After several full rounds of shelling, Cheng Xu slowly tilted his head back and looked toward the summit of Tieshan Ping.
White smoke rolled and twisted around the peak. Sand and ash swirled in the air, turning the entire mountaintop into a blurred silhouette. Visibility had dropped to almost nothing.
He narrowed his eyes and nodded with satisfaction.
Good.
His great-grandmother's shadow was nowhere to be seen.
Only when the danger could no longer be imagined did Cheng Xu raise his hand and give the order.
"Ascend the mountain."
With no spectral ancestor waiting at the top, Cheng Xu became extraordinarily brave. He was the first to charge up the slope, boots digging into the loose earth.
Behind him, the First Regiment surged forward. Flintlock rifles fitted with bayonets glinted under the smoky light as the soldiers rushed uphill in tight formation.
As they climbed, whispers spread among the ranks.
"General He is truly General He."
"Worthy of being one of the Three Heroes of Liaodong."
"Always the first to charge."
"Exactly."
"If even the general dares to go first, how can we, mere foot soldiers, hesitate?"
"Brothers, charge!"
"We cannot let General He risk his life alone!"
"I'll take a bullet for General He!"
"You fool. Where would these savages get flintlocks? Say you'll take arrows for him."
The correction spread instantly.
"I'll take an arrow for General He!"
Voices merged into a unified roar. The soldiers accelerated, scrambling up the mountain like a breaking flood. Many of them even overtook Cheng Xu, climbing with both hands and feet, racing ahead in raw enthusiasm.
Cheng Xu blinked as men streamed past him.
"What's gotten into them?" he muttered. "Gao Family Village does not reward reckless scrambling. Running faster won't earn you extra spoils."
But the men ignored him. Morale had ignited. Discipline and fervor fused into something frighteningly efficient.
Up on the shattered summit, the bandits were in no state to resist. After the relentless bombardment, very few retained a clear mind. With a chaotic shout, they abandoned their positions and fled down whichever slope lay closest.
Some ran north.
Some ran west.
A few, in blind panic, chose the southern path.
That direction led to a sheer cliff overlooking the roaring waters of the Yangtze River.
One unfortunate soul slipped.
His scream cut sharply through the smoky air as he tumbled over the precipice, disappearing into the gorge below.
This stretch of river was infamous for violent currents and jagged reefs. A fall here was not the sort of legendary plunge where heroes miraculously survive.
The man struck a rock mid-descent.
The sound was brief and final.
Blood sprayed across stone.
The river swallowed the rest.
---
Ma Qiang and Wang Wen, swallowed by the fleeing mass, ran toward the northern slope. Behind them came the crisp, relentless crack of gunfire.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
From time to time, a body collapsed mid-stride.
Some bandits lost even the will to flee. They crouched by the roadside, clutching their heads and shouting surrender.
They had fully expected to be cut down anyway.
Instead, something stranger happened.
The pursuers did not execute those who surrendered.
Anyone who dropped their weapon and stopped running was ignored.
That realization spread quickly.
In clusters, men squatted and covered their heads, choosing life over pride.
Behind Ma Qiang and Wang Wen, their numbers shrank steadily.
Some had fallen.
Some had leapt to their deaths.
Some had simply chosen to live.
The two men scrambled down Tieshan Ping and crossed a narrow mountain gully. On the opposite side rose another peak.
Yufeng Mountain.
In desperation, they began climbing again.
The first descent had already drained them. They had slid, rolled, clawed, stumbled. Muscles burned. Lungs felt like torn bellows.
And now they were attempting another ascent.
Halfway up, their strength gave out.
Wang Wen's foot slipped.
He tumbled downward, striking rock after rock, scraping skin and cloth alike. By the time he rolled to a stop at the foot of the slope, his body was a mass of bruises and torn flesh.
Before he could rise, a heavy boot pressed onto his chest.
He looked up.
It was Jiang Daliang, the dockworker.
For a moment, Wang Wen felt overwhelming relief.
"Daliang. Help me. Carry me away. I'll pay you. Ten taels of silver. Twenty. Whatever you want."
Jiang Daliang spat to the side.
"Did you ever wonder how those Shaanxi newcomers found Tieshan Ping? Or why I happen to be here?"
Wang Wen's eyes widened.
"You… you led them."
Jiang Daliang's smile was dark.
"Correct."
He lifted his thick carrying pole.
"And this is your reward."
The pole came down with a cracking impact.
Once.
That was enough.
---
Elsewhere on Yufeng Mountain, Ma Qiang staggered higher until he could climb no more. His legs trembled. His breath rasped in his throat.
He turned his head.
And froze.
The First Regiment was still coming.
Not slowing.
Not stumbling.
Closing in.
Ma Qiang cursed hoarsely. "What do these Shaanxi people eat? Why is their stamina endless? I grew up in Sichuan. I should be better at climbing mountains than them."
He did not know who he was facing.
This was the elite First Regiment of Gao Family Village.
Since the seventh year of Tianqi, they had lived under the protection of Dao Xuan Tianzun. They had eaten well for ten straight years. Slept well. Trained relentlessly every single day.
Two connected peaks like Tieshan Ping and Yufeng Mountain were an ordeal for ordinary militias.
For the First Regiment, it was little more than uneven ground.
One vanguard soldier leapt up the slope with shocking speed. He reached a cliff face twice his height, sprang upward, toes striking rock twice in rapid succession, and pulled himself cleanly over the top.
He moved like a mountain ape.
A gap nearly ten feet wide lay before him.
He cleared it in a single bound.
Thorns and brush snagged at his clothes. He vaulted through them without slowing.
Ma Qiang watched in horror as the man drew nearer.
"This… this isn't human," he gasped. "What kind of monsters are you?"
The vanguard soldier grinned.
"Run, savage chief. Keep running. Do you think you can escape? My first-class merit will not vanish because of you."
Driven by desperation, Ma Qiang drew his great saber and roared.
"Then I'll fight you to the death!"
He slashed forward with all his remaining strength.
The soldier's expression did not change.
"That's it?"
With a slight shift of his torso, he avoided the blade entirely. In the same breath, he stepped inside Ma Qiang's guard and executed the Ghost-God Fist technique taught within Gao Family Village, a brutal close-combat method refined from older cliff-carved martial diagrams.
There was a sharp crack.
Ma Qiang's wrist snapped.
He screamed.
The scream ended abruptly as the soldier seized his throat and twisted.
Silence followed.
The battle ended not with a clash of armies, but with a twist of bone.
---
That evening, the heads of Ma Qiang and Wang Wen hung from the south gate of Jiangbei City, facing the restless waters of the Yangtze River.
Every dockworker who passed spat in contempt.
Every laborer who had once trembled under bandit extortion paused to look.
Crowds gathered around Cheng Xu, bowing repeatedly.
"Instructor He, thank you."
"These savages ran rampant for years. The officials did nothing."
"It is all thanks to you."
Cheng Xu waved modestly.
Behind him stood soldiers who had climbed two mountains without complaint.
A dockworker approached quietly.
Jiang Daliang lowered his voice.
"Instructor He, I have more intelligence. Not far northwest from here lies a place called Dragon Head Temple. Ten thousand bandits are stationed there. Their leader is Er Zhi Hu."
He paused.
"They are planning to attack Chongqing City."
The smoke of one battlefield had barely cleared.
Another was already rising.