Dai Jun'en stood there in a daze, watching the so-called Commendation Ceremony unfold.
One after another, "outstanding militiamen" stepped forward to receive certificates of merit and silver bonuses. Faces flushed red with excitement, backs straight as spears, they accepted their rewards amid cheers.
Then—just when Dai Jun'en thought it must surely be over—
Music started.
To his utter disbelief, a song-and-dance performance began on the city wall.
"Artistic representatives" from various factories took turns stepping onto the stage. Some sang, some danced, some did both at once. None of them were particularly skilled; a few were even embarrassingly off-beat. Yet the workers below watched with boundless enthusiasm, clapping, laughing, whistling, and shouting encouragement so loudly that the air itself seemed to tremble.
Only after the performance ended did Dai Jun'en and the two brigadier generals finally find an opening.
They parted the crowd with difficulty and pushed their way toward Xing Honglang, who had just stepped off the stage and was taking a short rest.
"General Xing," Dai Jun'en asked, struggling to keep his composure, "what exactly… is going on here?"
Xing Honglang turned and cupped her fist politely. "Ah, Governor! You've arrived at just the right time. We're celebrating our victory over the rebel forces."
"…Victory?" Dai Jun'en echoed weakly.
Xing Honglang then began explaining, from start to finish—how the three bandit chiefs had attacked the steelworks, how the workers had organized themselves, how reinforcements poured in from surrounding factories, and how the bandit leaders had ultimately been wiped out.
The explanation took a long time.
When she finally finished, Dai Jun'en, Hu Dawei, and Liu Guangzuo stood there, stunned into silence.
"This is absurd!" Dai Jun'en finally exclaimed. "Five thousand rebel soldiers… defeated entirely by the militia of Hedong Circuit? The regular army wasn't even deployed? This—this defies all reason!"
Xing Honglang calmly produced three wooden boxes and placed them before him.
Inside each box lay a severed head.
"These are the heads of the three bandit chiefs," she said evenly. "Governor, I'll entrust them to you."
Dai Jun'en accepted the boxes with both hands, his expression awkward and solemn. "I… will report this great merit to the court on General Xing's behalf."
Xing Honglang immediately shook her head.
"No," she said firmly. "This merit does not belong to me. It belongs to the militia. If this achievement were attributed to me, I would not be able to eat or sleep with a clear conscience. Governor, please report it directly as the achievement of the local villagers."
Dai Jun'en studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
"…Very well. We'll do it that way."
He paused, then added, "Oh, right. General Xing—you sent most of your troops to the Xuan-Da Command. Do you know how things are going there?"
Xing Honglang grinned.
"Quite well," she replied casually. "Manchu scouts near Daizhou have already been cleared out. Our forces are now holding Yanmen Pass, preventing Manchu raiding parties from entering to loot. At the same time, we've split into two columns and pushed out beyond the pass, advancing toward Yingzhou."
Dai Jun'en felt his head spin.
I'm sitting in Taiyuan, he thought bitterly, yet somehow I know less about the battlefield than someone stationed here in Hedong Circuit. Just where does she get her intelligence from?
Xing Honglang continued, "In any case, thank you for coming to Hedong's aid, Governor. But the northern front remains the priority. You should return to Taiyuan at once and take charge."
Her words were perfectly reasonable.
Dai Jun'en cupped his fist in salute, quickly gathered Hu Dawei and Liu Guangzuo, and turned his army northward once more, marching back to Taiyuan.
Datong Prefecture, southwest region.
Xinma Camp Village.
North of the village stood an ancient earthen fort—Xinma Fort.
It was a border fort of the Datong garrison, built in the early years of the Great Ming, back when Zhu Yuanzhang founded the dynasty. Like the old fortress at Wangjia Fork in northern Shaanxi, it existed for one purpose only: to block foreign tribes.
On paper, Xinma Fort housed one hundred and ten border soldiers, commanded by a centurion.
