A resurgence of the late Ming Dynasty, starting with a trillion-dollar clone.

The rain at the end of April in the ninth year of Chongzhen (1636) was unusually heavy.

It wasn't the gentle moisture of spring rain, but the fury of summer rain, crashing onto the parched earth and splashing up a muddy, fishy smell.

The people of Majia Village were busy in the rain—not in the fields, but building fortifications.

The earthen wall at the village entrance was raised by five feet, and a moat was dug outside the wall. Although shallow, it was filled with rainwater and became muddy and difficult to walk on.

Three watchtowers were built inside the wall, using beams from the dismantled side rooms of the ancestral hall.

Ma Sanbao led a dozen or so young men to carry wood and pile up earth and stones in the rain. No one spoke; only heavy breathing and the sound of rain filled the air.

Ma Changsheng stood under the eaves of the ancestral hall, watching all of this.

He couldn't do heavy work—his nine-year-old body couldn't handle it—but he wasn't idle either.

In front of him lay a rough map of the village, drawn in charcoal, marking the location of every alley, every household, and pre-planned defensive points and evacuation routes.

Mr. Zhou walked over, holding a tattered umbrella, looked at the diagram, and exclaimed in amazement, "This is... a formation diagram?"

"This is a village defense map." Ma Changsheng pointed to several marks. "Here, the back wall of Tiezhu's house is thick, so we can build an arrow tower here; here, the courtyard of Master Ma's house is large, so we can hide women and children here; here, by the well, we need to send someone to guard it, to prevent anyone from poisoning it."

The old man squatted down and carefully examined the markings.

Arrows, circles, triangles—the symbols are simple yet their meanings are clear. "Where did you learn these?"

"There's a chapter on city defense in the *Jixiao Xinshu*," Ma Changsheng said. "And... there's something I came up with myself."

It was actually military engineering knowledge from the consciousness database, but that was all he could say.

Through the rain, Ma Sanbao ran over, soaking wet: "Changsheng, the trench is dug, but the water isn't deep enough. If the bandits really come, we won't be able to hold them off for long."

"We won't have to hold them off for long." Ma Changsheng pointed to the woods outside the village. "Dad, have they set traps in the woods?"

"They've set up tripwires, pitfalls, and several animal traps."

"Not enough." Ma Changsheng shook his head. "Bandits aren't wild beasts; they'll avoid traps. We need to set up a second line of defense behind the first one—dig a few shallow pits, insert sharpened bamboo sticks into them, and cover them with straw mats and loose soil. Falling in won't be fatal, but if someone injures their leg, they won't be able to run away."

Ma Sanbao's eyes lit up: "That's a great idea! I'll take some people to do it right away."

"Wait a minute," Ma Changsheng called out to him, "Dad, how much kerosene and lime do we have left in the village?"

"There are still two barrels of kerosene left, and some lime... there's some in the ancestral hall, leftover from repairing the house."

"Bring everything out. Pour kerosene on the woodpile, and when the bandits attack the wall, set it on fire and throw it down. Wrap lime in cloth and sprinkle it in the eyes during close combat."

Ma Sanbao was increasingly astonished as he listened: "Chang Sheng, how...how do you know all this?"

Ma Changsheng was silent for a moment: "I read about it in books and dreamed about it."

The explanation was weak, but Ma Sanbao didn't have time to delve into it. The rain was still falling, and time was running out.

As evening fell, the scout returned—it was Ma Laosi's son, Ma Xiaoshuan, sixteen years old, clever and fast. Covered in mud and panting, he said, "Thirty...thirty li away, over at Black Tiger Mountain, there's smoke! Lots of smoke! It looks...it looks like they're cooking!"

"How many people?" Ma Sanbao asked.

"I couldn't see clearly, but there were more than a dozen cooking fumes, and at least seven or eight people were cooking at each one... There were probably over a hundred people!"

The ancestral hall was deathly silent. Of the hundreds of bandits, Ma Family Village had only about forty able-bodied men capable of fighting, and half of them had to be assigned to protect the elderly and weak.

"Which direction are they going?" Ma Changsheng asked.

"Heading south... but very slowly, as if they were looting along the way."

To the south. Majia Village is to the north, but if the bandits have finished looting the villages in the south, they will come over sooner or later.

"Maybe...maybe they won't come to our village," someone whispered.

