Chapter 11: Suppressing the Rebellion

The rubbing felt like a red-hot branding iron, making Fan Tong’s eyelids twitch uncontrollably.

Inside the commander’s tent, the oil lamp’s flame flickered under an invisible pressure of murderous intent, casting the silhouette of Commander-in-Chief Xu Da on the tent wall like a silent mountain ready to devour anyone it chose. Fan Tong had no doubt—if he uttered a single “no,” this mountain would instantly collapse upon him and grind him to pulp.

Rubbing his plump hands together, he forced out a grimace more pitiful than tears.

“Great Commander, you’re basically sending me to the underworld to take the imperial examination!” Fan Tong’s face was drawn and miserable, his fat piled in folds. “You ask me to flip a wok and I can make sparks fly; you ask me to chop people down and I don’t even bat an eye. But investigating a case… my brain is like overcooked lard—nothing but a nuisance! If you send me, won’t I just be sold out and still counting money for others with a smile on my face?”

Xu Da’s gaze was unwavering, cold as the north wind beyond the tent.

“I’m not sending you to investigate.”

Those words made Fan Tong’s heart leap violently.

Xu Da paced slowly, his voice resonating with the hardness of metal striking stone. “With Shanxi newly pacified, the foundation of our Ming dynasty there is thinner than a sheet of paper. Those Shanxi merchants are as rich as nations, cunning and all-seeing, secretly raising private militias and sworn death squads more numerous than some garrisons! If they stir trouble behind our lines now and cut off our supplies, this northern campaign will surely fail!”

Suddenly turning, his gaze sliced into Fan Tong like a blade.

“I have no spare troops to dispatch. The army’s movements must be subtle, or we risk alerting the snakes in the grass.”

“Only you, and your so-called ‘Firehead Troops’ that no one takes seriously, are suitable for this.”

Xu Da’s tone softened slightly, as if stating an undeniable fact.

“If you succeed, I guarantee you a commandery of a thousand households. If you fail,” he paused, “our tens of thousands will starve to death outside Qingyang City. And your little kitchen will be reduced to burning yellow paper.”

A commandery? Fan Tong’s eyes brightened for a moment. Did that mean he’d have his own independent camp? Eat well every day without needing to grovel before two commanders?

But the thought of scheming with those old foxes snuffed out his small hopes immediately.

This was a death mission. Either he uproots those Shanxi bastards’ den, or they all starve together.

Fan Tong gritted his teeth and stamped his foot, as if having just snatched the last precious pork rib.

“Consider it done!”

“Good!” Xu Da’s eyes flickered with a barely perceptible approval. He slammed down a sealed order with the commander’s stamp onto the table, the sound heavy and ominous. “I give you this order to mobilize all garrison troops within Shanxi. Remember,” Xu Da’s voice dropped low, each word dripping with menace, “you are not going to investigate.”

“You’re going to… suppress a rebellion!”

...

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in Datong Prefecture, Shanxi, the Cao family mansion.

“Crack!”

A fine Jun porcelain tea cup shattered violently.

“Fools!” The head of the Cao family, Cao Xun, spoke in a low voice more terrifying than a roar. “I told you, Xu Da is a sleeping tiger—you feed him but never provoke him! Who gave you the nerve to pull his whiskers?!”

He slowly scanned those present, his eyes devoid of anger, only cold calculation plotting damage control.

“To make a move was bad enough, but leaving behind the command token! Do you think he won’t find us?!”

“Brother Cao, could this be a trick?” a representative from the Wang family frowned. “The method was too crude.”

“Talking now is useless!” another interrupted anxiously. “The token is real, the laborers are ours! That madman Xu Da won’t listen to our excuses! He only trusts the blade in his hand!”

The words silenced everyone.

“We can’t just wait to be slaughtered!” Cao Xun’s eyes glinted viciously. Quickly regaining composure, he issued a series of orders.

“First, arm all private guards! Distribute everything in the armory!”

“Second, immediately send someone to Yingtian Prefecture—no matter the cost! We must suppress this at court!”

“Third, send the fastest riders to the northern deserts! Contact Lord Arutai! Tell him if he dispatches troops south to tie down the Ming main force, we will supply enough rations and ironware to fight ten years!”

One poisonous scheme after another spilled from his mouth, greed and madness overtaking the merchants gathered.

Since the mask was off, they might as well stab a hole in the sky.

...

A sleepless night.

The small space inside the tent was beaten down into a glossy path by Fan Tong’s two hundred and fifty pounds. Like a bear trapped in a snare, he was restless yet searching for the most lethal counterstrike.

Investigate a case? Nonsense! Sending him to play mind games with those old foxes was a joke—they had already crushed his face with their abacus beads, and he didn’t even know how much he’d lost!

At dawn, he finally stopped pacing.

He had realized the best way to deal with rats hiding in the gutters was not to catch them one by one with a small trap.

But to set their entire nest ablaze!

His mind raced with calculations. Most of Shanxi’s garrisons were loyal troops transferred from Beiping by the old commanders; the laborers recognized no local gentry, only military orders—these were knives he could use. But the local prefectural and county officials, constables, and wardens… ha, they were likely in cahoots with the Shanxi merchants and could not be trusted.

He flung open the tent flap; a biting morning wind swept in, instantly clearing his mind.

“Bao Nianfeng! Gather the toughest men and bring them here!”

Soon, Bao Nianfeng appeared with four heavily armored cooks donned in “Ogre Vanguard” gear, still smelling of blood, their eyes fierce like beasts.

“Boss, what’s up? Is it time to eat again?” one cook asked, rubbing his belly.

Fan Tong looked at them and revealed a grim smile.

“Eat! A feast!”

He licked his cracked lips, hunger shining in his eyes.

“We’re going to Datong Prefecture to ‘feast’ on them properly!”

He tossed the heavy order to Bao Nianfeng, his voice cold and clear:

“You, take two men, dress in the worst rags, pretend to be refugees. Carry this—this thing is more important than your lives! Rush eight hundred miles—if the horses die, run on foot! Even if the sky falls, you must reach the Datong garrison within three days!”

“Remember, don’t alert any local officials. Go straight to the garrison commander!”

Fan Tong leaned close to Bao Nianfeng and whispered so only they could hear:

“Tell that commander my name is Fan Tong. I’ve been sent by the Great Commander to invite all the wealthy families of the city to a banquet! Tell him to set the tables and lock the city gates—no flies are allowed out!”