Li Daoxuan's field of vision spread like a silent tide, radiating outward from Gao Family Village.
Sixty-five kilometers.
Not a poetic number. Not round. But comfortable—the kind of range that didn't strain the mind or blur the edges. Enough to swallow Puzhou City whole and still have room to breathe.
Puzhou.
If Gao Family Village was a chessboard, this city was the hinge. The gate that decided whether Shanxi would open its doors… or slam them shut.
Right now, Gao Family Village had three nails hammered into Shanxi's map.
The first was Gudu Ferry, where Xing Honglang's banner fluttered over the river like a warning flag no one dared test.
The second was Dragon Gate Ferry, including the Yellow River bridge—Shi Jian's domain. A sharp point, useful, but fragile.
The third was Pinelyang Prefecture, where Wang Xiaohua—also known as Bai Mao—had been slotted into the court's vast, indifferent machinery.
And that third nail? Barely stuck.
Pinelyang was too far. Too crowded with old families, veteran officials, and smiling knives. Wang Xiaohua's position there was thin as rice paper. One imperial document, one careless reassignment, and he'd be gone without a sound.
Dragon Gate wasn't much better. Shi Jian was still just a minor commander under Wang Cheng'en in Shaanxi. Same problem. Same leash.
But Xing Honglang?
She was different.
The court didn't know what to do with people like her.
Former bandit chiefs were inconvenient. Dangerous. And deeply unfashionable to move around. Once pacified, the court preferred to nail them to the ground with a title, grant them a banner, and pray they stayed quiet.
If she settled somewhere and didn't rebel again, the capital would clap politely and look the other way.
If she caused trouble in the countryside? Well—civil officials would submit a few memorials, ink would be spilled, voices raised… and nothing would happen.
That was the unspoken rule.
Which meant one thing:
If Xing Honglang could plant herself in Puzhou City, then this city would become Gao Family Village's land.
Solid. Central. Irreplaceable.
Li Daoxuan's gaze followed her.
The road to Puzhou City was alive with hoofbeats.
Xing Honglang rode at the front, her posture straight, reins steady. Behind her followed a small escort—twelve cavalrymen, disciplined, quiet.
And beside her mount rode Flat Rabbit.
Not literally beside. He was riding. Somewhat.
The Dao Xuan Tianzun's puppet sat cross-legged on Flat Rabbit's shoulder, wooden limbs clacking softly with each sway of the horse.
"Remember," the puppet said, voice light, almost casual, "Puzhou City. Dig your heels in. If you can secure the position of garrison commander here, that's the best outcome."
Xing Honglang inclined her head from horseback, hands clasped. A martial salute, crisp and clean.
"Understood."
No bravado. No hesitation.
They urged their horses forward.
Thirty li vanished beneath pounding hooves.
Puzhou City rose ahead.
The city walls loomed tall, banners snapping in the wind—bright, orderly, imperial. Soldiers lined the ramparts in proper armor, not the mismatched gear of frontier levies.
And standing at the highest point—
A familiar silhouette.
Broad-shouldered. Arms folded. Expression like thunder refusing to break.
Flat Rabbit squinted.
"…That's him."
Xing Honglang didn't need to ask.
He Renlong.
He the Madman.
The man who had once escorted three thousand surrendered bandits straight into Gao Family Village—and lived to tell the tale.
This time, he commanded a thousand regulars. Personal guard to Yang He, Supreme Commander of Shaanxi's three border regions.
Flat Rabbit swallowed.
Quietly.
Very quietly.
"I heard," he muttered, leaning closer, "that when Hong Chengchou hosted a pacification banquet and slaughtered Miao Mei and Liu Liu… He Renlong was the one who swung the blade."
Xing Honglang's voice was low. "That story's spread through the jianghu."
Flat Rabbit's ears—if he had real ones—would've flattened.
"So… hypothetically," he said, forcing a laugh, "when we drink this pacification wine later… he's not going to jump out with two hundred axemen and turn us into historical footnotes, right?"
The puppet chuckled. Wooden joints rattled.
"Where's your My Heaven Rabbit-Rending Overlord Sword?" the Dao Xuan Tianzun asked. "If he tries anything, just cut him down in one strike."
Flat Rabbit's smile froze.
"Of course!" he said loudly. "This—this rabbit's Overlord Sword is unmatched! It doesn't kill nobodies. A famed military scholar like He the Madman is exactly the kind of opponent worthy of my blade!"
By the end of the sentence, his face had turned faintly green.
He knew his own skill.
Defeating He Renlong?
In his dreams. And even there, he'd probably trip.
"Hahaha," the Dao Xuan Tianzun laughed. "Cowardly Rabbit. With me here, what are you afraid of?"
Flat Rabbit hissed back, "You're possessing a puppet! That thing doesn't exactly scream 'combat-ready.'"
Xing Honglang glanced upward. "Look."
Flat Rabbit did.
A low cloud hovered directly above them—unmoving, heavy, wrong in a way that made the skin prickle.
His heart leapt.
"So… the Dao Xuan Tianzun himself is here."
Confidence flooded back into his limbs like cheap wine.
By the time the realization settled, they were already at the city gates.
He Renlong's gaze was sharp. Hostile. He snorted.
"Open the gates."
The massive doors groaned apart.
Xing Honglang dismounted first, calm and composed. Flat Rabbit followed, reins in hand, posture deliberately sloppy.
He Renlong descended the steps beside the gate, eyes flicking over them like weighing stones.
"Xing Honglang of Yongji," he said. "Supreme Commander Yang has been waiting. Follow me."
Xing Honglang clasped her hands. "I am honored beyond measure that the Supreme Commander would personally host this pacification banquet. This humble woman is deeply grateful."
Flat Rabbit clicked his tongue under his breath.
"Ugh. Officials. Always with the mouthfuls of air."
He Renlong didn't hear the words—but he saw the expression.
"And you?" He Renlong asked, eyes narrowing. "Who might this be?"
Xing Honglang answered smoothly. "Flat Rabbit. My general."
He Renlong snorted. "That name fits."
His gaze dropped to the sword at Flat Rabbit's waist. The corner of his mouth twitched.
A sword.
On a battlefield.
Flat Rabbit exploded.
"Hey! What's that look supposed to mean? You glance at my ancestral treasure and curl your lip—are you looking down on this Master Rabbit's swordsmanship?"
He Renlong laughed. Loudly.
Then stopped.
"If Supreme Commander Hong were here," he said coldly, "I'd have already taken your head. Be sincere in this surrender. If you rebel again, I'll personally test whether that sword of yours can save you."
Flat Rabbit froze.
Then puffed up again. "Hmph!"
Inside, he was already writing his will.
But the effect was perfect.
This was Flat Rabbit's gift.
Looking harmless. Loud. Foolish.
The kind of man no one bothered to truly guard against.
No one else in Gao Family Village could pull it off.
They crossed the city.
Ahead, the prefectural office square had been cleared. A raised platform stood there—half altar, half execution stage.
A wine table waited at its center.
Yang He stood behind it, robes immaculate. Qiu Qianfan and several officials flanked him, faces unreadable.
Formalities followed.
Greetings.
Pleasantries.
Sacrificial rites.
Cup after cup of wine.
Words that meant nothing said in tones that meant everything.
Finally—finally—they reached the real matter.
Yang He sighed, face heavy with concern.
"General Xing," he said, "now that you have accepted pacification, you are a valued general of the imperial court. However…"
He paused.
"…your future place of settlement has yet to be determined. You see, the national treasury is… experiencing a slight difficulty."
The air tightened.
The game had begun.