Yan'an Prefecture lay under a sky that looked as dry as old parchment, the wind carrying nothing but dust and the faint smell of things that had long since given up on growing.
Yang He, Grand Coordinator of the Three Borders, stood before the city with his army stretched out behind him like a tired shadow. The troops were not small in number, but neither were they enough for what lay ahead, and everyone present knew it even if no one said it aloud.
At his side rode Du Wenhuan, a man whose reputation could fill a library and still have room left over. He was a general who could shoot from horseback as easily as he could quote the classics, a scholar who wrote poetry as naturally as he commanded troops in battle. In the Wanli era, he had crushed Mongol forces. In Chongqing, he had helped put down She Chongming's rebellion. He was, in every sense, the kind of man the court liked to pretend it had more of.
This time, Yang He had dragged him out of sick leave and into the chaos of the northwest, because when things started falling apart, people always remembered the names of those who could still hold something together.
They had chased the largest bandit force under Wang Jiayin all the way here, riding hard across counties that had already begun to forget what stability looked like.
As Yang He looked around, he sighed, his voice low and heavy.
"Four years of drought. No harvest. Supply lines broken. Soldiers starving, civilians starving, and in the end, more than half of them turn into bandits just to stay alive."
Du Wenhuan did not answer immediately. His eyes moved instead, scanning details others ignored.
"Yang Daren," he said quietly, "have you noticed something strange about the counties we passed?"
Yang He blinked. "Strange? What do you mean?"
"The city walls," Du Wenhuan said. "Several counties we passed no longer have them."
That made Yang He pause. He thought back, replaying the journey in his mind, and only then did it click.
"You are right. Why would the walls be gone?"
Du Wenhuan's voice turned colder.
"They were not gone before. Wang Jiayin broke into those cities, looted them, and before leaving, he ordered the walls destroyed."
Yang He frowned. "Destroyed? Why would he do that?"
"So that next time," Du Wenhuan replied, "he does not need to break them again."
The logic was simple, brutal, and efficient in a way that made it all the more terrifying.
Yang He's expression darkened. "Then we must catch him as soon as possible."
Before he could say more, a rider came charging in from the distance, horse foaming, breath ragged. The man barely waited to stop before throwing himself off the saddle.
"Report!" he shouted, dropping to one knee. "Wang Jiayin has taken Huangfu, Qingshui, and Mugua, and has now captured Fugu!"
Yang He's brows knit tighter, but the report was not finished.
"Bandit leader Shen Yiyuan has taken Xin'an, Ningsai, and Liushujian. His younger brother Shen Yikui is besieging Qingyang and has already captured Heshui."
The moment the word "Ningsai" left the man's mouth, Du Wenhuan froze.
For a brief second, the wind seemed to stop.
Then his voice came out, low and shaking.
"Ningsai… is my home."
The messenger hesitated, then spoke more quietly.
"General… your clan members… were almost entirely killed by Shen Yiyuan."
Something inside Du Wenhuan snapped.
There was no shout at first, no dramatic gesture, just a stillness that felt far more dangerous than any outburst.
Yang He exhaled slowly. "We are chasing Wang Jiayin here, but Shen Yiyuan rises elsewhere. And in Luochuan, Buzhan Ni is also stirring trouble. The Five Garrisons have already been called to the capital, and with the forces we have now, we cannot suppress all these bandits at once."
Du Wenhuan's hands clenched.
Yang He continued, voice heavy with reluctant calculation.
"At this point, the only viable option… is to pacify them."
Stillness.
Then tension.
Then something very close to an explosion.
Du Wenhuan lifted his head, his eyes burning. "Did you not hear what was just reported?"
Yang He met his gaze. "I did."
"They slaughtered my clan," Du Wenhuan said, each word pressed out like it weighed a thousand jin. "And you want to grant them amnesty?"
"We do not have enough troops," Yang He replied, forcing calm into his voice. "If we insist on annihilation, we may fail everywhere. If we offer amnesty, at least some will lay down their arms."
Du Wenhuan let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Good. Very good."
His tone made it clear that nothing about this was good.
"You may pacify them as you wish, Yang Daren. Issue your documents, grant them titles, give them land."
He turned his horse.
"I will not."
Yang He's expression tightened. "Du Wenhuan, do not act rashly."
"I am not being rash," Du Wenhuan said without looking back. "I am going to do what a man should do."
His voice dropped, colder than steel.
"I will kill them."
With that, he kicked his horse and rode off.
His personal troops followed without hesitation, a large portion of the army peeling away like a piece breaking off from a cracked blade.
Yang He called after him, but the wind swallowed his voice.
Soon, only a much smaller, far less impressive force remained at his side.
The Grand Coordinator stood there, watching the dust settle, and for the first time since arriving, he looked genuinely tired.
Meanwhile, far from Yan'an, in Gao Village Family, Feng Jun had returned.
After completing his report in Xi'an, he had taken a rather indirect route back, not because he enjoyed detours, but because in this strange new world, the fastest path was no longer the shortest line on a map.
It was the one with a train.
So he looped back through Chengcheng County and arrived once again at Gao Village Family, where San Shi'er, Bai Yuan, and Gao Yiye came out to receive him.
They gathered in the main hall of the fort, tea already prepared, the atmosphere polite but attentive.
"I have delivered Fan Shanyue's head to the Provincial Governor," Feng Jun began. "He was… very pleased."
The words said one thing, but his face said another.
San Shi'er narrowed his eyes. "That does not sound like a man bringing good news."
Feng Jun sighed. "It should have been good news. The bandit was dealt with, and you have promised aid to Heyang County. Under normal circumstances, I would be celebrating."
He paused, then continued.
"But in Xi'an, I heard something troubling."
Everyone leaned in slightly.
"Wang Jiayin is expanding rapidly," Feng Jun said. "A few days ago, he began moving south along the Yellow River."
That alone was bad enough, but then he added the part that changed everything.
"He now has a fleet."
The room fell silent.
"He sent ships across the river and attacked Hequ County in Shanxi."
Even Li Dao Xuan, observing from above, felt his expression shift slightly.
So it begins.
Feng Jun continued, his voice tight. "Fortunately, Shanxi's commander Wang Guoliang deployed Western cannons from the city walls and managed to repel the attack."
San Shi'er let out a breath. "Then the threat is still far from us. There is no need to panic. This is merely worrying about the sky falling."
Bai Yuan flicked open his fan with a sharp snap, his expression turning mischievous.
"San Shi'er," he said, "you are thinking like a man who has never looked at a river properly."
San Shi'er frowned. "What do you mean?"
"On land, armies crawl," Bai Yuan said. "On water, they fly."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming.
"Today Hequ. Tomorrow, perhaps Heyang."
San Shi'er's face stiffened. "You make it sound like they can arrive overnight."
Bai Yuan smiled. "Sometimes, they can."
San Shi'er covered his face. "You are really asking to be punched."
Bai Yuan chuckled. "I learned from you."
San Shi'er had no comeback for that.
Feng Jun, however, was not in the mood for banter.
"You understand now," he said quietly. "If Wang Jiayin's fleet continues south, Heyang County may be next."
His voice lowered further.
"And we have nothing to stop them."
No Western cannons. No strong militia. A county still recovering from the last wave of destruction.
He looked at them, eyes full of unease.
"I truly do not know what to do."