In ancient China, there was a saying about archers: "Facing the enemy, no more than three shots." This referred to the average performance of archers—from the moment the enemy began their charge until they entered a range where shooting was no longer viable, an archer could loose about three arrows. Wang Jingwei, who loved to read, had come across this. Back then, he had been extremely disdainful of it. In his view, an average of three shots was simply too poor. If one focused, surely they could shoot at least five or six arrows.

On this New Year's Eve, standing outside the walls of a wealthy household in rural Henan holding a musket, Wang Jingwei no longer held such thoughts. Theoretically, the muzzle-loading musket in his hand should be much more "advanced" than a bow and arrow. But in reality, it was far from it.

The pitch-black walls of the He Family Fort offered no aimable targets. The night completely concealed both sides. In this absolute darkness, reloading with gunpowder became extremely difficult. It was New Year's Eve, and the freezing air made Wang Jingwei's nose run uncontrollably. Yet, after firing just one shot, the gun barrel was still too hot to grip tightly. Gritting his teeth against the temperature, Wang Jingwei practically pressed his nose to the muzzle, holding the powder flask and pouring powder down the barrel.

No one dared to light a torch. In the dead of night, the only effect of holding a torch would be to become a target for the shooters on the wall. It was cold, hands were frozen stiff, and in this blind darkness, Wang Jingwei wasn't even sure how much powder he had poured in. Overloading a muzzle-loader could cause the barrel to explode. Wang Jingwei's heart beat like a drum, hoping his usual practice would serve him now.

After this volley of musket fire from the outside, the people inside the He Family Fort realized that Bai Lang and his men were truly attacking the village. The courtyard inside fell into chaos. Screams and shrieks could be heard clearly outside the walls. Amidst the cacophony, Wang Jingwei heard one sentence clearly: "Get on the wall! Fifty cash for every shot fired!"

"Retreat! Retreat!" Wang Jingwei shouted loudly. If the other side really got on the wall and fired blindly downwards from their high vantage point, it would be up to heaven's will whether any of the brothers outside got hit. If they were hacking at each other face-to-face with real swords and spears, no one would be afraid—at worst, it was death, as long as one died knowing how. But in this pitch darkness, god knew when one might be hit by a bullet. The fear of the unknown was far more terrifying than the known.

The order was actually superfluous. It wasn't just Wang Jingwei who heard the shout; the other brothers heard it clearly too. Being more attuned to the local dialect, their reaction was even faster than Wang Jingwei's. They didn't care if they had finished loading or how much powder they had put in. Before Wang Jingwei even gave the order, the group had already taken to their heels, scattering in several directions.

Wang Jingwei suppressed his own fear and shouted, "This way!" He also wanted to get out of the wall's firing range as quickly as possible. Shooting at others was one thing; waiting in the dark to be shot by others was another matter entirely. These brothers hadn't received any professional training. As soon as retreat was mentioned, they instinctively ran towards wherever they felt was safe. To keep them from running wild, one would probably have to tie them together with rope. However, these men had been selected after all. Since no shots had been fired from the wall yet, when Wang Jingwei shouted, the crowd followed him, dragging their muskets.

Bai Lang's order was for this group of musket-wielders to fire at least five volleys. The first volley was done. The second was interrupted halfway. Wang Jingwei saw a decent-sized house not far to the right and decided to set up their staging area there. He led the brothers around to the back of the house and tried to open the broken wooden door in the earthen wall. "Get in the house!" Wang Jingwei shouted.

Two brothers skillfully went to the door, whispered "One, two, three," and then kicked the door together. This was a method Wang Jingwei had taught them. When working together without a common signal, if they used conversation to communicate, they could talk forever. If the two spoke different dialects, like a Henan native and a Guangdong native, communication would be difficult even with language. Staring at each other would be useless. So Wang Jingwei taught these basic techniques to the brothers under Bai Lang's command.

No nonsense, no chatter. With a simple "One, two, three," they kicked the door together. Wang Jingwei was quite satisfied with the "work results" before him. When two strong young men kicked a door simultaneously, any door bar should break. But in reality, the two young men's kick had absolutely no effect. The wooden door only made a sound but didn't open. Instead, the recoil sent the two kickers stumbling back, and they both fell on their butts.

Although the situation was tense, some were stunned by this accident, while others were amused by the comical sight.

"Motherfucker, the people inside blocked the door!" The young man who fell heard someone snicker and started cursing before he even got up.

Wang Jingwei had intended to set up a position inside this house, load the guns inside, and then lead the team out to shoot. He hadn't expected the owner to block the door when no one was looking. Trying to persuade the owner to open the door now would waste too much time.

"Guard the windows," Wang Jingwei shouted. He took out matches and unhooked a glass hurricane lantern from his waist. These were products sold nationwide by the People's Party. The glass lanterns were relatively expensive and still rare among common households, but matches were a daily necessity. The People's Party's matches were cheap. Matches were commonly called "Foreign Fire" (Yanghuo), but the "Foreign Fire" market in the entire Henan province was no longer "foreign." What was sold were the domestic matches of the People's Party. Because he had planned to assassinate Chen Ke, Wang Jingwei always felt a pang of awkwardness whenever he used something related to the People's Party. But in today's China, unless one completely abstained from industrial products, one simply couldn't avoid the existence of the People's Party.

