Down at the small side gate of Dry-Well Town’s north wall, Abacus Su didn’t walk down the stairs—he slid down the smooth stone banister like a boy on an ice slide, sprinted into the bright red [Dry-Well Municipal Emergency Comfort Station] ticket booth, threw open the wooden window shutter, and banged a brass gong three times!
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Raising a fused [Loudspeaker Conch Shell] to his mouth, Abacus Su pushed his round spectacles up his nose and spoke in a crisp, professional voice that boomed across all two miles of the northern valley:
“Attention all three thousand illegally parked travelers in the North Valley! This is the Dry-Well Town Municipal Sanitation & Debtor Registration Office! According to Master Sun Baolu’s alchemical pocket watch, your large intestines have approximately five seconds before total structural failure occurs inside your laced iron trousers!”
Out in the glue belt, three thousand bearded faces turned paler than snow.
GUUUUUUUURGLE—CRAAAACKLE!
Inside Vanguard Captain Ma’s belly, a second, even stronger wave of Thunder-Belly Spasm slammed against his desperate Rank 2 Peak internal defense! Sweat poured off his chin like rain, and his voice cracked into a high-pitched wail:
“Five seconds?! Merciful Accountant! Bodhisattva Su! Don’t talk anymore—bring the contracts out here right now! If I don’t get out of these stirrups in three seconds, my ancestors’ name will be ruined forever!”
“Listen carefully to the three-step registration procedure!” Abacus Su barked into the conch megaphone as he waved his hand.
Instantly, the side gate swung wide open, and two hundred nimble Dry-Well Town logistics clerks trotted out along the solid stone walkways bordering both sides of the valley road. Half of the clerks carried wooden clipboards stacked with pre-printed [60-Day Municipal Debtor & Horse-Forfeiture Contracts] and trays of bright red thumbprint mud; the other half carried long, high-pressure leather hoses connected to fifty mobile wooden water-carts filled with warm, vinegar-scented Sweet-Spring water!
“Step One!” Abacus Su announced over the loudspeaker. “State your name and press your right thumbprint onto the official Debtor Contract, voluntarily transferring ownership of one warhorse, one suit of scale armor, and all weapons to Dry-Well Town in exchange for sixty days of paid road-paving and mining education!”
“Step Two: Our hose operators will spray your boots, gauntlets, and armor with warm Sweet-Spring Vinegar-Water, dissolving the road glue in one second flat!”
“Step Three: Pick up one yellow Debtor Vest and one complimentary roll of Extra-Soft Bamboo-Pulp Toilet Paper at the red turnstile, and walk—do not push or trample!—into the two hundred heated stone comfort stations! As soon as you finish and wash your hands at the soap taps, two free bowls of Old Guo’s Warm Millet-Ginger Antidote Porridge will be waiting for you at the exit!”
Never in the five-hundred-year history of the Great Yan Kingdom had a defeated army fought so hard to surrender!
“Clerk! Over here to the First Wedge!” Vanguard Captain Ma screamed, leaning sideways out of his saddle with his left cheek still glued to his shoulder-pad and slamming his right thumb into the clerk’s red ink tray and down onto the parchment contract with enough Rank 2 strength to crack the wooden clipboard underneath! “I’m Captain Ma! I signed! My horse is yours! My saber is yours! Now spray my boots and my face! HURRY!”
“Wait—spray me at the same time!” Squad Leader Big Liu, glued flat on his belly right underneath Captain Ma’s horse, howled as he stretched one ink-stained thumb up to touch his own contract sheet. “If you unglue Captain Ma’s pants before you unglue my back, I’m still in the splash zone!”
PSSSHHHHHHHHHHH!
Two logistics workers squeezed the brass nozzles of their high-pressure leather hoses, spraying a warm, pleasant-smelling mist of Sweet-Spring vinegar-water over Captain Ma’s stirrups, his shoulder-pad, Big Liu’s armor, and the four hooves of the warhorse above them.
Like snow melting under boiling water, the five-thousand-pound molecular grip of the fused tar-sand dissolved into harmless, non-sticky water in less than a second!
Captain Ma didn’t walk—he launched himself out of the saddle like an arrow leaving a bowstring, his hands already tearing at the leather laces of his iron scale pants as he sprinted across the stone walkway toward the red turnstile!
