Time, as usual, proved far more aggressive than any army.
Inside Huanglong Mountain, Cheng Xu sent reports every few days. Each one sounded suspiciously similar:
Victory here.
Another rout there.
Wang Zuogua defeated again.
There were no setbacks worth mentioning. No reversals. No heroic last stands. Just continuous pressure.
Wang Zuogua was being chased through Huanglong Mountain like a rat that had offended geography itself—familiar with every burrow, yet somehow still always cornered.
After this campaign, the militia's experience bar might as well have been glowing.
Those once-wide-eyed musket recruits had shed their rookie panic. Now, whether the enemy was fleeing or charging straight at them, they loaded powder and ball with blank faces and steady hands. Fear, it turned out, burned off quickly when exposure was consistent.
War trained more than just soldiers.
Because the militia had pushed deep into the mountains for extended operations, logistics became a real problem—meaning it became someone else's problem.
Shansier and Master Tan now handled supply convoys: food, ammunition, spare parts, schedules. Gaojia Village had never run a long-range campaign before, and early mistakes were plentiful. Supplies arrived late. Sometimes too early. Sometimes in the wrong place.
But time corrected them.
Logistics, like morality, improves dramatically after repeated failure.
Meanwhile.
Li Daoxuan stood on the second-floor balcony of a villa in Zhaomu Mountain, Shuangqing City, wearing a thick down jacket and looking unusually content.
He had seen this house several times already. It checked every box.
Detached villa.
Two floors.
Garden.
Parking space.
Fully furnished.
Move-in ready.
Well—almost.
The second floor would need all internal walls removed and converted into one large open space. The box had grown again, and pretending otherwise would only end badly for interior design.
The saleswoman showing him the property was, objectively speaking, very competent at her job.
She stepped closer than necessary. Her shoulder brushed his arm. The implication did not require subtitles.
"If you sign with me," she said softly, "I'll make sure you're… well taken care of."
Li Daoxuan chuckled. "All right. I'll take it."
Her eyes lit up. "Sir, you're truly my most valued client."
"Please arrange a meeting with the current owner," he added. "Let's handle the transfer."
She immediately hooked her arm through his, pressing herself closer. The commission on this property was no joke.
If she could marry him, even better. Half of his assets would solve all future problems permanently.
Li Daoxuan vanished sideways in a blink, leaving her holding air.
"Miss," he said calmly, "I'm buying a house. Not outsourcing my life."
She froze.
"Commission for showing the house is fair," he continued. "Trying to trade flirtation for ownership? That's a terrible investment strategy."
Her fantasy shattered cleanly.
"By the way," he added, "want to make some more money?"
Her hope rebooted instantly.
"I need a reliable construction crew. Knock down every non-load-bearing wall on the second floor. Make it one open level. You supervise. You'll be paid properly."
Hope died again, quieter this time.
Still, money was money.
Soon, contracts were signed, deposits paid, paperwork processed. Li Daoxuan—who rarely left his house—was dragged through offices, counters, stamps, and signatures until his wrist ached.
At last, the property registry updated.
Owner: Li Daoxuan.
The saleswoman stared at the document with longing. She would have accepted eighteen poses, twenty-four poetic nights, thirty-six classical techniques—anything—if her name could appear there too.
But professionalism paid better than fantasies.
Walls fell. The second floor became a wide, empty platform.
December arrived.
Moving day.
Everything transferred easily—except the box.
After the last expansion, it measured five meters long and three meters wide. A logistical nightmare.
The box, apparently sympathetic, revealed a new function.
"Fold."
One press, and it compressed neatly into its original dimensions—roughly the size of a large refrigerator.
Li Daoxuan wrapped it in black cloth, labeled it "fragile aquarium," and paid extra for careful handling. The movers complied with reverent caution.
Once alone, curtains drawn, windows sealed, he uncovered the box.
The world inside remained stable.
No tremors. No disasters.
He expanded the view again and checked key locations: Bai Fortress, Gaojia Village, Fengyuan Town, the county seat.
All stable.
Then he paused.
A column of troops entered Chengcheng County.
A large banner fluttered above them.
One character.
Wang.
The army of General Wang Cheng'en had arrived.
There were two famous men by that name in late Ming history.
One was a frontier general.
The other died hanging beside an emperor.
History, as always, enjoyed repeating names—but rarely outcomes.
Trivia :
1. Why militias mature so fast
Historically, irregular forces either collapse quickly or harden rapidly. There is very little middle ground. Fear does not disappear—it becomes procedural.
2. Logistics wins wars quietly
Most historical defeats blamed on "bad generals" were actually caused by late food, wrong routes, or missing shoes. Soldiers forgive many things. Hunger is not one of them.
3. Musket reload panic is universal
Early modern armies across Europe and Asia recorded identical problems: first-time soldiers fumbled reloads under pressure. Training fixed technique. Survival fixed nerves.