At the south gate windlass of Hedong City, the night exploded.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Hundreds of garrison soldiers burst out of their barracks like startled chickens, snatching weapons as they ran. Some hadn't even bothered with cotton armor, rushing out in thin cloth robes. A few were outright bare-chested, clearly believing enthusiasm could substitute for protection.
History would soon disagree.
On the windlass platform above the city gate, Chen Baihu's two hundred men had already locked themselves into position. The platform itself was pitifully small—barely large enough for a tea stall, let alone a battlefield—so most of Chen Baihu's men were deployed at the staircases and narrow passages leading up to it.
A cramped space.
A perfect space.
Guyuan border troops formed spear phalanxes on the stairways, long spears angled downward like a forest of iron fangs. Dozens of spearheads gleamed coldly, politely but firmly informing anyone below: You shall not pass.
The garrison soldiers looked up, swallowed, and unanimously decided that today was not a good day to die.
Bravery, after all, was something they had outsourced years ago.
An archer scrambled up the nearby watchtower, clearly hoping to farm some easy kills from above. Chen Baihu raised his right hand.
Thunk.
The low hum of a hand crossbow sounded almost gentle.
The archer toppled backward off the tower like a sack of rotten grain.
"Quick! Take them down!" the Salt Inspector shrieked, his voice hoarse and cracking. "They're holding the windlass! If we can't close the gate, more people will come in!"
For once in his life, the man had said something intelligent.
Far outside the city, thousands of torches burned in the night like a crawling sea of fire—belonging to the remaining four hundred-plus Guyuan border troops under Chen Baihu's command, sprinting toward Hedong City as if payday were waiting inside.
As long as the windlass stayed in Chen Baihu's hands, the city gate remained wide open—and once those four hundred arrived, they would flood in like overdue taxes.
Nominally, Hedong Circuit garrisoned a thousand government soldiers.
Nominally.
In reality, everyone knew the truth: six hundred men. The remaining four hundred existed only on payroll records, where they lived happy, productive lives contributing generously to the Salt Inspector's personal fortune.
Most officials who skimmed pay for four hundred phantom soldiers would at least use part of the money to maintain two hundred private guards—real fighters, meant to cover the obvious gap.
But not this Salt Inspector.
Hedong Circuit mostly handled salt transport and smuggling cases. No real wars. No real danger. Why waste money raising household guards when paperwork and bribes solved everything?
Stingy to the bone, he had fewer than fifty real elites by his side.
Chen Baihu, meanwhile, commanded over six hundred hardened border troops.
The contrast was… educational.
The garrison soldiers—normally fearless when bullying salt artisans or extorting smugglers—now faced real soldiers who had lived with death on the frontier. Their legs went soft. Their courage evaporated. None of them could muster the will to rush that narrow staircase bristling with spears.
Archers should have climbed both watchtowers to provide cover.
A few tried.
They died.
The rest took one look, hugged their bows like comfort blankets, and decided ground-level air was perfectly fine.
The windlass platform became a stalemate seesaw—Chen Baihu's men immovable, the Salt Inspector's men unwilling.
Outside the city, the sounds of killing thundered closer.
The Salt Inspector glanced out and saw the approaching sea of torches. Half his soul left his body on the spot; the other half was busy writing a will.
He roared, veins bulging:
"Where are Tian Shenglan and Zhai Tang?! Their guards are strong—send them here immediately!"
There was no need.
The two Jin merchants had already been jolted awake by the battle cries. Each gathered his guard detachment and sprinted toward the south gate.
From a distance, under the city wall's firelight, they clearly saw the scene: Ming military uniforms holding the windlass, Salt Inspector's men swarming uselessly below, accomplishing nothing except making noise.
The fighting wasn't fierce—not because both sides were restrained, but because one side was absolutely terrified.
Zhai Tang sneered.
"Brother Tian… should we get involved?"
Tian Shenglan smiled, slow and calculating.
"Get involved? Are you blind?" He pointed casually. "Those men guarding the windlass—tight formations, calm movements, killing without hesitation. That's a hardened army."
He paused, then added pleasantly,
"If I'm not mistaken, they're border troops who've gone rogue. They're holding the gate. Once it stays open long enough, tens of thousands of bandits will pour in."
Zhai Tang sucked in a breath.
"So this city—"
"Already a dead end," Tian Shenglan finished cheerfully. "Why die for a Salt Inspector who counts soldiers the way he counts silver?"
Zhai Tang nodded vigorously.
"Wise words."
Without another glance, the two Jin merchants wheeled around and sprinted for the north gate.
By then, the north gate was tightly shut. Ordinarily, the guards wouldn't dare open it.
Ordinarily.
Several silver ingots later, the gate creaked open as if it had always wanted to help.
The two Jin merchants rode out at full speed, not even bothering with a backward glance.
At the south gate, the Salt Inspector waited desperately for reinforcements.
Instead, a subordinate ran up, face pale.
"My lord—bad news! Tian Shenglan and Zhai Tang… they fled."
"Those damned sons of bitches!" the Salt Inspector cursed.
He wanted to flee too.
But he couldn't.
If he fought, there was still a sliver of hope. If he ran, the imperial court would eventually investigate—and his head would leave his shoulders in one clean, professional stroke.
Grinding his teeth, he roared again:
"Who's the nearest official who can send troops?!"
"Puzhou City," a subordinate answered. "Garrison Commander Xing Honglang."
The Salt Inspector's eyes lit up, then darkened.
"She's a salt smuggler… Damn it, never mind! Anyone who saves this official is a good person! Go—bring her here!"
The subordinate bowed enthusiastically.
Puzhou City is over a hundred and fifty li round trip, he thought happily. Plenty of time to disappear.
He mounted a horse, opened the west gate, and rode off—straight into freedom.
The fighting continued.
Chen Baihu's two hundred men held the windlass like nails driven into stone. Then, at last, the other four hundred arrived.
With earth-shaking battle cries, they surged through the wide-open gate.
The Salt Inspector's hundred defenders tried to block them.
They lasted exactly one charge.
Just one.
The border troops smashed through like a blade through rotten wood.
"Kill!"
"Kill the corrupt officials!"
"Seize the salt!"
"Give us back our military pay!"
"Let this salt repay what the court owes us!"
These men didn't need acting lessons. Years of unpaid wages, frozen nights, and broken promises fueled every shout.
Old grudges boiled over.
Chen Baihu raised his saber and pointed straight at the Salt Inspector.
"Brothers!" he roared. "How much have we suffered these years? Freezing on the frontier while these corrupt dogs feast in comfort! Damn it—I don't submit!"
Six hundred voices thundered back:
"Don't submit!"
"Chop him up!"
"Chop him up!"
"Hack him into mincemeat!"
The Guyuan border troops surged forward as one.
The Salt Inspector's world collapsed.