The water bandit leader Fan Zhoulong was brimming with arrogance.
Last time, he had come with only fifty-six men and had been scared off almost immediately by Bai Yuan.
But this time was different.
This time, he had summoned dozens of water bandit gangs from Xiaolangdi.
Over a hundred boats.
Nearly a thousand men.
Why would he fear a handful of spineless government soldiers armed with flintlock rifles?
Fan Zhoulong stood at the bow of his boat, saber raised high, pointing toward Hengshui Town. He threw his head back and roared with laughter.
"All the brave men of Xiaolangdi are here!"
"You dog-faced government soldiers—prepare to die!"
The water bandits answered him in thunderous cheers.
"What's so great about government soldiers?"
"This pathetic navy is nothing!"
"Brothers, today we'll wipe out the government soldiers too!"
Numbers bred confidence.
Confidence bred recklessness.
At this moment, the water bandits no longer even considered the government soldiers a threat.
"Charge!"
"Hack those dog-faced soldiers to pieces!"
"Plunder Hengshui Town clean!"
"Snatch a few wives to take back, hahahaha!"
The bandits surged forward in a violent tide, small boats swarming toward the few government warships.
The government military officer was scared out of his wits.
"Prepare for battle!" he roared, his voice cracking.
Dozens upon dozens of small boats closed in from all directions.
The government flagship was a medium-sized warship. Seen from above, the scene was absurd—like ants swarming a cockroach.
The government soldiers scrambled onto the ship's superstructure and began firing arrows downward in desperation.
But these were garrison troops.
Weak arms.
Light bows.
No training.
Their arrows flew crookedly, lacking force and accuracy. To the water bandits below, they were little more than a nuisance.
The bandits easily dodged or slapped the arrows aside as their boats drew closer.
Grappling hooks flew.
Ropes tightened.
Boarding began.
The government soldiers stabbed downward with long spears in blind panic.
The surface of the Yellow River instantly devolved into chaos—shouting, splashing, metal clashing against wood.
The refugees in Hengshui Town were terrified.
They understood one thing very clearly:
Once the government soldiers were defeated, the water bandits would turn on them.
Ten thousand refugees sounded like a lot, but against a thousand armed bandits?
They stood no chance.
The common people trembled.
Some young, able-bodied men grabbed wooden sticks.
Others even pushed small boats into the water, preparing to row out and help the government soldiers.
Many of these disaster victims had grown up along the Yellow River. They knew the water. They knew boats.
But before anyone could move—
Bai Yuan's voice rang out, calm and firm.
"Ordinary citizens, do not join the battle."
"We cannot distinguish you from water bandits. Accidental injury is inevitable."
"Remain on shore. Remain on shore."
The crowd murmured in confusion.
"Eh? You don't want our help?"
Bai Yuan stepped forward, his expression unruffled. The river wind tugged at his white robes, making him stand out sharply against the endless yellow floodwaters.
"Matters of war are handled by professionals," he said evenly.
"Ordinary people should focus on production and survival."
"This is called division of labor."
"Dao Xuan Tianzun has said: division of labor brings higher efficiency."
"Do not try to do everything yourselves."
A family retainer beside him muttered under his breath,
"Our master himself wishes he could master all Six Arts…"
Bai Yuan: "..."
Yet strangely, his composure steadied the crowd.
Facing such a terrifying force of bandits, he showed no panic at all.
As the saying went—those who know what they're doing are never afraid.
The common people felt their hearts lift, just a little.
But when they looked again—
The government soldiers were finished.
The hundred-plus troops were overwhelmed and slaughtered. Their flagship was seized, falling entirely into bandit hands.
The officer who had been shouting moments ago was now dead, his head impaled high atop a long spear.
The water bandits roared in triumph.
Then, their gazes shifted—slowly, greedily—back toward Hengshui Town.
Bai Yuan raised his hand.
"Gao Family Village navy," he said calmly, "attack."
In truth, the command was almost unnecessary.
The militia had already boarded their ships the moment the government soldiers and bandits clashed. Only Bai Yuan himself still stood on shore.
He didn't bother boarding.
In naval combat, shouting orders mattered less than preparation. Better to let trained crews fight.
The flat-bottomed cargo ships of Gao Family Village surged forward.
They had no proper warships.
They fought with cargo ships.
But it was enough.
After all, the enemy had no real warships either—just countless small sampans.
The instant the Gao Family Village ships moved, Fan Zhoulong's eyes lit up.
"That ship!" he roared.
"That's the one that bullied me last time!"
"The real masters are here—kill them!"
A bandit leader nearby stared at the approaching vessel, puzzled.
"That ship has no sails. No oars. Just a flat hull… how is it moving?"
To men who lived their entire lives on the water, this was deeply unsettling.
The bandits hesitated, staring.
"What are you idiots staring at?!" Fan Zhoulong screamed.
"They're charging us! We charge them back and cut them down!"
"Attack!"
"Ah—right!"
The bandits howled and paddled furiously toward the flat-bottomed ships.
Though still some distance away, the Gao Family Village militia had already raised their flintlock rifles.
"Bang!"
A water bandit, saber raised mid-swing, was struck and toppled into the muddy river.
"They've got flintlock rifles!" someone shouted.
Fan Zhoulong cursed loudly.
"I told you bastards they had flintlock rifles! Be careful!"
This wasn't unfamiliar territory. The bandits had fought government troops before.
They knew the trick.
Flatten down.
They lay as low as possible in their boats, practically hugging the planks, paddling at an angle. Their speed remained high, but their targets shrank drastically.
This made accurate shooting difficult.
But that wasn't a problem.
If rifles were troublesome—
They still had hand grenades.
A militia soldier pulled a grenade from his pouch and lit the fuse. The burning cord hissed softly as he fixed his eyes on a boat charging straight toward him.
A nearby comrade laughed.
"Aim well! This isn't land—miss, and it sinks straight to the bottom!"
The thrower stiffened.
"Oh—damn it! He's right!"
His heart wavered for a split second.
The grenade left his hand—
Just slightly off.
It arced through the air, splashed into the river, and vanished beneath the surface.
Missed.