"They will come," Ma Changsheng said calmly. "The villages to the south are even poorer than us, so they won't be able to steal much. Our village didn't suffer a major disaster last year, so we have some stored grain. They definitely know that."

These words were like a stone thrown into stagnant water, stirring up ripples of despair.

Some people started crying, and some wanted to run away.

"We can't escape." Elder Ma, the clan chief, stood up, leaning on his cane. His voice was hoarse but firm. "The old and weak can't run fast; they'll be caught halfway. Our only way to survive is to defend the village!"

"How can we defend this? We only have forty-odd people!"

"We have to defend it even if we can't!" Old Master Ma tapped his cane. "The land of our ancestors is here, the graves of our ancestors are here. If we run away, we will be letting our ancestors down!"

These words ignited a fire in their veins. Several young men, their eyes reddening, shouted, "Yes! Let's fight them!"

But fighting desperately doesn't mean throwing your life away.

Ma Changsheng walked to the center of the ancestral hall and raised his voice: "Uncles and elders, listen to me."

Everyone looked at the nine-year-old child. Normally, children wouldn't have a say in adult discussions. But at this moment, no one laughed at him.

"The bandits number over a hundred; we can't defeat them in a direct confrontation," Ma Changsheng said. "But we have walls and are prepared, while they are not. We can outsmart them."

"How can we outsmart them?"

Ma Changsheng walked to the village map: "The bandits' scouts must have already come to the village and know that we are on guard. We need to make them think that our defenses are even stronger than they actually are."

How should it be done? Ma Changsheng suggested: "First, light more torches on the wall at night, and change shifts every incense stick to create the illusion of having enough manpower; second, have women and children dress up as men and walk around on the wall during the day; also, find a few broken gongs and ring them from time to time, as if to transmit signals."

"This is just a bluff," Ma Changsheng said. "Even bandits are afraid of death. If they think attacking a village is too costly, they might take a detour."

"If the feint fails and the bandits still attack, we'll use traps to wear them down."

He explained in detail the traps set outside the village: the first layer was the visible traps—tripping ropes and pitfalls, deliberately made obvious; the second layer was the hidden traps—bamboo skewer pits and animal traps, hidden in the grass; the third layer was the moat and earthen walls.

"Remember, don't go all out from the start," Ma Changsheng emphasized. "When the bandits first probe, use only bows and arrows to drive them away, making them think we only have ranged weapons. Wait until they launch a full-scale attack before using oil and lime."

"If the bandits breach the outer wall, we will retreat into the inner alleys and fight a street battle."

He drew several main alleys on the village map: "These alleys are narrow, and it's difficult for many people to maneuver. We'll form groups of three and guard the alley entrances. Spearmen in front, swordsmen and shieldmen on the sides, and archers behind—everyone has practiced this formation."

"What if they can't even defend the alley?" someone asked.

Ma Changsheng pointed to the mountain path behind the village: "The last resort—go up the mountain and into the cave. But that's a last resort. Once we retreat into the mountains, the village will be lost."

After the plan was explained, the ancestral hall became so quiet that the sound of rain could be heard.

Everyone stared at the child as if they were seeing him for the first time.

Old Master Ma asked, trembling, "Chang Sheng, all of this...was this what you wanted?"

Ma Changsheng nodded: "Some of it I read in books, and some I figured out myself."

"Good!" The old man slammed his hand on the table. "Do as Changsheng says! Sanbao, you lead the men to set up the traps; Lao Si, you take charge of the diversionary force; I... I'll guard the ancestral hall, the ancestral tablets can't be lost!"

There is a clear division of labor, and everyone performs their duties.

Majia Village, like a rusty but finally started machine, struggled to operate in the rain.

Ma Changsheng was also busy.

He found Tiezhu—now the pillar of the family, having taken over the position of deputy head of the village militia after his father, Ma Laosi, injured his arm.

"Brother Tiezhu, there's something I can only ask you to do," Ma Changsheng said.

"What is it? Tell me!"

"Take two men and go to guard the official road to the north."

If you see any officers or soldiers, report it immediately.

Tie Zhu was taken aback: "Soldiers? Soldiers will come to help us?"

"We might not help, but the bandits are afraid of government troops," Ma Changsheng said. "If we light a signal fire outside the village when the bandits attack, creating the illusion that government troops are coming to their aid, it might scare them away."

