Wang Er's gaze flicked toward the centurion.
"Our people are hidden in the trenches," he said calmly. "You and your men return to the fort. Hold it."
The centurion froze.
"Ah? Y–yes… understood!" he stammered.
He quickly led his sixty men back into Xinma Fort, scrambling up onto the ramparts. From the elevated vantage point, he finally saw the full picture.
Trenches crisscrossed the land like the veins of some colossal beast. Foxholes dotted the ground in layers upon layers. It was an enormous killing field—silent, orderly, merciless.
Two thousand men lay concealed within those earthen arteries.
Yet not a single shout could be heard.
Even when soldiers spoke, they deliberately lowered their voices. No unnecessary movement. No idle chatter.
Silence so disciplined it felt heavy.
The centurion stood there, stunned, and finally let out a long breath.
"Who… who are these people, really?"
The ambush lasted more than half a day.
As dusk settled in, the Manchus still hadn't appeared. Instead, something else arrived first—
Hunger.
Inside Xinma Fort, the centurion and his sixty men felt their stomachs twist painfully. They had no provisions at all. Every last scrap of food had been handed to their wives and daughters earlier and hidden away in Kouqian Gorge.
They were already resigned to spending the night starving when footsteps sounded behind them.
Bai Mao climbed up onto the ramparts.
Without ceremony, he tossed a packet toward the centurion. "Share it with your brothers," he said. "You can't fight on an empty stomach."
The centurion caught it instinctively.
He tore it open—
Noodles.
Dried meat.
For a moment, he just stared.
Then his vision blurred.
Tears welled up without warning.
Not even the imperial court had ever treated them this well.
That night, the garrison of Xinma Fort ate the most satisfying meal of their lives. Warmth spread through their bodies, food filling bellies that had long grown accustomed to hunger.
They slept deeply.
Peacefully.
At dawn—
A sharp cry tore through the quiet.
"Manchus! The Manchus are here!"
The enemy was a Manchu reconnaissance cavalry unit, no more than five or six hundred strong. After pushing through the pass, they had scattered to pillage—small detachments like this were everywhere now.
At their head was the same scout from yesterday.
He rode forward, whistling, leering up at Xinma Fort with an expression full of mockery.
As if to say: Han people, we've come to take this fort.
"Sound the alarm! Light the beacon tower!" the centurion roared.
A soldier rushed up and hurled a torch into the beacon. Thick black smoke surged skyward.
By all logic, this signal should have summoned the border armies of Datong Prefecture.
But everyone present—
The centurion.
Wang Er.
Bai Mao.
Even the approaching Manchus—
All knew the truth.
No one was coming.
Not a single soldier.
"Charge!" the Manchu cavalry captain shouted, sweeping his arm forward. "Take this fort! The dozens of villages behind it will be ours!"
The cavalry surged ahead with a furious roar.
Though horses weren't suited for assaulting fortifications, Manchu cavalry were not like Mongols. When the distance closed, they dismounted without hesitation.
Hundreds of riders galloped to within bow range, then dismounted in perfect unison.
They ran.
Straight toward Xinma Fort.
At that instant—
A head suddenly popped out of the ground ahead.
A thick, bristly beard framed the face.
It was Wang Er of Baishui.
He swung his arm forward.
"Fire!"
Heads burst from the earth everywhere.
From foxholes.
From trenches.
From positions invisible moments ago.
Flintlock rifles rose in unison, all aimed at the Manchu soldiers who had just dismounted.
Then—
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The volley detonated like thunder.
On the ramparts, the centurion had just drawn his bow, sighting a target.
That Manchu warrior instantly turned into a blood-soaked sieve.
The arrow never left the string.
The centurion shifted his aim to another—
That one collapsed too.
He stood there, bow half-raised, utterly useless.
The sixty border soldiers stared, dumbfounded.
After a single crushing barrage, the Manchu formation dissolved into chaos.
Wang Er leapt out of the trench. "Charge! Take their warhorses!"
Bai Mao followed, roaring, "Capture the horses! Add bricks and tiles to our village's cavalry!"
"Charge!"
"Doo–doo–doo–doo!"
The charge bugle blared.
Soldiers surged out of the trenches in a tidal wave. Every musket carried a bayonet, and every gun still held one remaining round.
Some fired as they advanced.
The Manchu reconnaissance cavalry were completely stunned.
The front ranks were slaughtered. The rear ranks broke.
They scrambled back to their horses, vaulted into saddles, and fled. Riders were shot from behind, tumbling to the ground. Others, wounded but alive, clung desperately to their mounts, vanishing into the distance.
They had come swiftly.
They fled just as swiftly.
Like mist.
Like rain.
Like wind.
When the sixty border soldiers finally snapped out of their daze, the battlefield had already been swept clean.
The strange musketeer unit was returning—
Leading more than two hundred captured warhorses.
"Hahahaha! Over two hundred horses!"
"This is a huge achievement!"
"Dao Xuan Tianzun will surely reward our entire unit!"
"Extra meal tonight! Extra meal! Hahahaha!"
The centurion stood there in silence for a long time.
Then he strode up to Wang Er and dropped into a deep bow.
Wang Er frowned slightly. "What's this?"
The centurion said firmly, "Brother, I no longer wish to serve in the border army. I want to follow you."
Wang Er narrowed his eyes. "What if I'm just another imperial unit? Say that again and I'll report you to the Ministry of War and have your head chopped off."
The centurion shook his head. "My eyes aren't blind. You're not imperial soldiers. And you, sir—your spirit, your boldness—these weren't forged in any official army. You must be… a greenwood elder brother."
Wang Er said slowly, "I'll tell you my name. If you still dare to follow me afterward, I'll take you in."
The centurion's heart lurched—but he clasped his fists again. "I await your name."
Wang Er grinned broadly.
"Wang Er of Baishui."
The name that shook the realm.
The man who sparked rebellion in the seventh year of Tianqi.
The number one rebel under Heaven.
The centurion sucked in a sharp breath, his body stiffening.
But only for a moment.
Then he straightened and declared loudly, "Brother Wang Er! Take me and my brothers with you! Through mountains of blades and seas of fire, we won't flinch! Serving under you is a hundred—no, ten thousand times better than serving the imperial court!"
Wang Er let out a long sigh.
"Fine. Once this is over, I'll take you in."
Meanwhile, back at Gao Family Village—
A badly damaged automobile crawled into the village.
Its front was crumpled.
Its windshield shattered.
Experimental Car No. 2 had returned.
The driver looked like a man walking toward his own execution. He had turned a precious high-tech treasure into scrap, and the thought of explaining it made his legs weak.
The car limped to a stop at the gates of Thirty-Two Middle School.
From a classroom window, Young Master Bai spotted it.
"Haha! My car's back!" he exclaimed. "I'll go ask how the long test run went."
He dashed to the school gate.
Just as he arrived—
Clatter.
A large piece fell off the car.
Young Master Bai stared in horror.
"W–what… what happened?"
"Oh no…"
"My car!!!"