Right on his heels sprinted Squad Leader Big Liu, running so fast his boots looked like spinning wheels!
At the red turnstile booth, fifteen-year-old Hong Ling stood behind a counter stacked with fluffy white rolls of fused bamboo toilet paper and neatly folded yellow Debtor Vests, stamping entry tickets with a wooden seal:
THUMP! THUMP!
“Debtor #1, Captain Ma—Stall Number One on the left! Debtor #2, Big Liu—Stall Number Two! Remember municipal rule number three: flush the water lever when you’re done and wash your hands with salt-soap at the sink outside, or Abacus Su will deduct one meat bun from your dinner!”
“Thank you, Fairy Maiden! May you live ten thousand years!”
Captain Ma grabbed his roll of soft bamboo paper, burst through the door of Whitewashed Stone Outhouse Number One, slammed the wooden bolt shut, and dropped onto the smooth, warm stone seat with zero point two seconds to spare!
One heartbeat later—
Inside Outhouse Number One, a long, trembling, tearful sigh of pure human bliss echoed up through the roof vent:
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... I’m alive... My reputation is saved...”
After ten seconds of sheer relief, Captain Ma blinked his clearing eyes and looked around the inside of the little stone room in amazement.
Back at Black-Wind Fortress in the mountains, the bandit latrines were disgusting open mud trenches crawling with flies in the summer and frozen into jagged ice-spikes in the winter, smelling so bad that men had to tie cloth over their noses just to walk past them.
Yet this Municipal Comfort Station in Dry-Well Town was built of spotless whitewashed stone bricks! Underneath the seat ran a continuous rushing stream of clear canal water that swept everything away instantly into a sealed underground pipe without leaving the slightest odor! Even more magically, because a branch of Ao Ming’s red-copper dragon-heating pipe ran right beneath the tiled floor, the stone room was a cozy seventy-five degrees, a fragrant cake of pine-scented salt-soap sat in a little niche on the wall, and the roll of fused bamboo-pulp paper in his hand was softer than the silk robes worn by noble ladies in the capital!
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!
Outside the door of Stall Number One, five desperate bandits who had just sprinted through the turnstile banged frantically on the wooden door:
“Captain Ma! We heard you sighing in there! If you’re done, come out in three seconds or we’re taking the roof tiles off! There are two thousand eight hundred brothers still clenching their butts in the line behind us!”
“Coming! I’m coming!”
Across the two-mile valley, a scene that would be talked about in desert taverns for the next hundred years played out in perfect, polite order:
Without a single Dry-Well Town soldier needing to raise a spear or shout a threat, all three thousand Black-Wind Heavy Riders eagerly pressed their red thumbprints onto the 60-Day Debtor Contracts, thanked the hose workers profusely as their boots were unglued, slipped on their bright yellow “Dry-Well Municipal Debtor” vests, and jogged in four neat, fast-moving queues through the two hundred flushing comfort stations!
Because there were two hundred stalls with instant running-water flush channels, two hundred bandits cycled through every ninety seconds—meaning that within twenty-two minutes, all three thousand desperate men had been saved from social death!
Meanwhile, out on the valley road, General Tie Zhan, Chief Hulun, and five hundred Frost-Mane barbarian horsemen (who were born horse-masters from the northern grasslands) walked down the twelve rows of immobilized warhorses with warm vinegar-water hoses.
As soon as the glue around their iron horseshoes dissolved, the three thousand Rank 1 Desert Warhorses lifted their hooves without a single sprain, scratch, or lost horseshoe!
Even better, when Chief Hulun’s herdsmen led the three thousand warhorses into Dry-Well Town’s newly expanded northern pastures and poured buckets of cool [Sweet-Spring Spirit Well Water] and chopped [Golden-Blood Wheat Hay] into the stone troughs, the warhorses neighed in delight—instantly becoming tamer and more energetic than they had ever been at Black-Wind Fortress!
And when Old Wei unbuckled the heavy leather saddlebags hanging from Bandit King Hei Feng’s nine-foot Ferghana Blood-Stallion, he pulled out five locked iron boxes stamped with the inner-courtyard seal of the Iron-Wolf Marquisate!
CLACK!
Old Wei sliced the iron padlocks open with his Rank 2 Peak saber and lifted the lids, revealing rows of gleaming fifty-tael official silver ingots and neatly stacked military requisitions!
