By the Yellow River, everyone finally ate like human beings.
Not heroic rations.
Not symbolic mouthfuls.
Real food.
Noodles—thick, chewy, steaming hot.
Luncheon meat—square, honest, unapologetically meaty.
For people who had spent days surviving on fear, cold, and raw scraps, this meal was nothing short of divine intervention disguised as carbs.
After eating their fill, exhaustion evaporated as if it had been embarrassed to stay.
Those who had collapsed on the road earlier—faces gray, legs shaking—now stood up again, eyes bright, backs straighter. Even their breathing sounded different, as if life itself had quietly reinstalled itself into their bodies.
No one wasted anything.
Every last noodle scrap.
Every greasy drop.
The common folk divided the leftovers with the seriousness of seasoned accountants, each person carefully wrapping a small portion and tucking it deep into their clothes—close to the body, where hope was hardest to steal.
Then came the inevitable question.
"…So," someone muttered, "where do we go now?"
That question didn't belong only to the refugees.
It hovered equally over the Sichuan White Pole Soldiers.
Ma Xianglin approached Xing Honglang, his expression turning serious again. "General Xing, we have two problems now. First—what to do about the bandits. Second—what to do with these people."
Xing Honglang nodded. "Sending them back to Daning County is out of the question."
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
"That town has no walls, no food, and no protection. The moment we leave, bandits will return. And next time…" She paused. "The Chuǎng Wang might not feel merciful."
Ma Xianglin frowned. "Then how do you plan to settle them?"
"Relocation," Xing Honglang said simply. "Southward. Away from the bandit routes."
Ma Xianglin hesitated. "Several thousand people. If there's no land or work—"
"General Ma," Xing Honglang interrupted lightly, "that part's already handled."
His eyes lit up. "Handled how?"
"…You're not going to have them smuggle salt too, are you?"
Zhang Fengyi immediately snapped, "Why do your eyes sparkle every time someone says 'salt'?!"
Ma Xianglin protested, "It's profitable! Is it wrong to want my people at Wan Shou Zhai to eat meat?"
Zhang Fengyi rubbed her temples. "Can't you aspire to something higher?"
Ma Xianglin shot back, "What's higher than full stomachs? Becoming famous atop a mountain of corpses?"
Silence fell.
That question landed harder than expected.
For a general—
Was greatness measured in banners and titles…
Or in whether your people could afford meat?
The atmosphere thickened.
Then—
Zheng Daniu suddenly leaned in. "If a great general gets ten thousand bones to gnaw on, that's still food, right? Bone soup's even better than meat."
Everyone: "..."
Zao Ying grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back. "Stop talking."
"But bone soup—"
"I'll make you pork bone soup when we're back," she hissed.
Zheng Daniu's eyes lit up. "Instructor Zao truly has a benevolent heart!"
Zao Ying punched his shoulder. Hard. "Stop calling me Instructor Zao. It's weird."
Zheng Daniu pondered. "Then… good buddy?"
Zao Ying collapsed on the spot.
Xing Honglang stepped forward before the refugees, her voice clear.
"You've eaten. You've rested. You have provisions for several more days."
She pointed north.
"But returning to Daning County is suicide."
Fear rippled through the crowd.
"If you trust me," Xing Honglang continued, gesturing to the ships, "board them. Follow my people south. You'll have work, food, and shelter. When the north stabilizes, you can return."
She didn't promise miracles.
She promised safety.
That was enough.
"We trust the General!"
"We'll follow you!"
"Good," Xing Honglang said. "Board in batches."
As the evacuation began, she turned back to Ma Xianglin.
"The civilians go south. As for us…" She smiled faintly. "We still have work."
Ma Xianglin nodded. "The bandits retreated from Puxian and Changning. Their numbers are too large for small towns now."
His gaze hardened. "They'll go north. Toward Taiyuan."
Xing Honglang had already thought of that.
And already rejected it.
"Our limit is Pingyang Prefecture," she said calmly. "Gunpowder and bullets don't march themselves."
Cold-weapon armies could roam for thousands of li.
Her army could not.
Ma Xianglin understood. Too well.
If she strayed too far, the court's suspicion would bite harder than any bandit.
He cupped his fists. "Then we part here."
Xing Honglang returned the salute. "The green mountains remain. The waters continue to flow."
Ma Xianglin laughed. "That line's very jianghu! Let me try—"
Zhang Fengyi shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
Ma Xianglin shut up instantly.
The White Pole Soldiers marched north, spirits high, packs heavy with flour and meat.
Xing Honglang remained by the river, watching boat after boat carry refugees south.
Only when the last vessel departed did she turn to the silver-threaded figure on her chest.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun," she asked, "what now?"
The Dao Xuan Tianzun considered quietly.
"Return to Pingyang. Hold the line. Don't let the bandits move south."
A pause.
"The north… we leave to Song Tongyin."
Xing Honglang nodded.
The rain fell softly.
The river flowed on.
And everyone went their separate ways—
fed, alive, and not yet defeated.