Shi Jian, Zao Ying, and Zheng Daniu stood atop the ancient fortress walls at Wangjia Fork, all three gazing silently toward the vast northwest.
Not long ago, this very fortress had been occupied by Wang Chenggong, who had raised the banner of rebellion here—only to be swiftly crushed by the Gao Family Village Militia and escorted straight into a labor reform camp.
With its former owner gone, Wangjia Fork Fortress now stood empty.
And an ownerless fortress?
There was no way Dao Xuan Tianzhun would let something like that remain unclaimed.
Following Dao Xuan Tianzhun's instructions, Shi Jian had sent a letter to Governor Hong Chengchou, explaining that he had recently been engaged in suppressing bandits across northern Shaanxi and that he was fully capable of taking responsibility for the Wangjia Fork fortress as well.
For Hong Chengchou, this was practically a blessing sent from heaven.
He was already stretched thin for manpower and had no spare troops to station here. Without the slightest hesitation, he handed command of the fortress over to Shi Jian.
Thus, Wangjia Fork Fortress was naturally absorbed into Gao Family Village's sphere of control.
Men were dispatched to repair the aging walls, and soldiers from Gao Family Village were assigned to garrison it.
Before long, this desolate stronghold had officially become a forward operating base for Gao Family Village.
And it was a truly remote one—farther even than Bai Yuan's previous journey to Luoyang.
Standing atop the fortress wall, Shi Jian couldn't help but sigh.
"This place is really too far from Gao Family Village. Supplying it is going to be a serious headache."
"Hard or not, we still do it!" Zheng Daniu said with a wide grin. "Dao Xuan Tianzhun has given the order."
Zheng Daniu was simple-minded, but among everyone who had joined Gao Family Village, he was undoubtedly one of the most loyal.
He and Gao Chuwu were cut from the same cloth—unwavering, unquestioning generals. They never worried about difficulties, nor did they bother thinking about whether something was reasonable or not.
If Dao Xuan Tianzhun spoke, then it was to be done. End of discussion.
His words made Shi Jian smile.
"Daniu, your understanding is very enlightened," Shi Jian said approvingly. "If Dao Xuan Tianzhun tells us to do something, there must be a deeper reason. No matter how troublesome it looks, we just do it. That's all there is to it."
As he spoke, Shi Jian pulled out a rolled bundle of documents and waved it toward Zao Ying and Zheng Daniu.
"These are intelligence reports my people gathered—information about the Mongolian Wushen Tribe."
Zheng Daniu glanced at the papers and snorted. "Don't read it. Can't understand."
Zao Ying laughed. "Don't make it hard on him. Just read it out loud."
With no other choice, Shi Jian began reading.
"The Mongolian Wushen Tribe resides deep within the Maowusu Desert. They belong to the larger Ordos confederation. The Ordos, in turn, descend from the lineage of Genghis Khan and are currently ruled by Ligdan Khan. We of the Central Plains collectively refer to this regime as the 'Northern Yuan.'"
Zheng Daniu frowned deeply.
"That sounded like… nothing at all."
Shi Jian sighed and switched tactics.
"To put it simply," he said, "Dao Xuan Tianzhun wants us to absorb the Wushen Tribe and incorporate them into our forces. But the Wushen Tribe isn't just some isolated tribe—it's technically part of a larger state, the Northern Yuan."
Zheng Daniu finally nodded.
"Oh."
Shi Jian continued, "In other words, what we're about to do is essentially invade Northern Yuan territory and seize a city called Wushen."
Zao Ying frowned slightly.
"Defeating a single tribe wouldn't be difficult," she said, "but I'm worried we might stir up a hornet's nest. If the entire Northern Yuan comes after us, we'll be constantly fighting without rest."
Before Shi Jian could reply, the small cotton figurine of Dao Xuan Tianzhun hanging on Zheng Daniu's chest suddenly twitched.
Then it smiled.
A voice echoed forth.
"There's no need to worry about the Northern Yuan."
"Ah!"
"Dao Xuan Tianzhun!"
All three immediately bowed deeply.