This is a risky move—if the bandits aren't stupid, they might see through it.

But there was no other way.

Tie Zhu nodded solemnly: "Leave it to me!"

As night fell, the rain stopped.

A sliver of moonlight peeked through the clouds, illuminating the damp village.

Torches were lit on the wall, and shadows flickered.

The distant mountains and forests were dark and shadowy, like crouching giant beasts.

Unable to sleep, Ma Changsheng sat on the threshold of the ancestral hall, gazing at the night sky.

Mr. Zhou came over and sat down next to him.

"Are you scared?" the old man asked.

"I'm afraid," Ma Changsheng said honestly, "but I have to do it even if I'm afraid."

Mr. Zhou remained silent for a long time, then suddenly said, "Chang Sheng, do you know what I'm most worried about?"

"Are you worried about not being able to hold out?"

"No," Mr. Zhou shook his head. "What I'm worried about is that even if I manage to keep it, you'll change."

"Change?"

"You've become too much like a general, not a scholar," the old man sighed. "Turbulent times produce heroes, but they also ruin scholars. I hope you will study to understand principles, cultivate yourself, manage your family, govern the country, and bring peace to the world, rather than delving into military strategy and taking killing as your skill."

Ma Changsheng looked at his tender hands.

These hands, which should be holding a pen, are now drawing battle plans and sharpening arrows.

"Sir, if you can't even continue your studies, how can you be a scholar?" he asked softly. "If you can't even protect your family, how can you manage it?"

Mr. Zhou was speechless.

The first wolf howl came from afar.

It wasn't a real wolf, but a signal from bandits—they were approaching.

Ma Changsheng stood up: "Sir, please go to the cave; it's safe there."

"I won't go," Mr. Zhou also stood up. "Though I'm old, I can still beat the drum. In ancient times, soldiers would be accompanied by drums and music before going to war. Tonight, I will beat the drum for you."

In that instant, Ma Changsheng saw something long lost in this old scholar—the integrity of a scholar-official and the dignity of civilization.

Even in the face of the most savage killings, we must maintain a sense of ritual.

He bowed deeply: "Thank you, Mr. Xie."

The bandits appeared at midnight.

The first to spot them was Ma Xiaoshuan on the lookout tower.

He pounded the gong frantically, shouting hoarsely, "They're here! From the west! A dark mass!"

Chaos erupted on the wall. Some drew their bows, others gripped their guns, their hands trembling.

Ma Sanbao stood atop the highest point of the wall, holding a torch and looking down. In the moonlight, he could indeed see a dark shadow wriggling, like a tide creeping towards the village.

The exact number of people is unclear, but it is definitely not small.

"Don't panic!" he shouted. "Proceed according to plan!"

The bandits stopped about a mile outside the village.

They weren't stupid; they first sent a few scouts over to probe for the trap.

The first scout tripped over the rope and was hung upside down, his screams piercing the night sky.

The second one was more careful, dodging the tripwire, but fell into the bamboo skewer pit—his screams were even more agonizing.

The bandit group became restless.

Clearly, they hadn't expected this poor village to have so many traps set up.

"Archers, prepare—" Ma Sanbao ordered.

A series of bow-drawing sounds rang out from the top of the wall.

But Ma Changsheng rushed onto the wall: "Wait! Don't shoot!"

Why?

"They're still probing. If we fire now, it will reveal our range and numbers," Ma Changsheng said. "Let them get closer, fifty paces before we fire."

Ma Sanbao hesitated for a moment, then gritted his teeth and ordered, "Listen to Changsheng! Archers, step back and await further orders!"

Seeing that there was no movement in the village, the bandits became bolder.

Several more scouts crept over, this time they were smarter, using long sticks to probe the way and clearing several traps.

But they didn't notice the pits in the bamboo skewers—they were specially designed by Ma Changsheng; the pits were very shallow, and the sticks couldn't reach the bottom.

Two more fell into the pit.

The screams echoed through the night sky, sending chills down the spines of those on the wall.

The bandits finally lost their patience.

A man who appeared to be a leader rode out from the ranks, brandishing his sword and shouting, "Brothers! Charge in! Take whatever grain and women you want!"

Hundreds of men roared like wild beasts and began to charge.