However—
As everyone knew.
The real number was sixty.
At this very moment, those sixty men were trembling inside the fort, fear written plainly on every face.
Not long ago, Manchu scouts had appeared nearby. After whistling a few times from a distance, they had ridden away.
But the soldiers all knew—
"Leaving" meant "reporting."
And reporting meant that the main Manchu force would soon arrive.
A small earthen fort.
Sixty men.
Against a Manchu army.
It was like a mantis trying to stop a chariot.
Certain death.
"Run," the centurion finally said hoarsely. "We abandon the fort. Better to run than die here."
One soldier hesitated. "Sir… if we run, we'll be deserters. We'll be beheaded afterward."
The centurion gritted his teeth. "We'll go find the rebels and join them."
Silence fell.
No one wanted to hear those words.
But what choice did they have?
Stay—and die for sure.
Run—and maybe live.
In the end, all sixty obeyed.
They gathered what valuables they could, brought their wives and children—over a hundred people in total—abandoned Xinma Fort, and fled south.
As deserters, they naturally avoided main roads, cutting through forests, ravines, and mountain paths no ordinary traveler would use.
Ahead lay a narrow mountain ravine known as Kouqianyu Gully.
They had barely entered the gully when a sharp shout rang out.
In an instant, heads popped up from behind rocks and trees on both sides. Dozens upon dozens of men appeared, flintlock rifles leveled and aimed straight at them.
The border soldiers froze.
Outnumbered, burdened with families, surrounded by gun barrels—they didn't even think of resisting. Weapons clattered to the ground. Hands went up.
They surrendered.
The centurion swallowed hard and looked around. These people didn't wear Manchu clothing, nor did they have the Manchus' strange shaved hairstyles.
He shouted, "Which government unit is stationed here? Please send someone to speak!"
A man stepped forward.
He had a full, rugged beard that made him look imposing and fierce—Wang Er of Baishui County, now permanently bearded, a disguise more effective than any mask.
"Don't ask who I am," Wang Er barked. "Tell me who you are first. From your clothes, you're border soldiers from Datong. Instead of guarding against the Manchus, you're sneaking south. Hmph. Deserters."
The centurion's face flushed with shame. "We… we…"
"No need to explain!" Wang Er snapped. "Facing the enemy, you don't dare fight. Government soldiers—useless cowards, every last one!"
That did it.
The centurion suddenly exploded.
"Easy for you to say!" he roared. "You're not the one standing in my boots! Fight? Fight with what? I've got sixty men! No supplies, no food, starving half to death! What am I supposed to fight the Manchus with—my teeth?"
Wang Er was startled.
Surrounded by rifles, yet this man still dared to shout back.
He's got some backbone, Wang Er thought.
"Why only sixty men?" Wang Er shot back. "You embezzled the pay of forty soldiers, didn't you?"
The centurion nearly burst a blood vessel.
"Me?! Embezzle?!" he screamed. "Wouldn't more soldiers protect my own life better?! Why would I steal from them? It's the bastards above me who embezzle!"
He pointed north, voice cracking.
"Every time men died, I requested reinforcements! They never sent any! Fewer soldiers meant fewer expenses, so they cut our funds again and again! Every copper coin went into the pockets of those dogs above me—not one coin ever reached my hands!"
His voice grew hoarse.
"Every battle, I lose brothers. Now there are only sixty. Sixty! You want me to defend Xinma Fort against the Manchu army with sixty men? What—block them with my head?"
He stared straight at Wang Er, eyes bloodshot.
"I'm asking you—hand on your heart—answer me honestly. If you were in my position… would you run or not?"
Wang Er fell silent.
A long silence.
Then Wang Er spoke slowly, "What if I appeared here right now with two thousand soldiers? And asked you to stand with me and block the Manchus. Would you dare?"
The centurion snorted.
"Damn right I would!" he shouted. "With two thousand men, why wouldn't I dare? Do I look like some spineless coward to you?"