While new militias were still being recruited in Sichuan, Li Daoxuan was busy studying something far more "profound." The limits of his own field of vision.
His sight had now expanded all the way to Hanzhong Prefecture. With Gao Family Village as the center, the radius was roughly four hundred kilometers.
Half of Henan was covered. Most of the Yunxiang region as well.
Li Daoxuan casually tapped the "North, South, East, West" buttons on the Diorama Box, like a bored immortal flipping through channels. His gaze swept leisurely across Henan.
He kept pushing his view southeast until, at the very edge, a small county town slid into sight.
Above its city gate hung a plaque with three bold characters.
Wuyang County.
The place had long since been breached by bandit armies. Its walls were torn open on all sides. Crumbling ramparts sagged like broken teeth. Whole sections were reduced to rubble. The local population had been slaughtered, looted, or forcibly dragged away. Barely a hundred households remained.
A county town that once held thousands now felt like a hollow shell with a heartbeat.
Before, Li Daoxuan could not see this far. He could not help. Now that he could see it clearly, ignoring it would be no different from complicity.
He reached for a small handful of grain, ready to drop it into the box.
Then his eyes sharpened.
Through the north gate of Wuyang County, a group entered.
Gao Family Village Militia.
"Oh?" Li Daoxuan blinked. "The militia is here?"
His hand paused in midair.
If the militia had already arrived to help, there was no need for him to intervene immediately. A sudden divine rain of grain might terrify the already jittery locals. After everything they had suffered, even kindness falling from the sky could look like disaster.
So he simply watched.
The detachment was small, fewer than two hundred men. Likely one of the scattered relief teams sent out to scout and search for surviving civilians.
Li Daoxuan narrowed his eyes at the man leading them.
That face felt familiar.
He thought for a while. Then it clicked.
Wang Chenggong.
Years ago, this man had been a bandit leader. He once occupied an old fortress at Wangjia Fork in northern Shaanxi. Back then, Gao Family Village Militia had sent Shi Jian, along with Luo Xi who was still serving as adjutant general, to take him down.
The Mongols of the Wushen Tribe had also shown up to stir trouble during that battle.
They lasted ten breaths.
Ten.
After that crushing defeat, Wang Chenggong surrendered.
Li Daoxuan had not seen him since. He had assumed the man was still undergoing Labor Reform somewhere, swinging a hoe and contemplating life.
Yet here he was, released, wearing militia colors, even leading his former subordinates to provide relief.
People could change. Sometimes history forced them to.
The Wang Chenggong of today was nothing like the swaggering bandit chief of old. His stride was steady, not arrogant. His face carried a restrained calm. The sharp, predatory edge was gone.
Now he looked like an ordinary middle aged man.
Which, in this chaotic era, might have been the greatest transformation of all.
As soon as they entered Wuyang County, the common folk on the streets scattered. Doors slammed. Curtains twitched. Within moments, the streets were half empty.
In times of war, civilians were like startled birds. Two hundred armed men entering town was not something you waited around to interpret.
Wang Chenggong seemed used to this reaction.
He pulled out a tin megaphone.
"Folks, do not be afraid!" His voice boomed across the broken streets. "We are not bandits. We are not government troops. We are the militia, the people's own army. We will not harm you. We are here to help."
He lifted a sack.
"Come out, household by household, to receive grain. Three catties per family first. Fill your stomachs. Then we will talk about the rest."
This tactic never failed.
Doors creaked open. Faces peeked out. One by one, people stepped into the street.
Wang Chenggong's face lit up. "Line up properly. No pushing, no grabbing. Every family will get their share."
From above, Li Daoxuan watched with quiet satisfaction.
Then, at the southern edge of his field of vision, another force appeared.
And this one was not small.
Three to four thousand men.
They flew a banner that read Runing Garrison. On paper, government troops.
In reality, they looked worse than bandits.
Their armor and weapons were a chaotic mess. Some carried firearms. Some swords. One idiot waved around what looked like a treasured blade in dramatic fashion, reminding Li Daoxuan of Flat Rabbit showing off a shiny toy.
Their clothing was even more absurd. A few wore proper Ming cloth armor. Others had hemp garments. A handful were in mismatched pieces of clothing. One man was even wearing a woman's floral dress.
Li Daoxuan frowned.
"The Runing Garrison looks like this?" he muttered. "They are sloppier than the most undisciplined garrison troops."
The chaotic mass entered Wuyang County through the south gate.
As they marched toward the center of town, they saw the militia distributing grain.
The two sides met face to face.
Everyone froze for a heartbeat.
The civilians who had just started lining up let out a collective gasp and scattered again, vanishing into houses like smoke.
Wang Chenggong clasped his fists politely.
"We are the militia from Luoyang, acting under the orders of Governor Fan Shangzheng of Henan to provide disaster relief."
He deliberately invoked Fan Shangzheng's name. Sometimes a higher banner made conversations smoother.
From the ranks of the Runing Garrison, an officer stepped forward.
"My surname is Zhang. Call me Commander Zhang."
He clicked his tongue. "Tsk. Your militia seems to have quite a bit of grain. Enough to hand out generously."
The tone was wrong. Too casual. Too probing.
Behind his back, Wang Chenggong made a subtle hand gesture. Be alert.
Aloud, he replied calmly, "All this grain belongs to Governor Fan."
"Oh?" Commander Zhang burst into laughter. "Trying to scare me with the Governor?"
He stepped closer.
"Do I look like someone easily frightened?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Forget it. I do not want to waste words. Since you are here to help disaster victims, why not help us as well? My men are also victims. Every single one of them is starving."
There it was.
Robbery, wrapped in official language.
Wang Chenggong's expression darkened slightly. Behind him, militia soldiers subtly shifted, hands brushing the stocks of their muskets.
He lowered his voice. "They have thousands. We have two hundred. If we fight, we will suffer heavy losses."
The militia quietly took a few steps back, creating space.
Wang Chenggong looked back at Commander Zhang.
"As a garrison commander, you surely would not dare to rob provisions belonging to the Governor." His tone remained steady. "Who is backing you? Give me a name. I will report it to the Governor. If your patron is powerful enough, perhaps this matter can be overlooked. Then you will not face consequences. Is that not reasonable?"
Commander Zhang sneered.
"Still hiding behind the Governor?"
"Fine. I will tell you."
"My direct superior is the Grand General for Aid and Suppression, Zuo Liangyu."
He laughed harshly.
"If you have complaints, tell Fan Shangzheng to take it up with Zuo Liangyu. Let us see whether that stinking scholar official dares."
The moment those words left his mouth, both Wang Chenggong and Li Daoxuan understood.
So.
Zuo Liangyu's men.
Of course.
The so called Grand General for Aid and Suppression had never truly suppressed anything. When facing real bandit forces, he always let the big fish slip away. Only the small fry were captured.
And those small fry were not destroyed.
They were absorbed.
Folded neatly into his own private army.
He swelled his ranks. He grew powerful. The imperial court became an increasingly distant inconvenience.
No wonder the Runing Garrison looked like a patchwork of bandits pretending to be soldiers.
Because that was exactly what they were.