"Fifty paces—" Ma Xiaoshuan reported the distance from the lookout tower.

Ma Sanbao's palms were sweaty.

Ma Changsheng stood beside him, her small face tense, but her eyes calm.

"Forty steps—"

"Thirty steps—"

"Release the arrows!"

The first volley of arrows rained down.

The accuracy was poor, and most of the shots missed, but the sheer force of the attack was intimidating.

The first few bandits were hit by arrows and fell to the ground, causing the others to halt in their tracks.

"Second round! Release!"

Another rain of arrows.

This time the aim was better, and several more people fell to the ground.

The bandit leader roared in fury, "They're prepared! But not many! Charge! Charge in and kill them all!"

The offensive intensified.

Some carried makeshift ladders, while others carried wooden batters, rushing straight towards the earthen wall.

"Prepare the kerosene—" Ma Sanbao ordered hoarsely.

A pile of firewood was erected on top of the wall and kerosene was poured on it.

When the bandits rushed to the foot of the wall, they threw down their torches, and flames shot up.

Several bandits were turned into human torches, screaming and rolling around in agony.

But there were too many bandits, and kerosene couldn't stop them all.

A ladder was placed on top of the wall, and people began to climb it.

"Lime!" Ma Changsheng shouted.

The local militia on the wall grabbed a bag of lime and started throwing it down.

Lime powder swirled in the night wind, and a scream echoed through the choking white smoke—the pain of having quicklime in one's eyes was indescribable.

The first wave of attacks was repelled.

The bandits retreated a hundred paces away and regrouped.

By the light of the fire, it could be seen that they had lost more than twenty people, and there were even more wounded.

On the wall, seven or eight people from Majia Village were also injured, all by stray arrows, but not fatally.

But their morale soared – it turned out that even the bandits were not invincible!

Ma Sanbao wiped the sweat from his face and patted his son's shoulder: "Changsheng, your method worked!"

But Ma Changsheng's expression grew even more serious: "Father, this is just the beginning. The bandits have suffered a loss; they'll be even more ruthless next time."

Sure enough, after shouting and cursing from afar, the bandit leader changed his strategy.

Instead of launching a full-scale attack, they concentrated their forces on one point—the west end of the village, where the wall was the shortest.

"They're going to break down the door!" Ma Xiaoshuan exclaimed.

Several bandits carried roof beams that had been dismantled from somewhere, using them as battering rams, and charged straight at the west gate of the village.

It was a wooden door, covered with sheet metal, but it couldn't withstand repeated impacts.

"Pour in boiling water!" Ma Sanbao ordered.

A large pot was set up on the wall, and boiling water was poured down.

Burns are more painful than knife wounds, and the bandits who rammed the door screamed as they retreated.

But new ones were quickly added.

"The gate is about to collapse!" shouted the village militia guarding the gate.

Ma Changsheng's mind raced. He retrieved city defense case studies from his consciousness database: when the city gate was about to be breached, a second obstacle could be set up behind the gate; or the enemy could be lured into a trap and then trapped and beaten.

"Father!" he grabbed Ma Sanbao, "Let them in!"

"What?!"

"We can't hold the gate anymore. Let them in, and we'll deal with them in the alley behind the gate," Ma Changsheng said quickly. "The alley is narrow, and they won't be able to maneuver properly with so many of them. We'll use three-person formations and take them out one by one."

Seeing the determination in his son's eyes, Ma Sanbao gritted his teeth and said, "Open the door! Let them in! Prepare for street fighting!"

When the order was given, the local militia guarding the gate were dumbfounded. But Ma Sanbao was the captain, and he had no choice but to obey.

"Squeak—" The west gate of the village was opened from the inside.

The bandits who were ramming the door were stunned for a moment, then overjoyed: "The door's open! Charge in!"

Dozens of bandits rushed in.

But they soon realized something was wrong—behind the door was not an open space, but a narrow alley with high walls on both sides.

At the end of the alley, three rows of local militia stood ready: the first row with a forest of spears, the second with swords and shields, and the third with bows and arrows.

"We've fallen into their trap!" The bandit leader realized, but it was too late.

"Fire!" Ma Sanbao gave the order.

In a confined space, an arrow is almost guaranteed to hit its target.

Seven or eight were shot down in the first round.

"Pikemen, advance!"

