Li Zicheng, the Chuang Wang, did not die at Zengjia Mountain.
He was crushed, yes. Routed, scattered, humiliated.
But not dead.
His Old Eighth Squad still had a little over a hundred men left. A pitiful number compared to the armies he once commanded, but enough to keep a banner breathing.
Going back to Sichuan was suicide. A force that small would not survive a single charge from the pole soldiers.
Entering Shaanxi was even worse. Wang Er had secured the region, and that strange firearms unit of his was something Li Zicheng did not dare test again. One encounter had been enough to carve the lesson into his bones.
A small force had only one advantage.
It was hard to see.
So he led his remaining men through the mountains like ghosts. At dawn each day, he would look at the rising sun, fix the direction of east, and move. No fires at night. No villages if they could avoid them. They deliberately bypassed the mountaintop watch posts of Gao Family Village, threading through ravines and dense forest like hunted wolves.
After days of grinding travel, they finally crossed the Qinling Mountains and entered Shangluo.
Even there, Li Zicheng did not dare breathe loudly.
Shangnan County was guarded by Luo Xi, a man the rebels had already learned to fear. By now it was obvious that Luo Xi and Wang Er were cut from the same cloth. Both commanded those uncanny musketeers.
With barely a hundred starving men, Li Zicheng had no intention of testing them.
They survived on bark. On wild roots. On whatever could be dug up from frozen ground. When thirsty, they drank from mountain springs. When exhausted, they leaned against trees and slept sitting up.
Eventually, they slipped near the Danjiang Estuary by the Han River.
By then, the Old Eighth Squad was close to collapse.
Then they saw it.
A fleet of boats, heavy with cargo, moving downriver.
Li Guo's eyes lit up. He lowered his voice.
"Uncle, those boats are loaded. We lure one ashore, rush it, seize supplies. Quick and clean."
Li Zicheng nodded.
They hid.
Only Li Guo walked to the riverbank. He lay down dramatically, clutching his stomach, and began to wail.
"I'm starving. Please. Anyone. Help me. I'm dying."
His voice drifted across the water.
The fleet belonged to Zhuge Wang Chan's logistics unit, transporting supplies toward Sichuan.
A sailor reported the crying youth to his captain.
Zhuge Wang Chan stepped to the rail and glanced over the side.
"He looks half dead. Send one boat ashore. Give him food. The rest keep distance. Muskets ready. This smells like a trap."
One cargo boat peeled away and moved cautiously toward shore.
Behind rocks and trees, Li Zicheng and the Old Eighth Squad tightened their grips on their blades.
Then Li Zicheng saw it.
Every sailor on that boat carried a long, unfamiliar musket. Not slung casually. Held properly. Alert. Disciplined.
They did not look like men delivering charity.
They looked like men waiting to fire.
Li Zicheng's heart dropped.
"Stop," he whispered sharply. "No one moves."
The Old Eighth Squad froze.
The boat docked. A soldier stepped off with a sack of grain and handed it to Li Guo.
"Eat slowly," the soldier said kindly. "Use this grain as travel funds. Go to Shangnan County. Find Commander Luo Xi. He will arrange work."
Li Guo understood immediately that the plan was aborted. He accepted the grain with a grateful bow.
"Thank you, sir."
The soldier returned to the boat. The vessel pushed off.
Only after they had gained distance did the sailors relax and lower their muskets.
From behind the rocks, Li Zicheng exhaled.
"This army is different," he murmured. "Even for a starving youth, they maintain full vigilance. No openings. No slack. Impeccable discipline."
Li Guo returned.
"No chance?"
Li Zicheng shook his head.
"Too many muskets. Too alert. We cannot afford that fight."
Li Guo clicked his tongue.
"Those strange soldiers again. Who are they?"
"I do not know," Li Zicheng replied. "And for now, it does not matter. Surviving matters."
The Old Eighth Squad fell into silence.
It was Liu Zongmin who finally stepped forward, cupped his fists, and spoke.
"Brother. With this small force, we cannot achieve anything. We must join another righteous army."
Li Zicheng looked at him.
"Which one?"
Liu Zongmin answered without hesitation.
"The Eight Great Kings."
Zhang Xianzhong.
"He should still be in Hubei. Last I heard, near Wuchang. We go to him."
Li Zicheng did not like Zhang Xianzhong. The man was bloodthirsty, temperamental, impossible to predict.
But choices were limited.
"Fine," he said.
They waited until midnight at the Danjiang Estuary. When a fisherman brought his small boat ashore to rest, they rushed him, blades at his throat, and forced him to ferry them across the Han River.
Then they disappeared into the night.
They went to seek the Eight Great Kings.
---
At this time, Zhang Xianzhong was at the height of his momentum.
Months earlier, he had marched out of Qianshan and captured Taihu, Qizhou, Huangzhou, and more.
At Fengjia Inn in Taihu, he fought a decisive battle against the Ming army.
The Hubei garrison troops were weak. They shattered quickly under the assault of tens of thousands of rebel soldiers.
Shi Kefa, the Anlu Provincial Governor, had tried to reinforce them, but he was too far away. Zhang Xianzhong sent a detachment to ambush him mid-march, delaying his arrival.
By the time Shi Kefa reached the battlefield, it was over.
More than six thousand Ming soldiers were annihilated. Over forty generals were beheaded, including Pan Keda.
Victory piled upon victory.
Zhang Xianzhong pressed eastward, seizing Hezhou, Hanshan, and Liuhe. Though Shi Kefa eventually repelled him there, the momentum remained his.
He rampaged across Hubei like a storm.
And when storms win too often, they grow arrogant.
In his camp, Zhang Xianzhong was drinking, studying maps, deciding which city to strike next, when a confidant rushed in.
"Big Brother. A group requests audience. They claim to be the Chuang Wang. They say they were defeated in Sichuan, lost most of their men, and have come to seek refuge."
Zhang Xianzhong burst into laughter.
"The Chuang Wang seeks refuge with me?"
He wiped wine from his mouth, grinning coldly.
"The man whose wife keeps running away now needs my protection?"
His eyes darkened.
"If he joins me, who will be greater? Him or me? Will the heroes of the realm follow him or follow me?"
Silence settled in the tent.
Zhang Xianzhong waved his hand dismissively.
"You. Take some men."
His voice turned flat.
"Chop him up for me."