"Report! Reinforcements have entered Wuchang!"
A rebel scout rushed forward and knelt before the Eight Great Kings, Zhang Xianzhong, his voice still rough from running hard across the outer lines.
"Wuchang was already difficult to take. Now that reinforcements have arrived, it will be even harder for our army to capture it."
Zhang Xianzhong's brows drew together slowly, not in panic, but in irritation. He had never truly intended to bleed himself dry on a fortress city like Wuchang. Great cities looked impressive on a map, but for men who lived by movement, momentum mattered more than walls. If it could not be taken cleanly, then there was no shame in turning aside and gnawing on softer prey elsewhere.
He was still weighing which direction to shift his forces when a middle aged man stepped into the command tent. The guards did not stop him.
Zhang Xianzhong narrowed his eyes, then recognized him at once.
It was the Shanxi merchant, Zhai Tang.
The two had dealt with each other for years. After the Shanxi merchants lost their northern trade routes, they had not hesitated long before opening business with the rebel armies. They did not particularly care who carried the banner, whether it was Chuang Wang or the Eight Great Kings. Whoever had silver to spend was worth talking to.
Since Chuang Wang had moved into Sichuan and become difficult to contact, much of their supply trade had shifted toward Zhang Xianzhong instead. Grain, salt, iron, powder, cloth. Coin flowed both ways, and neither side pretended it was about loyalty.
But today, Zhai Tang's face was tight.
"Mr. Zhai," Zhang Xianzhong said, studying him, "what troubles you?"
"The situation is not favorable," Zhai Tang replied, his voice low.
Zhang Xianzhong raised a brow.
"Oh?"
"In Henan territory, we have discovered a large force of moving firelock troops."
"A large force?" Zhang Xianzhong gave a short laugh. "Larger than my one hundred fifty thousand men?"
"Not that large," Zhai Tang answered carefully, choosing his words as a merchant weighs silver. "But I fear there may be thirty thousand."
He was speaking conservatively. The northern army of Gao Family Village numbered thirty five thousand fighting men, and with their logistics units included, the total exceeded forty thousand. Yet from a distance one could only judge by the dust on the horizon, and dust had a way of exaggerating or diminishing according to the wind.
Zhang Xianzhong's expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Thirty thousand."
He understood what that number meant.
His so called one hundred fifty thousand included entire families moving with the host, old men, women, children, camp followers who inflated the count. True fighting strength did not exceed seventy thousand. Thirty thousand firelock troops, however, meant thirty thousand hardened soldiers with powder and discipline, without padding or illusion.
With seventy thousand irregulars against thirty thousand organized firelocks, the outcome required no divination.
"They are coming for me?" he asked.
"Very likely," Zhai Tang said. "They have dispersed their forces and cast a vast net across the region. Even my hidden bases in Henan were forced to withdraw south."
In truth, the net had been cast for the rebels, not for merchants. Gao Family Village had no intention of hunting caravans.
But the Shanxi merchants carried their own shadows. At the mere sight of those firelock columns, they assumed reckoning had come, hastily gathering their ledgers, goods, and storehouses, hauling everything south toward Huguang. Warehouses were emptied in a rush. Entire lines of commerce uprooted overnight.
"Recently," Zhai Tang continued, "my men have also inquired among the common people and learned more of their origins."
Zhang Xianzhong leaned forward slightly.
"And?"
"They come from Shaanxi. They are followers of a sect called the Dao Xuan Tianzun Sect. The structure resembles the White Lotus Sect. They use the name of Dao Xuan Tianzun to gather believers among the populace, then organize those believers into armies."
Zhang Xianzhong spat a curse.
"If they are rebels like us, stirring up chaos and defying the court, why are they fixated on us?"
Zhai Tang let out a cold breath through his nose.
"They intend to swallow us first, then turn on the court. During the Red Turban uprising centuries ago, rebel forces devoured one another in the same fashion. Small fish consumed larger fish, until Zhu Yuanzhang grew large enough to devour the Yuan dynasty itself."
Zhang Xianzhong's jaw hardened.
"Damn them."
At that moment, a scholar stepped forward from behind him. He wore the robes of a literatus, his bearing calm and measured. This was Pan Dugu, also known as Pan Du'ao, the newly appointed military adviser.
A xiucai from Yingcheng in Huguang, he had once contended with local gentry over land and, after losing the lawsuit, turned his resentment toward the court itself. For a rebel army, a scholar was treasure beyond gold. Zhang Xianzhong had wasted no time in elevating him.
And Pan Dugu had proven his worth. He lectured on Sun Wu's Art of War, supervised the crafting of three eyed fire guns and spiked maces, arranged ambush crossbows, and instructed the men in battalion formations and coordinated camp structures. Under his guidance, the Eight Great Kings' army had shed some of its former chaos.
He stepped forward and clasped his hands.
"Your Majesty, we must make plans without delay."
Zhang Xianzhong looked at him steadily.
"What do you propose?"
"North is closed to us," Pan Dugu said calmly. "As for the west, Chuang Wang recently suffered a crushing defeat in Sichuan. Over a hundred thousand men vanished like smoke. It is very likely that these same firelock troops drove him back. We cannot move west."
He paused only briefly before continuing.
"To the south lies the Yangtze River. In recent days, I have observed frequent ship movements along its waters. I cannot yet confirm whether they belong to the court or another force, but they move with purpose, as if tightening a blockade."
Zhang Xianzhong's eyes narrowed.
"So north, west, and south are all barred. That leaves the east."
Pan Dugu inclined his head.
"To our east stands Zuo Liangyu. And Zuo Liangyu is the easiest to bully."
Zhang Xianzhong considered the map in his mind. Compared to an organized firelock army, a conventional Ming commander who guarded his own turf might indeed be the softer target.
"This may work," he said slowly.
Zhai Tang nodded as well.
"There is reason in this."
Pan Dugu turned toward the merchant.
"Mr. Zhai, we are now insects tied to the same rope, surrounded by the Dao Xuan Tianzun Sect. If we do not wish to be devoured in turn, we must join forces."
Zhai Tang hesitated only a moment before answering.
"Very well."
"We provide the men," Pan Dugu said, his tone firm. "The Shanxi merchants provide the supplies. We commit everything we have, strike through the eastern route, and break out of this encirclement."
"Agreed."
…
Above Wuchang, a giant Kongming lantern drifted against the sky, its basket swaying gently in the wind. From that height, a scout peered down toward the rebel camp stationed ten li north of the city.
In earlier campaigns, rebel encampments had resembled unruly sprawl, tents scattered without order, fires smoking at random, men sleeping where they pleased. This time, the formation below displayed structure. Lines were straighter. Units were grouped with intention. Whoever had advised them had imposed discipline upon disorder.
The scout made a mental note to record the change and send the message down in a bamboo tube.
Then movement at the northern gate caught his eye.
A vast transport column was entering the camp, wagon after wagon stretching along the yellow official road like a dark ribbon stitched across the earth. Even from high above, its length was unmistakable.
He quickly raised his telescope and brought the distant scene into focus.
A flag fluttered above the lead carts.
The character read Zhai.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath. "The Shanxi merchants."
He guided the lens slowly along the convoy. Soon he spotted heavy cannons drawn by horses, their iron barrels glinting dully in the light. Behind them rolled carts stacked with barrels of gunpowder. More cannons followed. More powder. Piles of black iron cannonballs heaped high like clustered fruit.
The Shanxi merchants had committed fully this time, pouring wealth and steel alike into the rebel cause, as though wagering not merely profit, but survival itself.