tell Wang Guozhong," she said coldly, "that no one in this world trusts a man who betrays his own leader."
"Surrender to him?"
"Never."
Elsewhere — On the Road
Yang He, Supreme Commander of the Three Border Regions, was riding hard toward Gudu Ferry, already rehearsing how he would host the pacification banquet—
When a mounted man suddenly burst out ahead.
The moment he saw Yang He, he dismounted, collapsed, and burst into tears.
"Lord Yang!" he wailed. "Lord Yang, we're being bullied!"
Yang He raised a hand.
"Speak calmly. What happened?"
The man sobbed, wiping his face.
"We were waiting peacefully at Gudu Ferry, preparing to accept pacification from you. But Wang Guozhong—newly appointed Deputy Commander of Puzhou—began persecuting us the moment he took office!"
"We begged him, explained everything. Told him you were already on your way!"
"But he wouldn't listen. He insisted on attacking us!"
Yang He's face darkened.
"Why?" he demanded. "If you were already preparing to accept pacification, you would soon serve as officials together. Why would he still attack?"
The messenger hesitated, then whispered:
"Perhaps… he still bears a grudge. From the old days. When we didn't obey Wang Jiayin."
Yang He fell silent.
Then his expression hardened.
Of course.
Old grudges.
Private vendettas.
Using official authority to settle personal scores.
He had seen it a thousand times.
"Move faster," Yang He snapped. "All carriages. All horses. We ride hard."
"I must reach Gudu Ferry immediately."
The Shield Carts Advance
Back at the battlefield—
"Shield carts forward," Wang Guozhong ordered smugly. "Advance slowly."
For the first time in his life, he commanded real siege engines.
The massive wooden carts rolled forward in a single line, thick walls bristling with iron fittings.
Fifteen carts.
Side by side.
A moving wall.
Behind them, the catapults creaked forward.
It was a tried-and-true method—
a universal solution developed independently across the world.
East or West, Ming or foreign, humanity always found the same answer to firearms:
Hide behind something thicker.
Wang Guozhong was confident.
But the defenders of Gao Family Village were calm.
Almost bored.
Many turned their heads toward the artillery teams hidden behind the stockade walls.
The gunners grinned.
They raised their hands and waved.
Relax.
We've got this.
"Don't fire yet!" Lao Nanfeng shouted. "Artillery—hold! Your range is too long. Wait until the firearm troops can engage as well!"
"Understood!"
The gunners clenched their jaws, fingers twitching.
They waited.
Misjudgment
From Wang Guozhong's perspective, the water stronghold was eerily quiet.
No cannon fire.
No musket volleys.
Just silence.
He laughed.
"Hahahaha! She's stunned," he said smugly. "Xing Honglang doesn't know what to do!"
"She's probably thinking how to run."
He leaned back in his saddle, utterly satisfied—
Unaware that beneath the grass,
beneath the earth,
hundreds of riflemen were already waiting for him to take just a few more steps forward.