Trouble — that was the one thing High Ridge Village could not afford. The place was too fragile; any mishap could crush it.
Li Daoxuan was about to wake Gao Yiye to relay instructions for him, when someone else climbed up the wall. It was San Sier. He patted Gao Chuwu on the shoulder, silencing him, then raised his voice toward the dark fields outside:
"Hero Wang, your good intentions—our village accepts them in spirit. You've risen in revolt, and the government troops will be hunting you. From now on you'll be living on the run. For us, those two carts of grain make no difference at all. With them, we won't live better; without them, we won't live worse. They're optional for us—but for you, they're the lifeblood you'll rely on to survive. Better you keep them. That's what we call using things where they matter most."
Li Daoxuan couldn't help smiling. Not bad. Having San Sier around really saves me a lot of breath.
Wang Er listened, uncertain. One of his fellow rebel leaders, Zhong Guangdao, leaned close and whispered, "Brother Wang, the man makes sense. Last time they could spare you sacks of flour—it means they aren't short of food. But we're going up into the hills. Up there, grain is life."
Another leader, Zheng Yanfu, added, "When we've found our footing, we can repay them then. But look at that wall—they clearly don't want entanglements right now."
Wang Er exhaled and nodded. They were right. These villagers didn't dare accept his grain.
He cupped his fists toward the wall. "Then I won't insist. What High Ridge Village gave me, Wang Er will not forget."
He waved his arm. "Move out!"
Just as he turned to leave, San Sier suddenly called out:
"Hero Wang!"
Wang Er stopped. Turned.
San Sier asked, voice slow and weighted:
"The wealthy households in the county… their womenfolk—what became of them?"
Wang Er froze as though struck by lightning. After several seconds he cast two cold, reproachful glances at Zhong Guangdao and Zheng Yanfu. Then he cupped his fists again toward San Sier and strode off without a word.
Within moments, he and his people were swallowed by the night.
Li Daoxuan noticed they had taken the same path as the night they'd snuck in to steal water. Their own village must be somewhere in that direction—how far, he wasn't sure.
After that brief commotion, High Ridge Village fell silent again.
San Sier dragged Gao Chuwu down from the wall. Behind them, a crowd of villagers had gathered—Wang Er's yelling had woken half the village, though only a few had dared climb up.
San Sier turned on them with a scolding tone:
"Your village has a wall but no defenses. You haven't even arranged night sentries. You're lucky the visitor was Wang Er—he shouted and woke us. If it had been bandits, they could've thrown hooks over the wall and climbed in. All of you would die without even knowing how!"
Li Daoxuan silently agreed. This was exactly what he wanted to complain about.
The village chief stepped forward, shaking his head. "We need lanterns for night watch. The village is small, but to line the whole wall with lanterns, we'd need dozens. Where would we get all that lamp oil?"
San Sier frowned—admittedly a fair point. But he quickly barked:
"You're worried about oil? This village is blessed by a heavenly spirit! Tomorrow morning, everyone kneel and pray sincerely. Oil will come."
The villagers blinked. Then their eyes lit up.
"That's right!"
"God always gifts food at dawn!"
"If we kneel together and ask, maybe he'll reward us with oil!"
Li Daoxuan almost laughed. Why wait until morning? I could give you oil right now.
He went into his kitchen and grabbed a big jug of cooking oil. He found a bottle cap to measure out a small offering. But before he could tip the cap, a figure leapt out from the tiny crowd inside the diorama.
It was Madam San—San Sier's wife.
She jabbed a finger at the villagers, voice full of indignation:
"I haven't lived here long, but I need to say this. You people show shameless disrespect to the Heavenly Lord!"
The villagers were baffled. "Disrespect? What disrespect?"
Madam San snorted inwardly—a bunch of country bumpkins—but kept the insult to herself. Out loud she said:
"The Heavenly Lord manifests in your village and has helped you time and again. Yet have you built Him a shrine? Sculpted His golden image? Offered incense? When you ask for His blessings, you kneel and beg, begging and begging, greedy as anything—yet you don't even perform a proper ritual!"
The villagers stood blankly, stunned.
Madam San sighed hard. "Look at monks. Before they ask Buddha for blessings, they bathe, dress properly, ring the bell, strike the wooden fish, chant a few lines of scripture. And Buddha still might ignore them! If you want the Heavenly Lord to grant you something, you should at least ring a bell, light some incense, maybe a candle—show a bit of respect!"
The villagers stared, then slowly nodded.
Yes… we've really been rude.
Li Daoxuan pressed a hand to his face, laughing silently. This ritual business… for me it means nothing. Actually—
Wait.
A bright idea popped in his mind, snapping on like a lightbulb.
Because the villagers were tiny, their voices were tiny. Half the time he couldn't hear them unless they shouted directly upward. If they rang a giant bell first—clang! clang! clang!—he would instantly know they needed him.
So that's why monks ring bells.
Damn it… feudal superstition actually has practical use. My atheist heart is wavering…
Madam San kept going, full momentum:
"Tomorrow morning, everyone wash and wear clean clothes. Especially you—Gao Yiye. You are the Heavenly Lord's chosen vessel. Come to my home; I'll find you decent clothes. You'll lead the prayer. And you two smiths—don't sleep tonight. Forge a large bell immediately. We need it at dawn."
No one dared argue. They obeyed.
Li Daoxuan watched quietly from "the sky," thoroughly entertained. He decided the oil could wait until morning—no need to spoil their ceremony.
And as he looked at San Sier and Madam San, he thought:
These two have been incredibly useful. Very, very useful.