The lantern used candles, which were also People's Party products. The People's Party's candles were sold all along the Beijing-Guangzhou railway. Even after being transported so far, the price was still cheaper than local candles, and the quality was much better. The wicks of the People's Party candles were thin and burned away to ash automatically, unlike local candles where the wicks were thick and needed to be trimmed periodically. And although the candles were thin, they were durable and brighter than local ones. Using these goods from the People's Party base area in such large quantities made Wang Jingwei very uncomfortable.

No matter how uncomfortable he felt internally, once the candlelight lit up, everyone immediately felt much better. They gathered around the light and began to methodically load powder and lead shot. "Hurry! Hurry!" Wang Jingwei urged repeatedly. As soon as the loading was done, Wang Jingwei immediately blew out the candle inside the glass cover. He left three men to guard the door and protect the lantern.

The group of brothers fumbled their way back to the main gate of the He Family Fort in the darkness. The smell of gunpowder from a moment ago hadn't dissipated yet. Smelling this scent, Wang Jingwei felt a jolt of spirit, though his snot continued to flow uncontrollably. Ignoring the salty taste at the corner of his mouth, Wang Jingwei shouted, "Fire!"

Accompanied by muffled thuds, the muskets began to spew flames towards the wall.

With a base and previous experience, after the second volley, the musket team immediately retreated behind the house, lit the lamp, and reloaded. Extinguished the lamp, then went back to fire. The wall defenders also returned fire as a demonstration, but in this pitch darkness, it was purely for show. In Wang Jingwei's view, this demonstration was worse than none at all. There were over twenty men with Wang Jingwei; the sound was loud, and the momentum was strong. After their volley, there would always be screams from the courtyard. There were only three or four people firing from the wall; it wasn't a firefight on the same level.

However, this mood didn't last long. The number of people firing from the wall slowly increased, growing from the original three or four to over a dozen. Amidst the *boom-boom* of the muskets, the sharp *crack-crack* of rifles was interspersed. Since the other side was using rifles, it meant their equipment wasn't bad. It seemed the people in the He Family Fort had moved their main force to the wall.

With the enemy's fierce firepower, injuries became inevitable. Wang Jingwei and the brothers he led ran back and forth between the starting point and the firing position. The intense physical activity surged their hot blood, even dispelling their initial fear. But as screams rang out and brothers were hit, this sharp spirit immediately faded. Muskets couldn't fire continuously; after one shot, they had to run back to the starting position to reload. Fortunately, the injured brothers didn't have fatal wounds and didn't need carrying. "Fuck your mother!" One cursed loudly as he retreated with the main group.

Wang Jingwei suddenly remembered the earlier agreement of five volleys. Amidst the gunfire from the He Family Fort wall, he asked, panting slightly, "How many shots have we fired?"

"Must be at least seven or eight, right?" the brothers beside him answered.

"Seven or eight? Has the Big Head sent anyone to say anything?" Wang Jingwei realized he had been so busy he was dizzy and had actually forgotten the prior agreement.

"Yeah, Big Brother Bai told us to fire five shots. We've done seven or eight," other brothers chimed in.

"Shall we wait then?" someone suggested.

"This gun barrel is going to burn someone to death. Let's wait for the barrels to cool down," another suggested, considering weapon maintenance.

"Then let's wait," Wang Jingwei agreed with the brothers' opinion.

When they were firing earlier, no one came to manage them. Now, at the moment of intense exchange of fire, Wang Jingwei and the others hadn't rested for long when someone ran over. It was too dark to see clearly who it was, but the newcomer shouted, "Hurry up and go fire!"

The brothers were unhappy upon hearing this. Ignoring who it was, someone immediately said, "We've fired a good many rounds. Even if we don't rest, these gun barrels need to cool down."

The newcomer was obviously angered by this. "How long has it been cooling? Even red-hot iron would be cold by now, right? Hurry up."

The crowd heard that this person meant to force everyone to brave the concentrated fire from the wall to go shoot. Who would be willing to do that? "Who are you?" someone immediately asked.

"Who are you?!" The newcomer became even more annoyed.

Wang Jingwei had already recognized the voice. It was Ding Wansong, the second-in-command in the current group. Ding Wansong had come to join Bai Lang with his own team. Wang Jingwei didn't want a conflict, so he quickly said, "It's Big Brother Ding Wansong, isn't it?"

"It is me," Ding Wansong said grumpily.

The brothers following Wang Jingwei were all Bai Lang's men; they didn't really acknowledge Ding Wansong. With the firepower from the wall so fierce now, someone immediately challenged, "Why don't you go fight!"

Although Ding Wansong's face couldn't be seen clearly in the night, Wang Jingwei knew things were going wrong. If it were Bai Lang ordering these brothers to exchange fire with the people on the wall, everyone would have to listen regardless of what they thought. Or if Wang Jingwei and the brothers charged to the front to fire together—since he was leading the team, if he took the lead, probably more than half would follow him.

But Ding Wansong was neither their direct leader nor had he gone through life and death with them. For him to jump out like this and order everyone to go fire, people certainly wouldn't accept it. However, Ding Wansong's status wasn't low. To come personally and get snapped at like this—he certainly wouldn't be able to save face. If this continued, things were going to go wrong.