“Fifty thousand silver taels in cash, three thousand warhorses, three thousand suits of armor, and fifty four-horse wagons!” Abacus Su hugged the five iron silver-boxes so tightly his spectacles fogged up. “My Lord! We spent zero copper coins of silver on this battle, and your stepmother just funded our entire spring construction budget!”
Over by the exit plaza of the two hundred comfort stations, an even warmer transformation was taking place.
As the three thousand newly registered debtors walked out of the toilets and washed their hands with fragrant pine-salt soap at the running water troughs, they followed the savory aroma of roasted meat and ginger straight to Old Guo’s ten giant cauldrons.
“Line up by squad! Two big bowls of Warm Millet-Ginger & Meat-Potato Antidote Porridge and two buttered Golden-Blood Wheat buns for every man!” Old Guo bellowed cheerfully, ladling out steaming bowls of thick golden millet porridge packed with chunks of roasted lamb-flavored Meat-Potato.
A nineteen-year-old bandit rider named Xiao Hu—whose face was still pale and weak from the chili tears and stomach spasms—accepted a huge wooden bowl and two golden wheat buns with trembling hands.
Sitting down on a clean wooden bench under a willow tree, Xiao Hu took one big spoonful of the hot porridge.
The moment the warm golden millet and Sweet-Spring ginger broth slid down his throat, a gentle, soothing herbal warmth spread across his stomach. Within three seconds, the lingering rumble in his belly vanished completely, his stinging eyes turned cool and clear, and the rich meat-and-wheat energy filled his hungry limbs with more strength than he had felt in years!
Xiao Hu stared down into his bowl—where five big chunks of tender Meat-Potato and minced snow-lamb floated in thick golden millet oil—and suddenly, real tears (not chili tears) dripped into his bowl.
“Little Hu, why are you crying now? The chili gas already wore off!” Vanguard Captain Ma, sitting beside him in his yellow Debtor Vest while devouring his second bun, asked in surprise.
“Captain Ma...” nineteen-year-old Xiao Hu wiped his eyes with his sleeve, his voice choking up. “My father is an iron-smelter locked up in Pit Number Two at Black-Wind Fortress, and my mother washes clothes for Hei Feng’s guards. For three years, I rode in the Black-Wind Cavalry because Hei Feng threatened to starve my parents if I didn’t fight... Yet back at Black-Wind Fortress, even before a battle, ordinary soldiers like us only got two dry bran cakes and sour water! Here, we came to attack Lord Pei’s town, and after capturing us without hurting a hair on our heads, Lord Pei feeds us white wheat buns, thick meat porridge, and gives us clean clothes!”
Around the long rows of wooden benches, over two thousand young riders stopped chewing and looked down at their bowls in silence.
“Xiao Hu is right,” a scarred thirty-year-old rider from the Fifth Wedge said husky-voiced, looking up at Abacus Su’s giant Work-Point & Red-Flower Board standing beside the porridge stall. “Half of us came from Sand-Ridge Oasis and Bitter-Well Oasis after Fatty Qian and Rat-Face Sun raised the water tax and seized our sheep, and the other half have wives and parents held hostage in the mines at Black-Wind Fortress! Look at Clause Four on Lord Pei’s Debtor Contract board—”
He pointed his chopsticks at the big black letters painted on the board:
> [ CLAUSE 4: FAMILY REUNIFICATION & CITIZENSHIP GUARANTEE ] > * Any debtor whose parents, wife, or children are currently trapped in Black-Wind Fortress or the Three Oasis Towns may register their family names with Bookkeeper Su today! > * Tonight, Lord Pei will personally bring all debtor families safely to Dry-Well Town, grant them Immediate Full Citizenship (Zero Debt), assign each family a Heated Stone Courtyard House, and enroll all children in the Free Town School with two free eggs and meat porridge every day!
BOOM!
When that clause was read aloud, two thousand five hundred former Black-Wind riders jumped up from their benches at the exact same time!
“Is that true, Captain Ma?! Does the board really say our parents and children get free heated stone houses and zero debt tonight?!”
“It’s stamped with Lord Pei’s official red seal!” Vanguard Captain Ma stood up, his chest heaving with emotion as he turned toward the north gate tower where Pei Xuan was walking down the stone stairs, and dropped straight to one knee on the flagstones!