The three rows of village militia marched forward in neat steps—the result of half a month of instruction from Ma Changsheng.

Spears thrust forward, swords and shields provide side protection, and bows and arrows are launched from behind.

The bandits were squeezed into the alley, so crowded that they couldn't even swing their knives.

This is a massacre.

But it wasn't the people of Majia Village who slaughtered the bandits; it was the terrain and battle formations that caused the massacre.

Within half an incense stick's time, of the thirty-odd bandits who rushed in, more than twenty were dead, and the rest knelt down and surrendered.

"Tie them up!" Ma Sanbao ordered.

But Ma Changsheng stopped him: "Father, we can't keep prisoners. We don't have enough food to feed them, and letting them go back will only cause more trouble."

"Then... kill him?"

Ma Changsheng looked at the bandits kneeling and begging for mercy.

There were old and young people, all emaciated and pale; they were more like desperate, starving people than bandits.

But he knew that in chaotic times, kindness was tantamount to suicide.

"Drive them out," he said, "but leave their weapons behind. Give each of them twenty lashes and make them crawl away. That way, the threat will be eliminated, and the bandits outside will see what happens to them."

Ma Sanbao did as instructed.

Thirty blows later, the bandits were left with torn skin and bleeding flesh, howling as they crawled out of the village gate.

The bandits outside the village were greatly demoralized when they saw this.

The leader was furious, but looking at the village's tight defenses and his men, who had suffered more than half their casualties, he finally gritted his teeth and ordered, "Retreat!"

The bandits retreated in the darkest hour before dawn.

Majia Village has been saved.

Its daybreak.

On a clear morning after the rain, the air was filled with the smell of blood and burning.

The villagers stepped out of their homes and looked at the corpses, charred marks, and scattered weapons beneath the wall, as if from another world.

On the open ground in front of the ancestral hall, there were seven corpses covered with white cloth—they were the ones who died in the battle of Majia Village.

There were still more than a dozen injured people, and Aunt Chen and several other women were bandaging them up.

Ma Changsheng followed his father to tally up the spoils of war: forty-three bandits were killed, twelve were captured, more than thirty swords and spears were seized, and there were also a few horses—though thin, they were still meat.

The cost was seven deaths and sixteen injuries.

This is a devastating loss for a village of just over two hundred people.

Tie Zhu's father, Ma Lao Si, died in battle—he was shot in the throat by a stray arrow from a bandit while guarding the west gate.

Tiezhu held his father's body and cried his heart out.

Ma Changsheng walked to Tiezhu's side, unsure of what to say.

Finally, he just patted him on the shoulder and said, "Brother Tiezhu, the village will take care of your mother, your wife, and your children from now on."

Tie Zhu looked up with red eyes: "Chang Sheng, I want revenge."

"The revenge has been taken." Ma Changsheng pointed to the corpses of the bandits. "The man who killed your father is in there."

"Not enough!" Tie Zhu gritted his teeth. "I want to kill all the bandits! I want to join the army! I want to kill the thieves!"

Seeing the fire of hatred in his eyes, Ma Changsheng knew he couldn't persuade him otherwise.

In chaotic times, hatred is the easiest thing to ignite, and also the hardest to extinguish.

Mr. Zhou was chanting sutras for the deceased in the ancestral hall.

The old man hadn't slept all night; his arms were red and swollen from drumming, and his voice was hoarse.

But he insisted on presiding over the ceremony—he said the dead need to rest in peace and the living need comfort.

After the ceremony, Grandpa Ma convened a meeting of the entire village.

The old man looked even older overnight, but his eyes were resolute: "We won this battle. But the bandits will come again, and government troops may also come to plunder. We need to think long-term."

"How long-term?" someone asked.

"Build a fortress," Ma Changsheng stepped forward and said. "Turn the village into a fortified village. Make the walls higher and thicker, build watchtowers at the four corners, dig deep moats, and store grain. That way, small groups of bandits won't dare to provoke them, and large groups of bandits will have to think twice before attacking."

"Where did the money come from? Where did the people come from?"

"We can raise money and send people to work," Ma Changsheng said. "We can sell the weapons we captured to other villages for money; the bandits' horses can be used for plowing and pulling carts. Most importantly, this battle has made us famous—Ma Family Village is a good fighter, and wealthy families in the surrounding villages may pay us to protect them in the future."

