The volley ended.
Not gradually.
Not politely.
It ended the way a sentence ends when the author gets bored—with a period.
Smoke drifted across Dragon Gate Bridge.
On the far bank, the West Camp Eight Great Kings stood frozen, staring at the bridge like it had personally insulted their ancestors.
This was not how things were supposed to go.
Zhang Xianzhong—who had seen villages burn, cities fall, and officials weep—felt a rare and unfamiliar sensation crawl up his spine.
Unease.
Government troops weren't supposed to hit like that.
They weren't supposed to reload that fast.
They certainly weren't supposed to appear out of nowhere like an ambush written by someone who'd actually read a tactics manual.
"Who in hell are these people?" someone muttered.
Zhang Xianzhong didn't answer.
He was already weighing two ancient bandit philosophies:
Figure it out later.
Stay alive now.
He chose wisely.
"Retreat."
No rallying cry.
No heroic stubbornness.
Just the most reliable technique in bandit history.
Run.
The West Camp Eight Great Kings pivoted as one, fleeing northeast with the speed of men who'd practiced this exact maneuver many times before. They wore no heavy armor—couldn't afford it, didn't want it. Their loads were lighter than those of Gao Family Village's militia.
When they ran, they ran.
In moments, they were gone—leaving behind corpses, wounded groans, and the lingering smell of gunpowder and regret.
Only then did Cheng Xu step onto Dragon Gate Bridge.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like a man entering a stage after the audience had finally quieted down.
Shi Jian poked his head out from behind the sandbags, face streaked with sweat and soot. He forced an embarrassed smile.
"Instructor He… you arrived just in time. A little later, and I'd have had to personally thank the underworld for its hospitality."
Cheng Xu glanced at the bridge, then the river, then the distant dust cloud of fleeing rebels.
"Shanxi really does descend into chaos the instant no one's watching," he said mildly. "Just from a glance, I'd say there were at least twenty or thirty thousand of them."
Shi Jian nodded grimly. "Ever since Cao Wenzhao and Wang Cheng'en were transferred to Shaanxi to deal with Shen Yikui's mess, the rebels here have grown… confident."
"Ah." Cheng Xu smiled faintly. "Like students the moment the teacher leaves the classroom."
Shi Jian snorted despite himself. "Exactly. The second Mr. Wang turns around, Gao Sanwa's already hanging from the rafters. Now Cao Wenzhao's gone, and they're about ready to flip the desk and burn the school down."
Cheng Xu's gaze sharpened. "And Du Wenhuan?"
Shi Jian hesitated. "Imprisoned."
Cheng Xu blinked.
Just once.
"…Why?"
It was at this moment that Cheng Xu realized—once again—that he was shockingly out of touch with official politics.
Shi Jian sighed. "Months ago, Shen Yiyuan besieged Qingyang. Du Wenhuan went to avenge the Shen brothers. He killed Shen Yiyuan, yes—but afterward, he butchered refugees from Yanchuan, claimed they were rebels, and padded his report. Wu Shen exposed him. Censor Zhang Chengzhao followed with an impeachment. Du Wenhuan was stripped and jailed."
Cheng Xu listened in silence.
Then he smiled—but it wasn't a pleasant one.
"Killing civilians for merit," he said softly. "If he'd pulled that under Dao Xuan Tianzun's rule, Li Daoxuan would've slapped him into next week. Funny thing is… just days ago, Dao Xuan Tianzun mentioned Gao Family Village needed a military academy head. I was even considering recommending Du Wenhuan."
He shook his head.
"Turns out trash has a smell, no matter how polished the armor."
Shi Jian glanced at the two thousand troops behind Cheng Xu, eyes wide. "Instructor He… are we really committing all our elite forces this time?"
Cheng Xu nodded. "Dao Xuan Tianzun has ordered the consolidation of the entire border line—from Dragon Gate Ferry to Hejin County, Pingyang Prefecture, and down to Puzhou City. This corridor is where rebels love to crawl out of the cracks."
His voice hardened.
"We'll scare them so badly they won't even dream of coming back."
Shi Jian straightened instinctively.
"And this bridge," Cheng Xu continued, tapping the wooden rail, "will become one of the most important arteries in the future. All land trade between Shanxi and Shaanxi will pass here. Since you're guarding it, guard it like your life depends on it."
Shi Jian hesitated. "But with only four hundred men—holding a bridge against tens of thousands…"
Cheng Xu laughed and clapped his shoulder. "Who said you'll stay at four hundred?"
Shi Jian froze. "What?"
"Paper. Brush."
"…Sir?"
"Paper. Brush."
Moments later, Cheng Xu was already writing.
He skipped the opening flattery—no doubt polished enough to blind a censor—and dove straight into fiction with terrifying confidence.
"…The rebel leader Lao Huihui, alongside the West Camp Eight Great Kings, launched a joint assault on Hejin County. Your humble servant, commanding but four hundred men, was ordered to hold the line…"
Shi Jian's eye twitched.
"…Lao Huihui charged with two thousand cavalry. I stood alone before the ranks, rebuked him loudly, appealed to his conscience. Overcome with shame, he withdrew…"
Shi Jian's other eye joined the first.
"…Then the West Camp Eight Great Kings advanced with fifty thousand rebels. I personally led the counterattack, pierced the enemy lines thrice, was struck by countless arrows…"
Cheng Xu paused, considering.
"…Make that numerous. Too many arrows sounds fake."
He continued.
"…After the battle, physicians removed arrowheads weighing no less than two catties…"
He finished, blew on the ink, and leaned back with satisfaction.
"There," he said cheerfully. "That should be worth at least two ranks."
Shi Jian felt cold sweat pour down his spine. "Instructor He… nine out of ten lines in that memorial are outright lies."
"Of course," Cheng Xu said brightly. "Do you think court memorials are biographies?"
He laughed.
"The Emperor knows. The ministers know. Everyone knows. But history doesn't run on facts—it runs on results. You won. The rebels fled. The bridge stands. That's all anyone cares about."
He leaned closer.
"Unless, of course, you're part of the Eunuch Party. Then even the truth can get you killed."
Shi Jian had no response.
Cheng Xu patted his shoulder again. "Relax. You'll be promoted soon enough."
Stunned, Shi Jian sealed the letter anyway. He collected the severed ears of the fallen rebels—grim but persuasive evidence—and sent everything off to Wang Cheng'en for inspection.
After issuing a few final instructions, Cheng Xu marched northeast with his forces.
As for the people of Hejin County—
They were terrified.
Returning to a wall-less town after this was unthinkable. The water fort, shabby as it was, suddenly looked like paradise.
Shi Jian accepted all ten thousand refugees.
And immediately realized the fort was far too small.
That same day, he wrote to San Shier of Gao Family Village.
San Shier replied without hesitation:
"Approved. Cement is on the way. Blue Hats too. Use the refugees as labor—turn that broken fort into a concrete castle."
Shi Jian nearly wept with joy.
Meanwhile—
Xing Honglang's army had just departed Puzhou City.
Several dozen li later, a miserable little town appeared along the Yellow River—no walls, half-ruined, barely standing.
Gao Chuwu squinted. "That place looks like a sigh made of bricks. Where are we?"
Xing Honglang replied calmly, "Sunji Town. Linyi County. It had walls once. Old Zhang Fei tore them down."
She paused.
"Chaos tends to be thorough."