The cheers in the capital had not even fully settled when Lu Xiangsheng was already moving again, because unlike everyone else, he still remembered something that the entire court had conveniently forgotten.
Dorgon was still out there.
Still alive.
Still inside North Zhili.
And more importantly, now trapped.
"I left Cao Wenzhao in Jinzhou," Lu Xiangsheng said while walking, his pace fast, his tone steady, already shifting into command mode, "which means Dorgon no longer has access to the Mongolian route. His only path of retreat is east, through Jinzhou."
He paused briefly, letting the logic settle.
"If we crush him here, we can drive him back step by step, force him toward Jinzhou, and then close the trap from both sides."
This was not just a battle plan.
This was containment.
This was execution.
Beside him, Cao Huachun nodded repeatedly, although his expression made it very clear that he understood approximately half of what was being said and was pretending the rest.
"I will leave everything to Minister Lu," he said, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel like something important was being revealed.
"Be careful of Gao Qiqian. That man is narrow-minded, and he is currently the one dealing with Dorgon."
Lu Xiangsheng did not even slow down.
"I am not interested in him," he replied, his tone flat, as if dismissing something that did not qualify as a problem.
And he meant it.
Because compared to what he had just experienced at Jinzhou, where reality itself had decided to stop following logic, dealing with a petty eunuch felt almost refreshingly straightforward.
He immediately sent messengers.
"To Yang Guozhu and Wang Pu," he ordered, "the Jurchens cannot launch a large-scale invasion anymore. Even if reinforcements come, they will be stopped at Jinzhou, assuming they come at all, which they likely will not. Begin coordinating immediately. We close the net on Dorgon."
The net was tightening.
Whether Dorgon knew it or not was a separate question.
And knowing the current state of reality, there was a non-zero chance that even if he did know, it would not help him.
Far away.
Sichuan. Chengdu.
If the north was tightening into a battlefield, then the southwest was expanding into something entirely different, something that did not look like war, yet carried consequences just as decisive.
The Xicheng railway was fully operational now.
Not just for vehicles.
For trains.
The once legendary Shu roads, said to be harder than climbing to heaven, had been turned into something almost casual, something that people could cross while sitting comfortably, watching mountains pass by like scenery instead of obstacles.
The Mingyue Gorge section had become a spectacle.
A destination.
People came not because they needed to travel, but because they wanted to see it.
Merchants from Shaanxi.
Wealthy families from Sichuan.
All of them boarding trains just to witness what they called a miracle.
A mountain cut open.
A path where none should exist.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun used immortal magic to open the mountain," someone would say, half joking, half believing.
They did not understand it.
That was the point.
Understanding was optional.
Awe was mandatory.
And with the railway came something else.
People.
A lot of people.
From Gao Village, the blue hats began to arrive in waves, bringing with them not just labor, but systems, methods, and an entirely different way of thinking about production.
Factories rose rapidly.
Fertilizer plants.
Textile mills.
Steel works.
Steam engine workshops.
What had once been a region defined by geography was now being redefined by industry.
At Dujiangyan, a group had gathered.
At the front stood Song Yingxing, the chief scientist of Gao Village, his expression calm, almost pleased, as he looked at the flowing water with the eyes of someone who was not seeing a river, but potential.
Behind him stood a group of researchers, along with two familiar figures.
Ji Menghan.
Mo Li.
Factory managers.
Electric light.
Electric fan.
Both of them specialists in using electricity.
Which was currently a problem.
Song Yingxing turned slightly, smiling.
"Your factories cannot scale here," he said, his tone relaxed but precise, "because Dao Xuan Tianzun has not provided solar panels in this region."
Ji Menghan nodded, a hint of regret in her expression.
Mo Li crossed his arms, equally dissatisfied.
They both understood the issue.
No power.
No production.
Simple.
"But that problem," Song Yingxing continued, his smile widening slightly, "is about to be solved."
Both of them looked up.
"How," Ji Menghan asked immediately, interest overriding everything else.
Song Yingxing pointed at the river.
"We generate our own electricity."
There was a brief silence.
Then Mo Li leaned forward slightly.
"You have figured out the method."
Song Yingxing shook his head.
"Not the celestial version," he said calmly, "I still do not understand those solar panels. But we do not need to copy everything perfectly to move forward."
He gestured to the researchers behind him.
"We already had electric motors, which convert electrical energy into motion. So the question was simple. Can we reverse it."
The researchers grinned.
"We found the answer in the texts left by Tianzun," one of them said, unable to hide his excitement, "and after testing, we confirmed that mechanical energy can indeed be converted into electrical energy."
Ji Menghan's eyes widened.
"So the steam engines…"
"Can generate electricity," Song Yingxing finished, nodding, "but not enough, and at the cost of burning large amounts of coal, which is inefficient at scale."
He turned back to the river.
"But this," he said softly, "this is continuous force."
Water flowed endlessly.
Reliable.
Unstoppable.
"If we use water flow to drive the system," he continued, "we can generate far more stable and larger amounts of energy, enough to support an entire city."
Understanding spread quickly.
"If this works," Mo Li said slowly, "then every major river becomes a power source."
Song Yingxing smiled.
"Exactly."
There was no hesitation after that.
Plans turned into action almost immediately.
Factories were constructed near Dujiangyan.
Generators.
Water control gates.
Systems designed to convert flow into motion, and motion into power.
At the same time, thermal power systems were also being developed as support.
Across multiple cities, generator factories began construction.
Everything moved smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Which was exactly why the problem, when it appeared, felt almost inevitable.
Early morning.
Outside Chengdu.
Inside the generator factory dormitory.
Ji Menghan and Mo Li were still asleep when the noise began.
At first it was distant.
Then louder.
Voices.
Shouting.
The unmistakable sound of conflict.
They both sat up almost at the same time, exchanging a quick glance.
Mo Li frowned.
"Someone is causing trouble," he said, confusion mixing with irritation, "it has been years since anyone dared to do that in a Gao Village factory."
Ji Menghan was already getting up.
"Let us see."
They moved quickly, heading toward the entrance.
What they saw made both of them stop.
Two groups.
Facing each other.
On one side, factory workers wearing yellow hats, tools in their hands, wrenches and screwdrivers held like improvised weapons, their expressions tense but unyielding.
On the other side, Ming soldiers in full armor.
Disciplined.
Armed.
And at the front.
A eunuch.
His posture carried authority, but his tone carried something else entirely.
Arrogance.
He pointed at the factory, his voice sharp, unnatural, as if he was used to being obeyed without question.
"Shut this place down," he said, each word deliberate, "immediately."
The air froze.
For a brief moment, no one spoke.
Ji Menghan stepped forward slowly, her gaze steady, her mind already racing through possibilities, because this was not random, and it was definitely not a misunderstanding.
Mo Li stood beside her, his expression darkening.
Because this.
This was not just interference.
This was power.
And it had just walked into their factory and demanded that reality stop working.