This is what he learned from historical cases: in times of chaos, villages that armed themselves for self-defense often formed local forces and even developed into militia groups.

The villagers were talking about it.

Some people were in favor, while others thought it was too risky—building a fortress was tantamount to declaring independence, and what would the government think?

"The government?" Old Master Ma sneered. "If the government were effective, would we need to risk our lives?"

That hit a nerve.

Ultimately, the meeting decided: build a fortress! But proceed slowly, first reinforcing the existing defenses, and then gradually expanding it.

The next day, when Ma Changsheng was sorting through the books that had been brought back from the county town in the cave, Tiezhu came looking for him.

"Chang Sheng, I want to learn from you," Tie Zhu said.

"What to study?"

"Learn military strategy, learn how to fight." Tie Zhu's eyes burned with fervor. "You know so much, teach me. I want revenge, and I want to protect the village."

Ma Changsheng looked at his childhood friend.

Tie Zhu was illiterate, but he was brave, loyal, and had strong execution skills. This was exactly the kind of person needed in chaotic times.

"I can teach you," Ma Changsheng said, "but on two conditions."

"you say!"

"You must be literate. If you can't read, you can't understand military texts, and you'll always be just a lowly soldier."

Tie Zhu looked hesitant, but gritted his teeth and nodded: "I'll learn!"

"You must obey my orders. You will learn whatever I teach you; you will do whatever I tell you to do. Can you do that?"

"Yes!" Tie Zhu knelt on one knee—a gesture he'd learned from operas—"I, Ma Tie Zhu, swear that I'll follow Ma Changsheng for life; if you say east, I'll go west!"

Ma Changsheng helped him up: "No need to kneel. We are brothers, we are comrades."

From that day on, Ma Changsheng had his first "student".

During the day, he taught Tiezhu to read, starting with the Three Character Classic; at night, he taught him military strategy, starting with the illustrations in the New Book of Military Tactics.

Tiezhu struggled with his studies, but he was extremely diligent.

Calluses formed on their hands, and their eyes were bloodshot from staying up all night, but they didn't complain.

Upon witnessing this scene, Mr. Zhou remarked, "In the past, Liu Bei gained Guan Yu and Zhang Fei; now, Changsheng gains Tie Zhu. In chaotic times, having a loyal and brave man is better than having a hundred acres of fertile land."

Ma Changsheng hadn't thought that far ahead.

He simply felt that in this era, one person's strength is too insignificant, and one needs companions.

In mid-May, a new threat arrived—not bandits, but government troops.

A team of fifty soldiers arrived at Majia Village, led by a battalion commander surnamed Wang.

The man was in his forties, with a face full of scars. He rode his horse around the village, looking at the fortifications with a sinister gaze.

"Who's in charge?" he asked, sitting high on his horse.

Ma Sanbao, accompanied by several village militia leaders, came out to greet them: "I am Ma Sanbao, the village head."

"Village head?" Captain Wang sneered. "Judging from your posture, you don't look like ordinary people, you look like rebels. Building such high walls, are you planning a rebellion?"

Ma Sanbao broke out in a cold sweat: "Sir, you are wise, this is to defend against bandits..."

"Defending against bandits is the responsibility of the officers and soldiers, not yours!" Captain Wang interrupted him. "I think you've set up your own armed forces and are plotting something sinister! Men, seize the leaders!"

The officers and soldiers were about to take action.

At this moment, Ma Changsheng stepped out from the crowd—he was small and easily overlooked, but his voice was clear: "Sir, please wait."

Captain Wang looked down at him and asked, "Where did this brat come from?"

"I am Ma Changsheng, a student of this county." Ma Changsheng bowed. "Sir, if you wish to arrest someone, do you have any official documents from the county government?"

"A student?" Commander Wang paused, then softened his tone. "You're really a student?"

Ma Changsheng took out the wooden plaque for the scholar.

Wang, the battalion commander, took it and looked at it—he was illiterate, but he recognized the official seal.

"Even if you're a student, you have no right to interfere in military affairs." Captain Wang threw the wooden sign back. "Your unauthorized construction of fortifications is illegal!"

