Puzhou moved like it had been possessed.
From dawn to dusk, the prefecture roared.
Hammers rang. Earth split. Smoke rose in disciplined columns instead of desperate cooking fires. Entire neighborhoods seemed to grow overnight, sprouting scaffolding and shouting foremen like weeds after rain.
To the west, the dock town swallowed new land from the riverbank, warehouses marching downstream like soldiers claiming territory.
To the south, the iron mine town cracked open the mountains, veins of red earth exposed, carts rumbling day and night.
To the north, the cement works and paper mills expanded in tandem—kilns burning white-hot, vats bubbling, pulp steaming like a living thing.
Everywhere you looked, the ground was being torn open and rebuilt with intent.
Puzhou no longer looked like a famine-stricken prefecture.
It looked like a bet placed against heaven.
And while the land buzzed with life—
Far to the north, in Yan'an Prefecture, death was being tallied.
Yang He arrived at the governor's yamen with dust still clinging to his robes.
He didn't bother announcing himself.
The moment he crossed the threshold, he barked, "Hong Chengchou! Report!"
Hong Chengchou had been waiting.
He stood straight-backed beneath the eaves, robe immaculate, expression composed to the point of irritation. If the man had been born a blade, he would've been polished steel—no rust, no nicks, no wasted motion.
"Governor Yang," Hong said calmly, hands folded. "There is no need for urgency."
Yang He stopped short. "No need? Shen Yikui has raised the banner again. I rushed from Puzhou day and night—"
"Shen Yikui is dead."
The words dropped like a stone.
Yang He stared. "What?"
"I said," Hong Chengchou repeated evenly, "Shen Yikui is dead."
Yang He's mouth opened, then closed.
Dead?
Already?
"When I left Puzhou," Yang He said slowly, "the reports said he was still gathering men. How could he be dead before I even reached Yansui?"
Hong Chengchou gestured lightly, as if explaining the weather.
"I deployed Deputy General Cao Wenzhao from the east, Yulin Advisor Zhang Fuzhen from the north, and Gansu Commander Yang Jiamo from the west. We encircled Shen Yikui's forces."
He paused.
"First, we killed his brother, Shen Yiyuan."
Yang He inhaled sharply.
"That fractured their morale. Afterward, we sowed discord among his lieutenants. One of them—Huang Youcai—proved… receptive."
"…You turned him."
"He assassinated Shen Yikui himself."
Silence followed.
Yang He sucked in a breath through his teeth.
So this is Hong Chengchou, he thought.
He had been on the road for mere days. This man had already ended a rebellion.
Formidable didn't begin to cover it.
"And the rest?" Yang He asked. "Without Shen Yikui, they must've scattered."
Hong Chengchou's gaze didn't waver. "Not yet."
"How many remain?"
"Over one hundred thousand."
Yang He felt something crack behind his temples.
"One hundred thousand?" he repeated. "Even without a leader, that's an army."
Hong Chengchou nodded. "Which is why I was preparing to deal with them."
He smiled faintly.
"If Governor Yang is concerned… perhaps you would care to observe."
Yang He straightened, pride bristling. "Good. I'd like to see how you intend to 'deal with' one hundred thousand rebels."
What followed was not a battle.
It was a demonstration.
A few days later, Hong Chengchou rode out with his personal guard—the famed Hong's Elite Troops—and joined forces with Cao Wenzhao.
Cao Wenzhao was brave, skilled, and obedient to a fault. Tell him east, he went east. Tell him west, he went west. In the hands of a fool, such a man would die early.
In the hands of Hong Chengchou—
He became a blade.
The rebel army met them head-on.
And broke.
In a single clash, the so-called one hundred thousand were routed. Du San and Yang Laochai were dragged from the chaos alive, bound and screaming.
Yang He expected interrogations.
Negotiations.
Appeasement.
Instead, Hong Chengchou didn't even let them kneel properly.
"Behead them."
The order was flat.
Steel fell.
Blood soaked the earth.
By nightfall, two heads hung outside the city gates, faces frozen in terror for every passerby to see.
"Captured generals are meant to be persuaded," Yang He muttered, stomach churning.
Hong Chengchou didn't look back. "I don't persuade."
The remaining two—Hong Junyou and Li Dusi—fled.
Hong Chengchou pursued without pause.
Yang He followed, watching with growing unease as stratagem after stratagem unfolded. Hong Junyou fell to internal betrayal. Li Dusi thought he had sprung an ambush—only for Hong Chengchou to charge straight through it like a madman, blades flashing, blood spraying.
When it was over, Li Dusi's head joined the others at the gate.
Not one of Shen Yikui's top commanders survived.
None.
Afterward, Hong Chengchou turned—almost casually—and gestured behind him.
Ninety thousand men knelt in the dirt.
"Governor Yang," he said, "the ringleaders are dead. These followers surrendered."
He smiled thinly.
"They can't be killed. They must be appeased."
Yang He felt his eye twitch.
"But appeasement," Hong Chengchou continued, already mounting his horse, "is not my specialty."
He rode off.
Leaving ninety thousand lives behind.
Yang He stared at the kneeling sea of heads.
"…Damn it," he whispered. "What am I supposed to do with all of you?"
Then he remembered.
Censor Wu Shen.
One hundred thousand taels.
Yang He grabbed a brush and wrote at once:
"Brother Wu, it has been far too long. The weather is pleasant. Have you eaten?
I happen to have ninety thousand surrendered rebels here. Might I borrow your one hundred thousand taels of silver?"
The reply came swiftly.
"My sincerest apologies. That sum is… currently unavailable."
Yang He swore.
Fine.
Then—another letter.
"Brother Liang, save me. Ninety thousand surrendered rebels.
I know the number is large. Chengcheng County will suffer hardship.
But hardship can be overcome. We must share the burden for the imperial court."
Liang Shixian read it.
Inside, he was laughing so hard his ribs hurt.
Outwardly, his reply was solemn.
"It will be difficult. But even if I must sell all I own, I will shoulder the burden for the court. Send them all."
Far away, in the Imperial Study.
Zhu Youjian flipped through memorials with leaden eyes.
Shanxi burned.
Wang Jiayin was dead—but his remnants still numbered over three hundred thousand. Zijing Liang roamed freely. Smaller rebel bands scattered like sparks, crossing rivers, igniting new fires.
Bu Zhan Ni had crossed the Yellow River again.
Scattered rebels were worse than armies.
Memorials piled high.
"All roads lament appeasement."
"Yang He has brought disaster to the realm."
"One wave quelled, another rises."
Zhu Youjian closed his eyes.
He knew why appeasement had been chosen. When the border generals rushed to defend the capital, Yang He had been left with nothing. No troops. No options.
But now—
The Manchus were quiet.
The relief armies had returned.
Appeasement had outlived its use.
And policy shifts required blood.
Zhu Youjian dipped his brush.
"Yang He, as Supreme Commander of Shaanxi, wielded great authority yet failed to suppress the rebels, plunging the people into misery and betraying his charge.
He is hereby stripped of office.
The Embroidered Uniform Guard shall apprehend him and bring him to the capital for interrogation.
Lian Guoshi is provisionally demoted three ranks and shall suppress the bandits in atonement.
Further negligence will be punished without mercy."
The brush lifted.
Yang He's fate was sealed.
Appeasement ended.
Suppression took the stage.
And the Great Ming turned another page—one written in blood.