The cotton Dao Xuan Tianzhun spoke calmly, "I have divined it. The Northern Yuan is nearing its end."
The three were stunned.
They didn't doubt Dao Xuan Tianzhun's words—but hearing such a heaven-shaking secret spoken so casually still left them momentarily speechless.
The cotton Dao Xuan Tianzhun continued, "The Manchus are fiercely ambitious. Their targets are not limited to our Great Ming. Before long, they will also turn their blades toward the Northern Yuan."
"In the near future," he said lightly, "the Northern Yuan will be completely destroyed by the Manchus."
Zao Ying was the first to react.
"Once the Northern Yuan collapses," she said slowly, "its tribes will become leaderless dragons, thrown into chaos. That's when we move in."
Her eyes sharpened.
"If we act too slowly, those tribes will submit to the Manchus and eventually be forced to fight against us. But if we're faster, they'll become our subjects—and later fight for us against the Manchus."
Shi Jian nodded, impressed.
"Truly the thinking of a former horse bandit," he said. "We can't wait until the Northern Yuan is completely destroyed. By then, it'll be too late."
"We need to establish contact with some of these tribes before the collapse," he continued. "That way, when the Northern Yuan falls, they'll naturally align themselves with us."
Seeing that they understood, the cotton Dao Xuan Tianzhun didn't waste any more words.
"The Wushen Tribe is the closest to us," he said. "So we'll start with them."
He paused deliberately.
The three immediately straightened, knowing something important was coming.
"The nomadic tribes of the steppe are different from our agricultural people," Dao Xuan Tianzhun said, his tone turning serious. "Treat farmers well, and they'll follow you loyally. But steppe tribes are born with wolf-like natures."
"Kindness alone won't work."
He chuckled softly.
"You must be stronger than them. Only then will they submit sincerely."
Zao Ying laughed bitterly. "That's exactly how horse bandits think. We only follow the strong. The weak… are just prey."
Shi Jian nodded slowly. "So we demonstrate our strength."
Zheng Daniu clenched his massive fist, eyes lighting up.
"I understand now!" he said loudly. "First, beat them up good. Then talk sense!"
The Wushen Tribe had been having a very hard time recently.
The tribe was small to begin with—only a few thousand people in total, with barely half of their young men capable of riding and fighting.
Several days earlier, the Wushen tribal leader had led over a thousand young warriors on a "raid for supplies" into Great Ming territory.
Near Wangjia Fork Fortress, they had stumbled upon a battle between Ming forces and rebel troops.
Driven by greed and hot-headed ambition, the tribal leader decided to try and seize the Ming army's cannons.
The result…
Hundreds of young cavalrymen were killed, and the rest fled back in complete disorder.
For a tribe of only a few thousand, losing several hundred able-bodied men in a single incident was catastrophic.
The Wushen Tribe's strength plummeted overnight, instantly turning them into the weakest tribe within the Ordos confederation.
And among the nomads—
The weak were always bullied.
Recently, the Wushen Tribe had been tormented relentlessly.
The Etuoke Tribe, located not far to their west, took every opportunity to harass them.
Today, a few horses would disappear.
Tomorrow, dozens of sheep would be driven away.
Such things were painfully common among the steppe tribes.
If you're weak, you deserve to be beaten.
This brutal logic had governed the grasslands since ancient times.
With no other option, the Wushen people could only desperately try to increase their numbers.
One day, as the Wushen tribal leader was diligently "creating new people" inside his tent, frantic shouting suddenly erupted outside.
"The Etuoke are here!"
"The Etuoke are here!"
Instantly, the entire camp exploded into chaos—men shouting, horses neighing, warriors scrambling for their mounts.
The tribal leader sprang up in shock, abandoning his current task without hesitation.
Throwing on a robe, he rushed out of the tent, leapt onto his horse, and roared, "The Etuoke again?!"
"Fight!"
"This time, we must win. If we lose again, they'll trample us into the dirt!"
He gathered the remaining seven or eight hundred young warriors of the tribe.
Together, they spurred their horses forward—
Charging straight toward the enemy.