"Sir, you are mistaken." Ma Changsheng said neither humbly nor arrogantly, "In the seventh year of Chongzhen's reign, the imperial court issued an order that local areas could organize their own militias to assist the government troops in suppressing bandits. Our construction of walls and training of soldiers is precisely in response to the imperial court's call."

This statement is half true and half false—the imperial court did allow local areas to organize local militias, but that was conditional and required reporting.

Strictly speaking, the spontaneous actions of Majia Village are still illegal.

But Wang, the general manager, was clearly unaware of the specific terms.

He frowned: "Is that so?"

"Absolutely true." Ma Changsheng pressed on, "Moreover, we just repelled a band of bandits a few days ago, killing more than forty of them. We were just about to offer the captured weapons and horses to you, sir, to help suppress the bandits."

It's a bribe, but it's presented in a grand and respectable way.

Commander Wang's eyes lit up: "Oh? Where's the spoils?"

Ma Sanbao understood and quickly led his men to carry it. There were more than thirty swords and spears, and five horses—though thin, they were still horses.

Looking at these things, Commander Wang's expression softened: "Hmm...you did a good job repelling the bandits. But this wall..."

"This wall is to protect our fellow villagers. It will be demolished when peace is restored," Ma Changsheng said. "Moreover, with this wall in place, bandits will not dare to easily invade, and it can also relieve the worries of our soldiers."

These words struck a chord with Commander Wang.

His team of officers and soldiers numbered only fifty men; if they were to actually suppress the bandits, they would be sending them to their deaths.

With Majia Village acting as a thorn in his side, he was actually safe.

"Since you understand the bigger picture, I'll let it go this time." Captain Wang waved his hand. "I'll take the weapons and horses with me; consider it your support for the government troops. If anything happens in the future, report it to the authorities immediately."

"Yes, yes, yes," Ma Sanbao replied repeatedly.

The soldiers left, taking their "spoils." The villagers breathed a sigh of relief, but Ma Changsheng knew this was just the beginning.

"The government troops are more troublesome than the bandits," he told his father. "The bandits openly rob, while the government troops secretly demand things. Our lives will be even harder from now on."

Sure enough, half a month later, an official document came from the county: since Majia Village had organized a local militia, it should bear the responsibility of "contributing funds", and should pay ten shi of grain and twenty taels of silver per month.

Ten bushels of grain are enough to feed the whole village for half a month.

Twenty taels of silver was the income of Ma Sanbao's family for two years.

"This is trying to kill us!" The villagers were furious inside the ancestral hall.

Grandpa Ma looked at Ma Changsheng: "Changsheng, what do you suggest we do?"

Ma Changsheng pondered for a long time: "Hand it over."

"What?!"

"Paying now is a way to avoid further trouble," Ma Changsheng said. "But we need to let them know that we also have a bottom line—ten shi of grain and twenty taels of silver is the limit. Any more than that, and we'll fight to the death."

He paused, his eyes sharpening. "Besides, we can't just make this exchange for nothing. We need to exchange something."

"Change to what?"

"Change its name," Ma Changsheng said. "Let the county officially recognize our militia, issue official documents, and give it a banner."

With this official status, we can legitimately train, build fortifications, and even... collect protection money.

He spoke the last three words very softly, but everyone in the ancestral hall heard them clearly.

Collecting protection fees – providing protection to surrounding villages and receiving payment in return.

This is equivalent to shifting from passive defense to proactive management.

Grandpa Ma gasped, "Chang Sheng, this...this is..."

"In chaotic times, rules are flexible," Ma Changsheng said. "We won't harm anyone, but we still need to survive. Rather than waiting for government troops to come and rob us, we might as well become government troops ourselves—at least in name only."

This idea is too bold and too subversive.

But upon closer reflection, it makes perfect sense.

Ultimately, the village decided to send Ma Sanbao and Ma Changsheng to the county town to negotiate.

At the end of May, Ma Changsheng returned to Qishui County.

This isn't an exam; it's a negotiation.

In the second hall of the county government, the county magistrate did not appear; instead, the county assistant—a middle-aged civil official surnamed Qian—came forward. He had shrewd eyes and was clearly an experienced official.

"Your village wants to organize a local militia, that's fine," Magistrate Qian said slowly, "but there must be rules: First, the number of people must not exceed one hundred; second, they must not cross the border to suppress bandits; third, they must raise their own food and supplies, and the county will not provide any support; fourth, they must obey the county's orders."

