In Puxian, cooking fires bloomed one after another like stubborn little rebellions against misery.
Rain still poured from the sky—thick, relentless, the kind that soaked through bones and made even curses feel soggy—but the fear that once clung to the city had finally loosened its grip.
Because government troops had arrived.
Not the kind that kicked down doors, seized grain, and called it "logistics."
These soldiers did something far more unsettling.
They handed out food.
They even shared military rations.
This was enough to confuse the common folk so badly that several elderly men stared at the soldiers for a long time, as if waiting for the punchline.
None came.
Only steaming pots.
Who wouldn't rejoice at such a sight?
Soon, smoke rose everywhere, threading together above the rooftops like a patchwork banner of survival.
The aroma of lunch meat drifted through the rain.
That small, square tin—meant to be consumed in one sitting by soldiers who didn't know if they'd see tomorrow—was treated by the people of Puxian as if it were an ancestral relic.
No one dared eat it outright.
They sliced it thin—so thin it bordered on philosophy—then mashed the precious meat into paste, stirring it into watery gruel until each bowl became what they proudly called "meat-mince porridge."
To this, they added wild greens:
purslane, shepherd's purse, houttuynia—whatever hadn't been starved out of the land yet.
For ordinary people, this was just a meal.
For one particular being, it was an unforgivable insult to cosmic hierarchy.
Perched on Gao Chuwu's shoulder, the Puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun began rattling violently, wooden joints clacking like a furious abacus.
"Are you serious?" it screeched. "They're eating better than I am!"
Gao Chuwu blinked, rainwater dripping off his hat.
"Ah? How could such crude, earthly fare compare to the divine banquets enjoyed by Dao Xuan Tianzun?"
The puppet threw both stick-like arms skyward, fingers splayed, posture tragic enough to summon thunder.
"These dishes—these vegetables—do you know how hard they are to find up there?!"
Its voice cracked with exaggerated grief.
Gao Chuwu fell into deep contemplation.
I see, he thought solemnly. The Immortal Realm must only grow divine fruits. No wild vegetables at all. Dao Xuan Tianzun must be sick of immortality and occasionally crave poverty.
Satisfied with his reasoning, he nodded respectfully.
While divine beings argued over vegetables, the world continued turning without consulting anyone.
Outside the city, the rebel forces had already begun retreating, pulling back northwest through the rain like a dark tide that had decided the shore wasn't worth drowning for.
Zijing Liang wasn't stupid.
The newly arrived government army was terrifying.
Thousands of flintlock rifles—still firing accurately in heavy rain.
This wasn't bravery.
This was witchcraft with logistics.
His men weren't sworn to die here. Their doctrine was simple:
If you can't win, leave before you embarrass yourself.
So they left.
On the city wall, Ma Xianglin stood at a high vantage point, rain soaking his armor, eyes fixed on the withdrawing enemy until their banners blurred into the gray distance.
Only then did he let out a long breath.
Not a heroic sigh.
A human one.
Puxian had been besieged for days—cut off, isolated, every night a debate between hunger and despair. Now, with the bandits retreating, it felt as though someone had loosened a rope around his chest.
He climbed down and found Xing Honglang.
"General Xing," he said, cupping his fists. "The bandits are retreating west toward Daning County. What should be our next move?"
Xing Honglang raised an eyebrow.
"What do you think, General Ma?"
Ma Xianglin considered carefully.
"Our provisions are critically low. Had you not arrived, I would've withdrawn to Pinelyang Prefecture to resupply, then resumed pursuit." He paused, then continued frankly, "But you mentioned earlier that supplies could be secured near the Yellow River. If so… I propose we pursue westward immediately—relieve Daning County first, then advance to the river, and then—"
Xing Honglang laughed.
"And then eat my family's grain?"
Ma Xianglin flushed, just slightly.
"I know it's shameless," he admitted, straight-backed even as he begged, "but returning to Pinelyang would cost too much time. Daning County has already fallen for a day and a night. Every delay is more suffering. So… I must ask to borrow provisions from you. Shamelessly."
Xing Honglang thought: So that's it.
She studied him anew.
No wonder Dao Xuan Tianzun said this one could be taught the bamboo-cover method for keeping flintlocks dry in the rain.
With Gao Family Village's philosophy, lending grain was hardly worth mentioning.
She nodded.
"Very well."
Ma Xianglin was stunned.
Then overjoyed.
In this year of drought and famine, borrowing grain was harder than borrowing someone's life. Even elite troops entering the capital were expected to bring their own food.
He had prepared himself for lengthy negotiations.
Instead, he got an answer faster than a sword draw.
"What a truly good person…" he muttered.
Then confusion crept in.
"General Xing," he said hesitantly, "you are clearly upright and care deeply for the common people. Why… would someone like you rebel?"
Xing Honglang burst out laughing.
"Can't good people rebel?"
Ma Xianglin blinked.
"I… thought they couldn't."
She pointed at Lao Nanfeng.
"You. Tell him. Why did you rebel?"
Lao Nanfeng grinned.
"I was a border soldier in Guyuan. The court didn't pay us for three years. Our centurion said we'd march to Xi'an and collect what was owed."
Ma Xianglin inhaled sharply.
Xing Honglang then pointed to Cheng Xu.
"And you?"
Cheng Xu's masked face twitched.
"I'd rather not," he said stiffly. "My story isn't pleasant."
She waved dismissively.
"Everyone already knows you've got a filthy past. You've accepted pacification. Amnesty washes everything clean."
Cheng Xu froze.
"…Huh?"
The realization hit him like lightning.
He could remove the mask.
Reveal his identity.
The Jinyiwei couldn't touch him anymore.
He threw his head back and laughed, loud and wild.
He ripped off the mask.
"I was once a military inspector!" he shouted. "I suppressed bandits, kept order, ran myself ragged! Then because I once currried favor with the Eunuch Party, I was branded and sentenced to death! The court sent the Jinyiwei to kill me—but with Dao Xuan Tianzun's blessing, I crawled back from hell itself! How could I not rebel?!"
Ma Xianglin staggered back.
"Cheng Xu… the War God of Chengcheng County?!"
Cheng Xu jumped.
"Holy crap! How does everyone know me?!"
Ma Xianglin swallowed.
"During the chaos, who hasn't heard the saying? 'Wang Er of the Underworld, Cheng Xu of the Establishment.'"
Cheng Xu cursed softly and slapped the mask back on.
"My reputation is too dangerous," he muttered. "The Emperor might remember me. Best to stay invisible."
Silence fell.
Then Cheng Xu glanced around nervously.
"Not many people heard that, right?"
The nearby soldiers smiled.
"Sure. Want to kill us all to be safe?"
Cheng Xu snorted.
"We're allies! Only Little Ma Chao here is an outsider. Xing Honglang, Lao Nanfeng—help me!"
Ma Xianglin nearly drew his sword.
Xing Honglang and Lao Nanfeng laughed.
"Enough nonsense! He's also called Zhao Zilong. Even the three of us together might lose."
Ma Xianglin finally relaxed, exhaling.
Yet his heart felt heavy.
So many good people, he thought, forced into rebellion by injustice.
Rain continued to fall.
But somewhere beneath it, something had already shifted—quietly, stubbornly, like a fire refusing to go out.