With everything laid out so plainly, Wu Shen discovered that arguing any further would only make him look childish, so he simply clasped his hands with the solemn dignity of a man conceding defeat and said, "I only hope the situation in Sichuan can be resolved sooner rather than later."
San Shier let out a long, theatrical sigh, the kind of sigh that suggested he carried the fate of mountains and rivers on his shoulders. "Sichuan is no easy undertaking. The terrain twists like a coiled dragon, transport routes vanish into mist, and small factions sprout like bamboo shoots after rain. If we rush, we stumble. If we charge, we scatter them into the hills. We must advance step by step. It is called gradual progress."
Wu Shen blinked and tilted his head. "That is not an idiom."
San Shier paused, frowning as if rummaging through a mental dictionary that had clearly been poorly compiled. "Is it not? Then perhaps this is called misplaced attribution."
Wu Shen could not help laughing. "Get out. Just go now before you invent another proverb and embarrass us both."
Thus what ought to have been a touching farewell, something worthy of a poem about Peach Blossom Pool being a thousand feet deep yet still not matching Wang Lun's parting affection, somehow degenerated into Wu Shen physically shoving San Shier out the door while scolding him like a brother who had overstayed his welcome.
San Shier straightened his robe outside, dusted his sleeves with exaggerated dignity, and thought to himself that in this world even loyalty required correct timing, otherwise it merely became devotion cast into the wrong direction.
And so he set off toward Sichuan.
By now the railway line from Taiyuan in Shanxi to Gao Family Village was fully operational, iron rails gleaming beneath the sun like two drawn blades stretching across the land. San Shier boarded the train and felt once again that peculiar sensation of modern power rumbling beneath his feet, steam hissing, pistons pumping, human ingenuity roaring louder than any warhorse.
The train sped forward and soon arrived at Pingyang Prefecture.
The moment it came to a smooth halt, a neatly arranged column of militia soldiers began boarding in disciplined rows. Their boots struck the wooden floorboards in steady rhythm, and the carriage that had been filled with merchants and chatter instantly acquired the stern atmosphere of a moving barracks.
Wang Er stepped into the carriage last and sat down opposite San Shier with the composure of a man who had already weighed life and death and found both acceptable.
San Shier raised an eyebrow. "You are leading troops to suppress bandits?"
Wang Er nodded. "We have returned from serving the emperor in the capital and rested for several days. That is sufficient. I volunteered for the pacification campaign. Bai Mao now holds an official court post and cannot wander as he pleases. Serving the emperor in the capital was reasonable. Roaming the countryside for battle would not be. So he remains in Pingyang. I will lead the militia."
This time Wang Er brought five hundred soldiers, and this train was only the first. Over the next several days additional trains would depart, until two thousand five hundred men formed a complete Shanxi Independent Regiment rolling southward along iron rails instead of muddy roads.
San Shier asked, "Sichuan or Henan?"
"Henan," Wang Er replied without hesitation.
On their earlier route toward Sichuan, the Gao Family Village logistics team had passed through Wuchang and witnessed the devastation left by Zhang Xianzhong's forces. Li Daoxuan had personally intervened there and frightened a Prince of Chu to death, an event that rippled outward like a stone thrown into still water. Afterward, priorities shifted. Henan needed reinforcement.
Gao Family Village had already committed heavily to that province. Bai Yuan commanded a strong main regiment defending Luoyang, backed by several thousand veteran troops and more than ten thousand newly recruited Henan soldiers. Generals Cao Wenzhao and Gao Jie, though not officially of Gao Family Village, were assisting as well.
Yet even with such numbers, they could not fully stabilize the region. The rebels gathered and dispersed with frustrating agility, appearing in one county at dawn and vanishing into fields and hills by dusk. They refused decisive engagement and preferred to exhaust government forces through constant movement.
More reinforcements were necessary.
Wang Er intended to support operations near Wuchang and would escort San Shier for part of the journey.
The train thundered onward, cutting through Shanxi before returning briefly to Gao Family Village itself. It halted only a short while before an enormous quantity of goods began loading onto the cars.
San Shier and Wang Er watched as logistics soldiers carried crates, sacks, and bundles with disciplined efficiency. Then the sky above shimmered faintly.
A colossal golden hand descended from the heavens with unhurried grace, its movements gentle despite its scale. It picked up prepared cargo as if plucking sesame seeds from a table, lowering them carefully beside the train where soldiers could quickly load them aboard.
Wang Er's expression softened. "When it comes to developing technology or waging war, Dao Xuan Tianzun rarely intervenes directly. Yet when it concerns relief for the common people, he never hesitates to help."
San Shier nodded. "On one hand he wishes us to solve problems ourselves so that we do not grow dependent on divine strength. On the other, he cannot bear to see refugees suffer. He desires to save as many as possible. It is called boundless compassion."
Fully loaded with five hundred soldiers and mountains of supplies, the train departed again, heading toward Xi'an. There they transferred onto the West Han Railway, whose whistle echoed sharply as it sped toward Hanzhong.
San Shier gazed out the window at mountains rolling past and said thoughtfully, "Zhu Cunji may appear frivolous, yet the two railway lines he selected are crucial. The West Yan line allows rapid deployment to the northern frontier. The West Han line ensures swift supply into Sichuan. This outcome feels almost like fortunate coincidence."
Wang Er considered this and replied, "Perhaps not coincidence. A man raised within the imperial clan receives knowledge others do not. Even without deliberate strategy, his instincts may still guide him to the most critical routes."
Their discussion faded as the train arrived in Hanzhong.
On the platform stood Prince Rui, Zhu Changhao, once again planted before the ticket booth with the determination of a merchant guarding his accounts. "How many tickets have been sold today?" he demanded.
The station staff, long accustomed to a prince who monitored ticket revenue like a shopkeeper, answered dutifully, "Seventy eight taels of silver today."
"Only seventy eight?" Zhu Changhao frowned. "Yesterday at this hour it was eighty two. Business has declined."
The staff member forced a polite smile, silently wondering when a prince had begun measuring dignity in daily revenue fluctuations.
At that moment the train pulled in with a piercing whistle. Steam billowed as it came to a halt.
Zhu Changhao sprang up the locomotive steps with startling agility and addressed the driver before he could disembark. "How many tickets did Xi'an sell today?"
"Two hundred ninety taels," the driver replied calmly.
Zhu Changhao's face lit up. "Over two hundred? Excellent, excellent."
Then realization dawned.
The last time Xi'an reported such figures, it had been due to bulk cargo tickets. High revenue again likely meant the arrival of those immense relief shipments bound for Sichuan.
He turned and looked down the length of the train.
Uniformed logistics soldiers were already unloading goods in relentless succession. Basket after basket, crate after crate, poured onto the platform and were swiftly transferred to waiting wagons bound for the docks.
His gaze settled upon Zhuge Wangchan, who directed subordinates with crisp gestures and a commander's composure.
Soldiers possessed keen instincts. Zhuge Wangchan sensed scrutiny and lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
The air between them seemed to tighten, as though invisible sparks flickered across an unseen wire.
Zhu Changhao raised his voice defensively. "What do you want? I am not collecting your taxes today, so why are you staring? Do not come closer. I warn you."
He stepped backward while speaking and promptly collided with something solid.
Turning around, he found himself facing a broad chest clad in sturdy cloth armor. He slowly lifted his gaze.
A full beard framed a stern face. The man stood tall and unmoving, built like an iron tower planted firmly into the platform.
For a brief moment, Prince Rui felt as though he had backed into a city wall that had grown a pair of eyes and was now looking down at him with measured patience.