Just as Ma Sanbao was about to agree, Ma Changsheng spoke up: "Your Excellency, could the fourth clause be amended?"

Only then did Magistrate Qian notice the child: "Who are you?"

"Student Ma Changsheng, a student from this village."

"Oh, that's the nine-year-old scholar." Magistrate Qian became interested. "Tell me, how should it be changed?"

"Obeying the county's orders is our duty. But there should be a scope for deployment—for example, only within Qishui County; and there should be compensation. If we are deployed to suppress bandits, we need to be provided with food, fodder, and weapons," Ma Changsheng said. "Otherwise, we'll be going to war hungry, armed with machetes—aren't we just sending ourselves to our deaths?"

Magistrate Qian narrowed his eyes: "You do know how to do accounts."

"It's not about settling accounts, it's about survival." Ma Changsheng said neither humbly nor arrogantly, "We organized the local militia to protect our territory and people, not to be cannon fodder for the government. If the government treats us as cannon fodder, then it's better not to organize the militia at all—at worst, the whole village will flee for their lives and let the bandits take over the village, which will cause even more trouble for the county."

It was a threat, but very measured.

Magistrate Qian stared at him for a long time, then suddenly laughed: "What a quick-witted young scholar. Fine, as you wish. But your monthly allowance cannot be reduced."

"We can pay the contribution, but we need to exchange it for two things."

"explain."

"The official documents for the militia were stamped with the county seal; there was also a flag that read 'Qishui Militia Majiabao'."

"Majiabao?" Magistrate Qian raised an eyebrow. "Your village has been renamed Bao?"

"The fortifications are complete; calling it a fortress is no exaggeration," Ma Changsheng said. "Moreover, a fortress is necessary to have a flag, and a flag is necessary to gain people's trust. By collecting protection fees from the surrounding villages, we can better protect our territory and its people—this also helps alleviate the county's burden."

Magistrate Qian laughed heartily, "Excellent! Excellent! Such a young age, yet so thoughtful. I grant your permission!"

The negotiations were successful.

As Ma Sanbao walked out of the county government office, he was still in a daze: "Chang Sheng, it's... done?"

"It's done." Ma Changsheng gripped the document in his hand tightly—the paper stamped with the seal of Dahong County was the first talisman for Ma Family Village in this chaotic world.

On the way back to the village, the setting sun was like blood.

Looking at the distant, rolling mountains, Ma Changsheng calculated his next move:

With official recognition, they can expand defenses, train local militia, and even begin "business"—protecting surrounding villages and charging reasonable fees.

This was not the path he originally planned.

He should have studied, taken the imperial examinations, entered officialdom, and followed the traditional path of a scholar-official.

But chaos changed everything.

Or rather, the chaos of the times showed him another possibility: when the system collapses, local armed forces and civil self-governance may be the only way for civilization to continue.

He remembered the Jupiter base.

When an AI rebellion sweeps through the solar system, humanity's final refuge will not be a city or a country, but a distributed survival system built beneath the icy rings of Jupiter's moons.

Now, Majia Village is the "Jupiter base" of this era.

Small yet sturdy, self-sufficient, and steadfast in the face of adversity.

"Father," he suddenly said, "when we get back, I'm going to start writing a book."

"What book?"

"The Essentials of Fortress Defense," Ma Changsheng said, "records our experiences: how to build walls, how to train troops, how to negotiate, and how to survive in chaotic times. Perhaps one day, other villages will find it useful."

Ma Sanbao looked at his son with a complicated expression.

This child is only nine years old, but his thoughts and actions are far ahead of many adults.

"Chang Sheng, you...you really are..." He wanted to ask, "Who are you?" but he couldn't bring himself to ask.

Ma Changsheng turned to him and smiled: "Father, I am your son, Ma Changsheng."

That's true, but not entirely true.

He is Ma Changsheng, a nine-year-old scholar and the little strategist of Majia Village.

He is also Ma Yongsheng, a consciousness from the future, a traveler searching for his place in the torrent of history.

Now, these two identities are slowly merging.

Ahead, the outline of Majia Village appeared in the twilight.

Torches were already hanging on the wall, and shadows were moving around—it was Tie Zhu leading a patrol.

A new era is quietly beginning in this small village.

Ma Changsheng quickened his pace.