"The Great Heavenly Master must be a deity!" the common folk exclaimed.
Yet they had no idea that the seemingly omnipotent figure they revered was currently nursing a headache. Fang Zhiyi glared at the row of men standing before him: "You’re all well-read, no doubt, but what I need are farmers—people who know how to till the land. Understand?"
After a long silence, a frail scholar timidly raised his hand. "Great Heavenly Master, my... my family works the fields."
"Good, you stay. The rest of you, scram!" Fang Zhiyi, lacking any semblance of an otherworldly sage’s dignity, shooed them away before dragging the scholar into a lengthy and vigorous lecture—punctuated by the young man’s yelps of "Aiyo!" and "Ouch!"
The next morning, the scholar emerged from the Great Heavenly Master’s study with a head full of bumps, yet his face glowed with excitement. Without a second thought, he hurried toward the city gates.
The guards, curious, craned their necks for a better look when Fang Zhiyi barked, "Send two men to watch him. If he loses so much as a hair, you’ll answer with your heads!"
The best time to establish order was during the birth of a new regime. Local tyrants who dared resist were swiftly beheaded.
Meanwhile, a series of policies benefiting the people were enacted. Soon, nearly every household in Liangzhou enshrined a tablet honoring Fang Zhiyi, the Great Heavenly Master.
The Taiping Army, too, faced reforms. This was the final era of the Great Sheng Dynasty—a time of warlord fragmentation and a crumbling court. No one would bother with a backwater like Liangzhou, so Fang Zhiyi had to move quickly.
To minimize casualties, he had initially led his forces under the banner of a religious armed group, invoking divine authority. But that approach was no longer viable. Fang Zhiyi began evaluating his troops, promoting skilled tacticians to command positions. He established a general staff, introducing the concept of war simulations to select strategists and unify command structures, preventing future disunity.
There was little resistance—his authority within the army was absolute, second only to the original eight hundred who had followed him from the start.
Next, Fang Zhiyi dispatched men to recruit craftsmen, equipping the Taiping Army with weapons and armor. Simultaneously, he implemented a "militia farming" system, ensuring the troops were fed while conducting regular drills.
As for provisions, Fang Zhiyi wasn’t overly concerned. He had already sent envoys with refined salt and sugar to neighboring Jizhou and Yongzhou, where the wealthy eagerly traded grain and silver for these luxuries. Even if they knew Liangzhou had changed hands, why should they care? The imperial court itself had abandoned them.
Cartloads of salt and sugar went out; cartloads of supplies rolled back, escorted by the Taiping Army—a smooth and profitable operation.
The Taiping Army’s training was unconventional. Instead of mere formations, they hunted bandits. Dozens of outlaw gangs had long plagued Liangzhou, living comfortably until this year. With the imperial troops gone, the Taiping Army took their place—scaling cliffs, storming hideouts, and shouting "The Heavenly Master protects us!" as they fought with reckless abandon. The bandits, utterly outmatched, fled deeper into the mountains. Eventually, many surrendered, only to be conscripted as guides for further raids against their former comrades.
Then, chaos erupted across the land. News arrived that Chu Chaofeng had risen in Yongzhou, while Prince Wu had declared himself in Jizhou. Fang Zhiyi narrowed his eyes.
It was time to act.
Yet even if he hadn’t set his sights on his neighbors, they had already taken notice—particularly of his lucrative salt and sugar trade. Prince Wu, frustrated by his inability to replicate the process, impulsively mustered his forces to crush the "Taiping rebels" of Liangzhou.
But the moment Prince Wu’s army crossed into Liangzhou, they were humiliated.
"Prince Wu, what are those men doing?" a strategist asked, shielding his eyes as he observed the Taiping soldiers standing under the blazing sun, each holding a torch but forming no battle lines.
"Aren’t they hot?" someone joked, sparking laughter.
Though uneasy, Prince Wu ordered the charge. To him, the Taiping Army was just a rabble of peasants—no match for his invincible Jizhou Wolf Cavalry.
"Light the fuses!" a voice roared.
BOOM!
The deafening blast sent charging horses rearing in panic. The battlefield was engulfed in fire and smoke.
"The Great Heavenly Master is truly divine!" a newly appointed magistrate cheered from the city walls, hopping with excitement. "So this is the cannon our idol invented? Incredible!"
Every face shone with exhilaration.
A single volley shattered Prince Wu’s ambitions. Before he could even issue orders, his men were already retreating. How could they fight an enemy that spat fire and summoned thunder?
But Prince Wu failed to grasp one thing: entering Liangzhou was easy; leaving would be a nightmare. For every thirty li his army retreated, the Taiping Army advanced thirty li. If he paused, they simply waited, indifferent—daring him to turn back, knowing another volley awaited.
After a second barrage, Prince Wu’s spirit broke.
Watching the Taiping Army haul their bizarre contraptions on horse-drawn carts behind him, Prince Wu realized he’d provoked a curse. Now, he could only pray his city walls could withstand their "sorcery." As for his soldiers—their faces etched with terror—none were willing to die fighting what they believed were demons.
Prince Wu soon discovered his error. The thunderous booms outside were followed by reports: the walls had collapsed.
Staring at the gaping breach, Prince Wu nearly wept. Across the ruins, he locked eyes with the distant Taiping Army, who made no move to advance—content to stand and watch.
"What do you want?!" Prince Wu screamed, his composure shattered. "We barely set foot in Liangzhou! Was this necessary?" In a fit of frustration, he scrawled a bitter letter and sent it to the Taiping camp.
The commander, Wang Erxi, had been briefed by Fang Zhiyi before departure: "Harass them when they tire, retreat when they advance, pursue when they flee." Though he hadn’t memorized much, "pursue when they flee" stuck.
After squinting at the letter, Wang Erxi tossed it aside. The Great Heavenly Master’s orders were clear: chase the fleeing enemy.
When Little Hei reported that Wang Erxi had chased Prince Wu deep into Jizhou, Fang Zhiyi spat out his drink.
"That Wang Erxi—what a character!"