Huanglong Mountain Prison received yet another batch of newly assigned labor reform prisoners.
This time, it was Wang Chenggong—and the two thousand men who followed him.
At Wangjia Fork Fortress, the thunder of cannons and the cold muzzles of muskets had crushed their will to resist. Before the smoke had even cleared, they had surrendered completely. Shi Jian accepted their capitulation under a single, simple pretext:
"I need manpower to build Dragon Gate Fortress."
Regional Commander Luo Xi personally escorted them to Yan'an. After Governor Chen Qiyu of Yansui conducted a brief inspection, the entire group was handed over and marched straight toward Huanglong Mountain.
Along the way, unease gnawed at all two thousand men.
No one knew what awaited them.
Some feared mass execution. Others worried they would be worked to death in mines or construction camps. Whispers spread constantly through the ranks, growing darker by the mile.
Among the two thousand, quite a few were already secretly plotting escape—or even rebellion.
As the escort column advanced, one of Wang Chenggong's trusted subordinates leaned in close and whispered, "Brother, once we enter Huanglong Mountain, there should be plenty of chances to escape. I've heard the mountain is vast—steep peaks, dense forests, ravines everywhere. If we scatter into the woods, even ten or twenty thousand government troops wouldn't be able to find us."
Wang Chenggong nodded slowly. "I've heard the same. Huanglong Mountain is known as an excellent place for rebels to gather."
His eyes flickered with calculation.
"These fools are actually escorting us straight into it," he said coldly. "They're delivering fish back to water."
He lowered his voice further. "Pass the word. Everyone wait for my signal. Once I shout, dive into the forest immediately. Scatter and hide. When the troops withdraw, I'll gather everyone again."
The subordinate's eyes shone. "Understood."
The message spread quickly.
Within moments, all two thousand bandits had received the order. Each man walked with tense anticipation, muscles coiled tight, waiting only for Wang Chenggong's command.
Not long after, a voice called out from the front.
"Brother! Look ahead! There's a strange cave!"
Wang Chenggong raised his head.
Ahead of them stood a peculiar structure. It wasn't like a natural cave at all—long, perfectly rounded, with smooth gray walls. A wide concrete road ran straight through it, from one end to the other.
Above the entrance hung a wooden sign, bearing five characters:
Huangqiu Terrace Tunnel
Most of the bandits were illiterate and couldn't read it, but Wang Chenggong could.
He frowned. Tunnel?
"That's not a cave," he muttered. "What does 'tunnel' mean?"
Unable to hold back his curiosity, he turned to one of the musketeers escorting them.
"Brother," Wang Chenggong asked politely, "what do these two characters—'tunnel'—mean? Why isn't it called a cave?"
The musketeer laughed. "Caves form naturally. Tunnels are dug."
"Dug?" Wang Chenggong sucked in a breath.
He looked again. The tunnel was long—terrifyingly long—and wide enough for carts to pass through easily. One could see light at the far end.
This thing… was dug?
"How could that be possible?" he blurted out.
The musketeer pointed upward casually. "The immortals in the heavens dug it."
Then he tapped his own chest. "That immortal right there—Dao Xuan Tianzun."
Wang Chenggong fell silent.
The claim was absurd. Completely unbelievable.
Yet… the tunnel stood right in front of him.
Believe it or not, his feet still carried him forward.
The column passed through the tunnel and officially entered Huanglong Mountain.
Every man held his breath.
This was supposed to be it—the moment of escape.
But the moment they laid eyes on the mountain interior, all two thousand men froze in shock.
There were no wild paths.
No tangled forest roads.
Instead, winding concrete highways stretched deep into the mountains, branching again and again. Observation posts dotted the ridgelines. Bus stops stood at intervals along the road.
The deeper they walked, the busier it became.
People came and went. Supplies were transported. It felt… livelier than even parts of northern Shaanxi.
A subordinate edged closer, his voice low and uneasy. "Brother… something's wrong."
Wang Chenggong nodded grimly. "Very wrong."
Huanglong Mountain was supposed to be remote and ominous—perfect for bandit strongholds. Yet what lay before them felt disturbingly organized.
The subordinate hesitated. "Should… should we still try to escape?"
Wang Chenggong snorted. "Escape? Look around you. Roads everywhere. Observation posts everywhere. Where would you even hide?"
The subordinate said nothing more.
"Don't rush," Wang Chenggong said. "Let's keep going. I refuse to believe Huanglong Mountain has nowhere to hide."
So they marched on.
Step by step.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly.
Eventually, the terrain grew more complex. The concrete road descended into a valley. From the outside, the valley's interior was hidden by overlapping mountain ridges and thick forest, making it appear secluded and isolated.
Wang Chenggong's eyes lit up.
"This is it," he whispered urgently. "Everyone listen. Once we're inside, find dense cover and scatter immediately. I guarantee they won't be able to capture us all!"
The men murmured in agreement, nerves tightening, hearts pounding.
They crossed into the valley—
—and collectively gasped.
There were no wild trees.
No rocky wasteland.
Instead, a bustling town lay before them.
Rows of neat, square concrete houses lined orderly streets. People moved between buildings in steady flows. Smoke rose from kitchens. Tools clanged. Voices echoed.
It was a town.
A fully functioning town.
The last remnants of rebellion drained from the men like water from broken jars.
Two thousand stunned faces stared blankly ahead.
"This…" someone muttered. "This isn't a place to hide…"
The musketeer escorting them chuckled. "Go on in. This is where you'll live for a while."
He paused, then added cheerfully, "Many years, most likely. Best get used to it."
Wang Chenggong entered the valley slowly, his steps heavy.
At the entrance stood a signboard.
He read it aloud:
Thirty-Two Labor Reform Valley
His back went cold. "There are… many valleys like this?"
"Of course," the musketeer replied lightly. "Huanglong Mountain has over a hundred thousand labor reform prisoners now. Different tasks, different management. There are hundreds of valleys like this, each with its own industry."
He gestured around. "This one is closest to Yan'an, so it focuses on road construction and reclaiming barren mountain land."
Wang Chenggong's jaw dropped. "Over a hundred thousand men…"
"My job ends here," the musketeer said. "If you have questions, ask the old-timers inside."
Wang Chenggong could only stare.
In the end, he led his men obediently into the valley.
The moment they stepped inside, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
Turning around, Wang Chenggong saw a group of men in cotton clothes. Their garments were decent—far better than common prisoners' rags—but they were unarmed.
Labor reform prisoners.
Just like him.
One of them whistled again, grinning. "Well, well. Fresh meat. Where you from?"
Wang Chenggong straightened instinctively. "Wang Chenggong of Hengshan."
The man burst into laughter. "So it's you! Wang Chenggong of Hengshan! I've long admired your name."
He slapped his thigh. "What a coincidence—I'm also from Hengshan. Later I joined Wang Jiayin. In the jianghu, they called me Flying Rat."
Wang Chenggong froze.
"You're Flying Rat?" he exclaimed. "I heard of you even before I joined the rebellion! The leader of the Flying Rat bandits—killed eighteen officials with a butcher's knife in a single uprising, rallied a hundred men with one call!"
Flying Rat grinned wider.
"Looks like we're old acquaintances, then."
Wang Chenggong finally understood.
So… it's you.