At the very moment Bai Mao led his troops out of Pingyang toward Qinzhou and Wuxiang, the wheels of war across Shanxi began to turn all at once.
Orders issued by Dao Xuan Tianzun spread outward like ripples across water.
At Dragon Gate on the Yellow River, Shi Jian, stationed at the river crossing, received the signal. Without hesitation, he assembled a thousand men and began marching east, banners snapping in the winter wind.
In Puzhou, Old Nanfeng gathered the veterans of the Guyuan border army. These were men who had fought on the frontier for years, their bones hardened by frost and blood. At dawn, they turned north and set out.
In Hedong City, Xing Honglang's force—the core strength of Gao Family Village—also moved. One thousand men remained behind to secure the Hedong Circuit, while the remaining three thousand split into two columns.
Xing Honglang personally led fifteen hundred men north.
Cheng Xu, commanding the other fifteen hundred, marched east to Jincheng first, then turned north, intending to rendezvous with Li Daoxuan's main axis.
Across the region, every stronghold Gao Family Village had quietly cultivated over the years responded in unison. Troops emerged from hidden valleys and fortified villages, converging from multiple directions.
A vast net was being cast.
Meanwhile, the Sichuan White Pole Soldiers advanced at speed.
Their column cut through prefectures and counties in rapid succession, finally reaching Lu'an Prefecture.
Lu'an—modern Changzhi—stood tall and grim. Its walls were thick, its gates solid. A thousand garrison troops and tens of thousands of civilians crowded within, relying on the city's defenses to survive.
The rebels had already ravaged everything beyond the walls.
When Zhang Fengyi arrived at the city gates, she did not enter. Instead, she reined in her horse and called up to the battlements.
"Where are the rebel forces now?"
The soldiers atop the wall exchanged uneasy glances, then shook their heads vigorously.
"They attacked Lu'an once, but failed to break through. After that, they turned north—toward Qinzhou and Wuxiang. We… we don't know anything beyond that."
Zhang Fengyi's expression darkened. "You didn't send out scouts?"
The garrison soldiers looked aggrieved. "We have no warhorses. Ordinary carts and mules can't scout enemy territory."
For a moment, Zhang Fengyi was rendered speechless.
Beside her, Li Daoxuan let out a quiet sigh. "These men are little more than conscripted peasants. We can't demand too much."
Zhang Fengyi reflected briefly, then nodded. "You're right."
She did not linger. Qinzhou was still more than a hundred li away, and every moment wasted meant more villages burned.
With a sharp gesture, she ordered the advance to continue north.
From this point onward, however, Li Daoxuan knew the danger had escalated.
Somewhere ahead lay Houjia Village—the place where history recorded Zhang Fengyi's death.
But where?
As her appointed strategist, he could not remain silent. "General Zhang, from here northward, rebel activity is dense. We must send scouts far ahead—wide and deep."
Zhang Fengyi nodded at once. "That should have been done earlier."
She immediately dispatched multiple scouting teams, ordering them to range as far as possible.
Li Daoxuan frowned inwardly.
The Sichuan White Pole Soldiers were elite. Zhang Fengyi herself was a general whose name appeared in historical records. Basic precautions—scouting, screening, route control—were second nature to her.
Then how had she still been surrounded?
This wasn't a simple ambush.
Something didn't add up.
That day, the army covered more than forty li.
Whenever they encountered villagers along the road, Li Daoxuan would dismount, hand them a few fragments of silver, and ask quietly:
"Is there a place nearby called Houjia Village?"
No one had heard of it.
By evening, a scout finally returned at full gallop.
"Report! A rebel band is plundering Tunliu County ahead!"
Zhang Fengyi did not hesitate. She immediately ordered the attack.
The rebel force flew a crude banner emblazoned with two characters:
"Jin Gang."
Li Daoxuan had no memory of such a figure from history. He barely had time to think before the White Pole Soldiers charged.
The result was decisive.
The rebel formation collapsed almost instantly. Jin Gang's men scattered in panic, fleeing in all directions.
Tunliu County fell within moments.
Inside the ruined town, corpses littered the streets. Houses lay blackened and collapsed, the air thick with ash and despair.
Zhang Fengyi's jaw tightened.
She rested the troops only briefly that night.
At dawn, the army marched again.
By the following day, grim news arrived.
Qinzhou had already fallen.
Wang Ziyong, with Zijing Liang's main force, had occupied the city. Nearby, the West Camp Eight Great Kings, led by Zhang Xianzhong, were rampaging through Wuxiang.
After the failure at Huaiqing Prefecture, the rebels had learned a hard lesson: two hundred thousand men in one place meant starvation.
Following Li Zicheng's advice, they had dispersed again—each force looting independently.
In Qinzhou, Wang Ziyong had just emptied the official granaries.
His mood was excellent.
Then a subordinate rushed in.
"Boss! Jin Gang was plundering Tunliu when he ran into the Sichuan White Pole Soldiers. His force was shattered—he barely escaped!"
Wang Ziyong clicked his tongue. "Again? These White Pole Soldiers are everywhere."
Before he could stew further, another man burst in.
"Boss! Qing Lang was raiding Guojia Village north of Tunliu when he was ambushed. He took two arrows and barely made it back!"
Wang Ziyong's brows shot up. "Them again?"
A third messenger followed almost immediately, pale with fear.
"Boss! Fan Yunshou was attacked at Zhenggou Village. His force was wiped out. Only eighty or so men escaped with him."
Wang Ziyong sucked in a sharp breath. "Are the White Pole Soldiers really that strong?"
At this moment, a lean, sharp-eyed chieftain stepped forward.
It was Yue Jianhu.
He lowered his voice. "Boss, the White Pole Soldiers are fierce—but their numbers are small. They've already split forces. Ma Xianglin's unit has returned to Sichuan. The detachment still in Shanxi is led by Zhang Fengyi—no more than a thousand men."
Wang Ziyong's eyes narrowed. "So they're manageable?"
Yue Jianhu nodded. "Exactly. No matter how elite they are, a thousand men can't withstand our main force. If we gather our brothers, form up properly, and meet them head-on, they won't stand a chance."
Wang Ziyong slammed the table and laughed. "Good!"
"Summon the main army," he ordered loudly. "We march south. I want to see what tricks General Zhang Fengyi can pull with a mere thousand soldiers."