“Lord Pei!” Captain Ma roared at the top of his lungs. “Previously, we rode for Hei Feng because our families were trapped in Black-Wind Fortress and the Three Oasis Towns! If Your Lordship really rescues our parents and children from those greedy oasis lords tonight, this humble Ma and all my brothers don’t just want to work here for sixty days—we swear to guard Dry-Well Town’s roads and mine your iron for the rest of our lives!”
“We swear to follow Lord Pei for the rest of our lives!”
Two thousand six hundred riders dropped to one knee behind Captain Ma, their voices shaking the leaves on the willow trees!
Inside Pei Xuan’s vision, a blinding golden cascade of RTS notifications flooded his screen as thousands of Loyalty bars turned from yellow to bright green all at once:
Over eighty thousand new Loyalty Points per day added from a single battle—without a single soldier wounded on either side!
Wait—just as Pei Xuan smiled and raised his hand to tell Captain Ma and the riders to rise and finish their porridge, a loud groan echoed from the pile of collapsed mud-brick rubble three hundred yards away by the quarantine ditch!
RUMBLE—CRASH!
Two big hairy feet in torn gray wool socks kicked a broken roof beam aside, and the seven-foot-tall Black-Wind Bandit King, Hei Feng, crawled out of the ruins of Old Shed Number Three, spitting mud out of his mouth and holding his three cracked ribs!
“Pei... Pei Xuan!” Hei Feng roared weakly, glaring around with dust-covered eyes before he realized what had happened. “Even if three of you ganged up on this king... a true Rank 3 Peak Grandmaster prefers death to humiliation! You can chop my head off right now, because I will NEVER put on one of those yellow—”
GUUUUUUUUUUUURGLE—BLOOOOOOORP!!
Right in the middle of Hei Feng’s heroic speech, the delayed dose of Twelve-Fold Compressed Thunder-Belly Laxative that he had inhaled when he shouted in the valley finally broke through his weakened Rank 3 Peak Internal Qi!
Hei Feng’s fierce speech cut off as if someone had pinched a rooster’s neck.
His seven-foot body bent double like a cooked prawn, both of his scarred hands flew down to clamp over his armored backside, and cold sweat washed two clean tracks through the mud on his face!
“Wait... wait a second...” Hei Feng’s voice dropped from a warlord’s bellow to a trembling, desperate squeak as he saw Abacus Su walking leisurely toward him holding a clipboard, a red ink pad, an extra-large yellow “Debtor #3,001” vest, and a single roll of soft white bamboo toilet paper. “That... that bookkeeper with the four eyes! Bring that red ink pad over here right now! Where do I press my thumb?!”
“Right here on the bottom line, Prisoner #3,001,” Abacus Su said calmly, holding out the clipboard just out of reach until Hei Feng hopped forward on both feet with his knees squeezed tight together. “Because you are a Rank 3 Peak Grandmaster who broke three old sheds and one pair of iron stirrups, your sentence is ninety days as Senior Quarry Hammer in Iron Mine Number One. Press your thumb here, put on your yellow vest, and Stall Number Two Hundred is right behind you!”
SMACK!
The terrifying Black-Wind Bandit King didn’t hesitate for half a blink—he slammed his giant thumb onto the red ink pad, stamped the contract, snatched the roll of bamboo toilet paper out of Abacus Su’s hand like a starving man grabbing gold, pulled the extra-large yellow Debtor Vest over his head as he ran, and dove headfirst into Whitewashed Outhouse Number Two Hundred!
Three thousand former Black-Wind riders watching from the porridge tables burst into a roar of laughter so loud it nearly blew the hats off their heads.
Pei Xuan laughed along with them, checking the sky as the afternoon sun began to dip toward the west.
“General Tie, Chief Hulun, Captain Ma, Master Sun, Old Guo!” Pei Xuan called out, his voice ringing with energy. “Pick five hundred of the happiest, fullest-bellied riders whose families live in the Three Oasis Towns and Black-Wind Fortress! Load up thirty Armored Scorpion Buses, ten vats of Master Sun’s high-pressure lamb stew, and our Mobile Night-Market & Portable Dragon-Steam Bathhouse Fleet! We’re driving north right now so everyone can eat dinner with their families inside Black-Wind Fortress tonight!”