As Zhu Yujian arrived in Tianjin as the first force advancing toward the capital, the various armies of the Shared Governance faction began moving in succession, no longer scattered rumors but converging realities, advancing from three directions, east, south, and west, forming a tightening ring around the Imperial Capital with a quiet inevitability that felt less like chaos and more like execution of a plan long prepared.
Baoding, located in Hebei and barely two hundred li from the capital, stood as what should have been the final defensive barrier, a position that in any ordinary time would have been fiercely contested, yet in this moment of uncertainty revealed something far more telling about the state of the empire.
The defenders had already fled.
The wealthy gentry had already fled.
Even the officials who once spoke of loyalty with practiced confidence had vanished so thoroughly that their absence felt almost deliberate, leaving behind an entire city filled with unarmed civilians who had neither the means nor the authority to decide their own fate, and who now trembled at the mere rumor that the "rebels" were approaching.
"What are we supposed to do now?"
"Where can we even go?"
"When the Jurchens came, we could still hide behind the city walls, but this time even the soldiers have run away, so what exactly are these walls supposed to protect?"
One man cursed loudly, his confusion turning into anger.
"When the Jurchens attacked, the garrison did not run, so why did they run this time?"
The question, crude as it sounded, exposed a deeper truth that few were willing to articulate, because the Jurchens had always been regarded as a persistent but ultimately survivable threat, something irritating enough to demand resistance but not terrifying enough to destroy confidence in the future, which allowed soldiers to defend the city with a sense of purpose and allowed officials to speak of honor without feeling foolish.
This time, however, the situation carried a different weight, as the actions of the Shared Governance faction no longer resembled a passing disturbance but instead suggested something far more dangerous, something that aimed not at the borders but at the very head of the court itself.
Under such circumstances, the idea of defending the city out of loyalty quickly lost its appeal, and survival became the only logic that mattered, which explained why even a major city like Baoding now stood without defenders.
The people, left to themselves, struggled to make sense of it.
"Should we all run to the capital?" someone suggested, clinging to the possibility that proximity to power might still offer safety.
"It is more than two hundred li," another replied, shaking his head, "we will die on the road before we arrive."
"Then we die here if we stay," came the response, sharper now, driven by fear rather than reason, "if the rebels come, we will all die anyway."
The discussion spiraled without resolution, circling between bad options and worse outcomes, until a voice suddenly rose above the noise, calm and steady in a way that immediately drew attention.
"Everyone, do not be afraid, and there is no need to run," the voice called out, carrying across the street, "just live as you always do."
The crowd turned toward the source, where a man wearing a blue cap walked through the streets holding a crude iron loudspeaker, calling out as he moved.
It was the manager of the fertilizer factory.
In Baoding, he was a well-known figure, as the factory itself had been established by a wealthy local gentry family who had spent heavily to recruit him from the capital, specifically from Liang Shixian's circle, and when he first arrived, he had demonstrated an almost unsettling level of efficiency and dedication, completing the factory construction at remarkable speed.
However, the gentry soon discovered that his loyalty had limits.
When they attempted to leverage their influence at court to request exemption from value-added tax, the manager immediately resigned, vanished for five days, and left the entire operation in limbo, forcing the gentry to withdraw their request in panic, after which he returned as if nothing had happened and resumed work without explanation.
From that moment onward, the people of Baoding understood that this was not a man who could be easily controlled.
At the same time, his conduct toward the workers earned him genuine respect, as he treated them fairly, advocated for their wages, and helped resolve their personal difficulties, making him not only influential but trusted.
Now, with every other authority figure gone, he had, by default, become the most reliable presence in the city.
So when he spoke, people listened.
"Manager, you are not lying to us, are you?" someone in the crowd asked, unable to hide his anxiety.
The manager smiled lightly.
"Why would I lie?" he replied, his tone calm and almost casual, "I am still here, and if I were afraid, I would have left before all of you."
That simple statement carried more weight than any official reassurance, because it rested on visible reality rather than empty promises.
He raised the loudspeaker again.
"Very well, since things have come this far, I will stop pretending," he said, pausing briefly as the crowd quieted, "I am part of the Shared Governance faction."
The words caused a moment of shock, but he continued without hesitation.
"The people in our faction are just like me," he said, "the way I treat the workers is the way our army will treat all of you."
Before doubt could take hold, the factory workers stepped forward.
"The manager treats us very well."
"He never uses his position to bully us."
"He fights for our wages."
"He is a good man."
Their voices overlapped, reinforcing one another, and as their confidence spread, it began to influence the rest of the crowd, moving from person to person until the entire city seemed to shift ever so slightly away from panic.
"If they are all like him," someone said quietly, "then perhaps there is nothing to fear."
The idea spread quickly through the streets, carried along the simple layout of the city until it reached every corner.
"Open the gates," the manager said calmly, "there is no need for pointless resistance, so let us wait for them peacefully."
After a brief hesitation, the decision was made.
The gates were opened.
The people waited, uneasy but no longer frantic.
Before long, the Shanxi army appeared, and at its front rode Chen Qianhu, whose imposing and rather unfortunate appearance immediately unsettled the fragile calm, as fear surged back the moment the people laid eyes on him.
"Ah, we are finished."
"That must be their leader."
"He looks like he eats people."
"We are doomed."
"Maybe we should have run to the capital after all."
The city seemed to tremble under the weight of its own imagination, yet Chen Qianhu himself did not advance immediately, as he had already come to understand that winning people over required more than small gestures, and that true persuasion demanded something deeper, something that could reach beyond reason.
With a practiced motion, he raised a loudspeaker, and before anyone could guess his intention, a band emerged behind him, instruments rising as music began to flow, soft yet resonant, filling the air with an unexpected warmth.
Then, with surprising sincerity, Chen Qianhu began to sing.
"Every night, in the wilderness of dreams…"
Behind him, thousands of soldiers joined in, their voices merging into a single chorus that rolled toward the city like a tide.
"I am a proud giant."
The people of Baoding stood frozen, unable to reconcile what they were witnessing with anything they understood about war.
On the city wall, the blue-cap manager seized the moment, leaping up and shouting down at the crowd with perfect timing.
"He may be ugly, but he is a good man," he called out, his voice carrying clearly, "and tell me, among those smiling officials who ran away, how many of them were actually good?"