Prince of Fu, Zhu Changxun, stood trembling inside the tight circle of his personal guards, peeking out now and then from behind a wall of armored shoulders. From his angle he could barely make out the figures below the city wall, only two men on horseback speaking in the open field while thousands waited in silence.
Time dragged.
Then at last Gao Jie turned his horse and began riding back toward the gate.
Behind him, astonishingly, came Zhang Miaoshou.
The prince let out a shrill cry. "Disaster! Gao Jie has brought the bandit chief back to storm the city! Protect this prince at once!"
The guards looked at one another with exhausted expressions.
"Your Highness," one of them ventured carefully, "the bandit chief has not brought a single soldier with him. He returned alone. That usually means surrender."
The prince froze. "Surrender?"
His face brightened at once. "He surrendered? Hahaha! We are safe, safe!"
He suddenly pushed his way out from the cluster of guards and stood tall, puffing out his chest.
"This prince personally presided over Luoyang. My mere presence frightened the rebels into kneeling in submission!"
The silence that followed was profound.
The captain of his personal guard coughed and leaned closer. "Your Highness… when boasting, please take note of who is standing nearby. The Saintess is present."
The prince visibly jolted, then hurriedly adjusted his declaration.
"Of course, of course. With the Saintess residing in Luoyang, revered under heaven and across the four seas, how could mere bandits dare to resist? Upon beholding her divine majesty, they immediately cast down their weapons. Naturally."
The collective restraint required to avoid sighing aloud nearly strained the entire wall.
By then Gao Jie had already returned, leading Zhang Miaoshou up the steps.
Zhang Miaoshou's gaze swept across the assembled officials before settling on Governor Fan Shangzheng. Without hesitation he dropped into a deep bow.
"This commoner Zhang Miaoshou, whose true name is Zhang Wenyao, was blinded by ignorance and committed grave rebellion. I have come of my own will to surrender and beg forgiveness."
Declaring his real name immediately was no small matter. It meant placing his entire lineage on record. There was no path back after that.
Fan Shangzheng studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"It is never too late to turn away from error. Since you have surrendered voluntarily, the law will show leniency. You will not face execution. However, punishment cannot be entirely avoided. You and your followers must undergo Labor Reform. Do you accept?"
Zhang Miaoshou blinked. "Labor Reform?"
Gao Jie leaned closer and explained quietly what that meant under Dao Xuan Tianzun's order: structured labor, supervision, political instruction, food guaranteed, no arbitrary slaughter.
A strange expression crept across Zhang Miaoshou's face.
"When you surrendered," he asked Gao Jie under his breath, "did you also go through this Labor Reform?"
"Not exactly," Gao Jie replied. "I was stripped of my former command and attend ideological lectures every day. To be honest, I would rather carry bricks than sit through another round of lessons."
Zhang Miaoshou considered this carefully.
Before rebellion, he had labored at kilns for decades. He feared hunger more than hardship. If the choice lay between starvation and structured work with full meals, there was no choice at all.
"Labor Reform is excellent," he declared quickly. "We welcome it wholeheartedly. As long as my men are fed, there will be no complaints."
And so the matter was settled.
His tens of thousands had been starving for months. Henan's devastation meant that without looting a major city, grain was nearly impossible to secure. Yet such targets were beyond the reach of a fragmented force like his. Pride had already eroded into desperation.
Ensuring his men could eat was the last act of responsibility left to him.
Governor Fan began discussing arrangements for the new arrivals.
At that moment, Gao Yiye stepped forward.
"Zhang Miaoshou," she said gently, "your nickname, 'Wondrous Hand,' what does it signify? Medical skill?"
He shook his head immediately. "No, not healing. It means skill with craft. I was a potter."
"A potter?"
"There were days," he continued with faint pride, "when the ceramics I made were well known across northern Shaanxi. Many of my closest brothers worked the kilns with me. When we could no longer survive, that was when we turned to rebellion."
A subtle smile touched Gao Yiye's lips.
"That simplifies matters greatly."
She gestured, and an attendant handed her a ceramic bottle. She passed it to Zhang Miaoshou.
"Can you produce this?"
He weighed it in his hands, examining the glaze and shape. "This is simple. A hundred men among us can make such bottles with ease."
"Very good," she replied. "Then your Labor Reform will be quite productive."
She turned and stepped into her dedicated automobile.
The strange iron carriage drew stares from the former rebels. Even after months of rumors about Dao Xuan Tianzun's miracles, the sight of a self-moving vehicle remained unsettling.
Her hundred-strong escort boarded transport trucks in disciplined formation.
Zhang Miaoshou hurriedly gathered his men and followed.
Gao Jie, after a moment's thought, brought along part of the militia to maintain order during the march.
The journey to Gutao Village took the entire day. Normally such a large, half-starved group would have dissolved into disorder along the road, but the presence of armed escorts and Gao Yiye's composed authority kept them restrained.
When they finally arrived, ancient kilns dotted the landscape like relics from another age.
Zhang Miaoshou's eyes lit up.
The scent of clay and ash stirred memories long buried beneath years of flight and bloodshed.
Gao Yiye addressed them.
"Here we will establish a large ceramic factory to supply bottles to Xi'an and beyond. Those with skill will take charge of firing. Those without will assist in construction first, then learn the trade."
Relief spread visibly through the crowd. The men who had once burned villages would now burn kilns instead.
Yet while one rebel leader laid down arms, another was rising.
Zhang Xianzhong, the Eight Great Kings, had taken Xuzhou and was boasting of his triumph.
Elsewhere, the new Chuang Wang convened his commanders around a rough wooden table.
Du Hu reported, "Zhang Miaoshou fled to Luoyang and surrendered. The Eight Great Kings have seized Xuzhou and now command more than a hundred thousand men."
Chuang Wang stared at the map in silence.
"Where will he move next?" he asked at last.
"East," Du Hu replied. "Toward Anqing. He suggests we join him."
Chuang Wang shook his head slowly.
"Anqing is under Shi Kefa. He possesses those same peculiar firearms units. If the Eight Great Kings presses east, he will likely meet disaster."
His finger tapped Luoyang on the map.
"Gao Jie is there. And those firearms."
Then he moved north, toward Shanxi.
"Wu Shen commands them as well."
He lowered his voice.
"We cannot advance blindly into walls lined with thunder."
The room fell silent.
"At present," Chuang Wang concluded, "we have only two viable paths."
His finger slid southward.
"One leads to Liangguang."
Then west.
"The other leads into Sichuan."
The choice would decide not only their survival, but the shape of the rebellion itself.