Under Gao Chuwu's earnest supervision, the child carefully dropped the cube of luncheon meat into a nearby cauldron of boiling water.
Puxian was full of such pots.
They weren't for cooking.
They were weapons.
Any city that had been broken once learned fast. The moment the common folk sensed unrest, the first thing they did wasn't pack valuables or pray—it was boil water. When rebels came climbing over makeshift walls, boiling water poured down like a last, desperate curse.
The child watched the luncheon meat sink beneath the roiling surface.
Steam billowed upward.
Gao Chuwu squinted, nodding seriously. "Alright, alright. That's enough. Scoop it out."
The child grabbed two bamboo chopsticks and tried to pick it up. The meat slipped, slid, and mocked him.
After several failed attempts, Gao Chuwu clicked his tongue, snatched the chopsticks, stabbed straight through the cube, and lifted it out like a trophy.
The child's eyes widened. "Oh… it's so soft."
He blew on it carefully, took a bite—
And froze.
His eyes went blank for a heartbeat, as if his soul had momentarily left his body to consult the heavens.
Then—
Chew.
Chew.
His face lit up with pure, wordless joy.
He didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
The way he devoured it—quick, reverent, afraid it might vanish—said everything.
Around him, the other common folk swallowed reflexively.
Some hugged their bellies.
Some stared like believers watching a miracle performed in meat form.
Zheng Daniu clutched his stomach too. "Ah… now I'm hungry."
Gao Chuwu turned. "This is army rations. You should eat too."
Zheng Daniu scratched his head. "I finished mine the moment we left the barracks."
Silence.
Zao Ying sighed quietly and slipped a piece of luncheon meat into his hand without a word.
Ma Xianglin didn't notice any of this.
His gaze lingered on the people.
On the way a single cube of meat could move them so deeply.
When the rich are in a good mood, he thought, even a casual handout can feel like salvation.
But thoughts didn't get to finish forming.
Gao Chuwu patted the child's head, stood up, and leaned toward Xing Honglang, whispering something.
Xing Honglang straightened.
Her voice carried clearly through the square.
"The Dao Xuan Tianzun has given an order—half of our military rations are to be distributed to the common people!"
Ma Xianglin stiffened.
Behind her, more than four thousand soldiers reached into their packs without hesitation.
When Gao Family Village troops marched, they always carried several days' rations:
Two tins of luncheon meat.
A large sack of dried rice.
Hardtack biscuits.
Compressed rations of suspicious density.
The rice and hardtack were mundane—products of local workshops.
The luncheon meat and compressed biscuits were… different.
They were gifts from Li Daoxuan.
Four thousand soldiers divided their rations cleanly in half.
No arguments.
No hesitation.
Xing Honglang handed the collected portion to Gao Chuwu. "The order was delivered to you. You distribute it."
Gao Chuwu grinned. "I'm good at that! Back in Gao Family Village, the Village Chief always let me handle food distribution."
Someone laughed. "That's because you're honest. Honest people don't embezzle."
Gao Chuwu tilted his head. "Why would anyone embezzle? To get struck down by the Dao Xuan Tianzun?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Ma Xianglin watched in silence.
These soldiers gave away food that could save their own lives tomorrow—without even tightening their jaws.
The city buzzed as rations changed hands.
Cheers rose.
Tears fell.
Ma Xianglin finally spoke, low and cautious. "Your soldiers carry only a few days' supplies. Giving away half—what if the fighting drags on?"
Xing Honglang laughed softly. "General Ma, don't worry."
She pointed west. "Fifty li to Danang County. Another fifty li to the Yellow River."
Ma Xianglin frowned. "And?"
"Our remaining rations are enough," she said lightly, "as long as we reach the Yellow River."
He stared.
Completely baffled.
Zhang Fengyi understood immediately. "They have ships."
Ma Xianglin inhaled sharply. "But the upper Yellow River has almost no court logistics—only civilian shipping!"
Zhang Fengyi lowered her voice. "She's a salt smuggler."
Ma Xianglin understood.
Ah.
Salt smugglers.
Only slightly weaker than Jin merchants.
Ruthless.
Resourceful.
No wonder.
Then a new thought struck him.
"How did your firearms function in the rain?" he asked.
Xing Honglang hesitated.
Then the puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun on Gao Chuwu's shoulder whispered.
"You may tell him."
Xing Honglang felt something loosen in her chest.
So the Heavenly Lord did not see the White Pole Soldiers as enemies.
She gestured, calling over a musket soldier.
The firearm looked ordinary—like any bird musket.
The soldier shielded it under his bamboo hat, loaded calmly, then clicked a small wooden box onto the firing mechanism.
Ma Xianglin's eyes lit up. "It blocks the rain!"
His mind raced. "And the wind—Liaodong's winds blow primer away. This would block that too!"
He straightened, excitement breaking through exhaustion. "This tiny thing could save countless lives! General Xing, you should report this to the court. If the border army adopts it—"
Xing Honglang glanced at the puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun.
It nodded.
She smiled. "If it helps fight the Manchus," she said, "I'll submit it."
Sometimes—
All you needed to do—
Was get to the Yellow River.