Zhebu accepted his fate with a level of stoicism that even surprised himself.
He did not cry.
He did not resist.
He did not attempt to escape.
The moment he stepped out of Gao Family Village's main fort, he obediently enrolled in first grade.
Yes.
First grade.
If this were told back on the grasslands, no one would believe it.
As Zhebu walked along the main road of Gao Family Village, he could clearly feel the gazes falling upon him from all sides.
Han people stared at him.
Some eyes carried wariness.
Some held scorn.
Some showed disdain.
Some contained naked hatred.
It felt like every unpleasant emotion imaginable had been packed into those glances and thrown at him all at once.
Yet mixed among them were gazes Zhebu couldn't understand at all.
Sympathy.
Pity.
That confused him.
Not everyone in Gao Family Village treated the Mongolian boy with hostility. Quite a few looked at him with an almost gentle concern, the kind that made Zhebu instinctively uneasy.
He didn't know that these people were the new generation of Gao Family Village.
They were children and youths who had received modern education. They had studied textbooks personally selected and modified by Li Daoxuan.
Their thinking had already ascended to another level.
They understood something extremely important:
If you let children from other ethnic groups learn Han language, Han writing, Han values…
Then the final result would only be one thing.
Assimilation.
So they treated Zhebu with an odd, almost strategic kindness.
At the entrance of the school, a teenager stopped him.
"What's your name?"
Zhebu tensed and replied carefully, "My name is Zhebu."
"Hm." The teenager nodded with satisfaction. "Good name."
He smiled brightly. "You're new, right? There must be lots of things you don't understand. I'll be your friend. If you don't know anything, just ask."
He slapped his chest proudly.
"My name is Liu Maopao. Everyone calls me 'Handsome Enough to Bubble.' My father is Shopkeeper Liu—he runs a fresh noodle shop. Everyone calls him 'Rich Enough to Drip Oil.'"
Zhebu was secretly stunned.
What kind of place is this?
Why are the nicknames so… aggressive?
As he entered the school grounds, even more teenagers greeted him.
Some smiled.
Some shook his hand.
Some asked him where he came from.
Before he knew it, Zhebu felt dizzy.
Is this really the enemy camp?
Are Han people… like this?
Of course, kindness alone couldn't shake someone raised with a wolf mentality.
On the grasslands, children were taught from birth: respect strength, fear power, despise weakness.
Zhebu didn't feel grateful.
Only confused.
He would only truly understand gratitude after learning enough Han culture.
For now, what he admired… was power.
That evening, after a full day of cautious vigilance, Zhebu returned to the main fort.
Gao Yiye had arranged a small room for him and his mother beside the watchtower.
When he entered, he saw An Jile busy at work.
She carefully made the beds.
She neatly arranged the daily necessities Gao Yiye had given them.
She treated every grain of food as treasure—pouring flour into jars, hiding them in corners, stacking them like wealth.
When she saw Zhebu, she hurried over.
"My son," she asked anxiously, "were you bullied today? Did you endure it?"
Zhebu shook his head. "No one bullied me. I attended class. We learned the Three Character Classic and Arabic numerals."
An Jile looked utterly lost.
Zhebu asked, "What about you, Mother?"
She shook her head slowly. "No one did anything to me either."
They stared at each other.
Both were deeply surprised.
At that moment, loud voices erupted outside. Footsteps, laughter, shouting—it sounded like a crowd moving together.
Zhebu listened carefully. "Mother, they're saying it's time for the Gaojia News broadcast. Everyone's going to watch."
An Jile frowned. "What is that?"
"I don't know either," Zhebu replied. "Let's go see."
An Jile quickly hid the last jar of flour, then followed him out. Before leaving, she locked the door carefully, afraid someone might steal their precious food.
Mother and son joined the crowd.
Soon, they arrived outside the main fort's outer wall.
A massive crowd had gathered.
Everyone was pointing at a huge black mirror.
The mirror was dark, silent, showing nothing at all.
Zhebu stared at it blankly.
Just then, a familiar voice sounded beside him.
"Hey! Mongolian friend!"
Zhebu turned his head.
It was the teenager from school.
"Handsome enough to bubble!" Zhebu blurted out.
The teenager laughed. "That's me, Liu Maopao. You still haven't told me your name."
Zhebu had no choice. "My name is Zhebu. It means 'arrow' in Mongolian."
"Oh!" Liu Maopao laughed. "Then you're Little Arrow!"
He leaned closer conspiratorially. "See? I told you. If you don't understand something, ask me. I saw you looking confused—this is your first time seeing this, right?"
Zhebu nodded eagerly. "Yes, Brother Bubble. What is this black mirror? And what is the Gaojia News broadcast?"
Liu Maopao straightened, full of pride.
"This is a Divine Mirror. A celestial artifact. It can show events from a thousand li away, even scenes from the past and the future."
Zhebu jumped. "What?!"
Liu Maopao continued smoothly. "Every evening, Dao Xuan Tianzhun uses this mirror to show us what's happening across the land. We don't even need to leave the village to know everything."
Zhebu was stunned.
Is such a thing really possible?
Just as doubt filled his heart—
The black mirror lit up.
On the screen appeared Gao Yiye.
The same woman who had sat beside Dao Xuan Tianzhun earlier that day.
She looked dignified, elegant, and distant.
"First," she said calmly, "a special news report."
The moment those words rang out, the crowd erupted.
Liu Maopao whispered excitedly, "Little Arrow! Recently the Manchu attacked Xuanfu and Datong. News about them gets special broadcasts."
On screen, Gao Yiye continued, "Yesterday, the Manchu attacked Daizhou City. As the city neared collapse, the Gao Family Village Militia arrived in time and repelled the enemy."
"Below is real-time battlefield footage from our frontline reporters."
The scene shifted.
The Manchu army and Gao Family Village forces faced each other across the battlefield.
Zhebu's eyes widened.
It turned out Tie Niaofei had transported a massive "miniature" camera onto a hill before the battle. Its wide-angle lens captured the entire battlefield.
Then—
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Artillery fire erupted.
Black smoke bloomed among the Manchu ranks.
Bodies flew.
Formations shattered.
Zhebu's breathing stopped.
Then the arquebusiers advanced.
Gunfire crackled like thunder.
The Manchu fell like wheat under a sickle.
Their army collapsed, fleeing in humiliation.
Zhebu stood frozen.
For the first time in his life…
He saw power like this.
And his world quietly cracked.