San Shier stood atop the fortress wall, staring at the mass of ragged figures gathered below, all of them clamoring to become labor reform prisoners, and for a long moment he genuinely did not know whether he should laugh, cry, or question the structural integrity of human reasoning itself.
These people were not being dragged here in chains.
They were volunteering.
Volunteering.
To become criminals.
He lifted his head slightly and glanced at the sky with a solemn expression, as if silently consulting Dao Xuan Tianzun on how one ought to handle a situation in which poverty had become so sharp that people were willing to commit imaginary crimes simply to earn the right to work.
Very well.
If the world insisted on absurdity, he would answer with clarity.
He ordered the fortress gates opened and stepped outside to face the crowd directly, allowing them to see that he was neither a demon nor a jailer, merely a man who had finally acquired the authority to do what he once only dreamed of doing.
"Listen carefully," he said. "You misunderstand what a labor reform prisoner is."
The crowd quieted.
"A labor reform prisoner is someone who committed a crime and is repaying that crime through labor. Criminals."
Silence.
Confusion.
Then realization began spreading through the crowd like ripples in muddy water.
A young man suddenly raised a stick.
"Steward," he called. "If I beat you right now, that counts as a crime, yes?"
San Shier took three rapid steps back.
"Have you lost your mind?"
"If I commit the crime first," the young man continued earnestly, "then I can repay it through labor."
San Shier pinched the bridge of his nose.
"No. Absolutely not. That is not how this works."
He took a breath and softened his tone.
"You are good people. Honest people. There is no need for you to do the work of criminals. I will make proper arrangements for you."
The change was immediate.
Hope flared across tired faces.
San Shier cleared his throat loudly.
"Before you get too excited, let us discuss compensation first."
Every pair of eyes widened.
He raised one finger.
"First. Food and lodging."
The reaction was explosive.
"Food!"
"Lodging!"
San Shier could not help laughing.
"Look at you. Getting this excited over basic necessities."
He coughed lightly.
"Food and lodging are what we provide labor reform prisoners. But you are not criminals. You are temporary workers. So in addition to food and lodging, you will receive wages."
The cheering resumed, louder this time.
"Wages too!"
"The steward is kind!"
San Shier lifted his palm.
"The wages will not be much."
"The wages are not much!"
The crowd cheered automatically.
Then several people blinked.
"That is not something to cheer about."
Awkward silence fell.
San Shier allowed the moment to settle before continuing in a measured tone.
"Twenty jin of flour per month. Two jin of pork. Two liang of salt."
Silence again.
This time not from confusion.
From disbelief.
That was what he called not much?
For refugees who had been surviving on wild roots and luck, this was wealth bordering on legend.
The crowd erupted once more.
"It is wonderful that the wages are not much!"
"Master Li is benevolent!"
"The steward is righteous!"
San Shier turned his back quickly, because the grin spreading across his face was dangerously wide, almost boyish, and he did not wish them to see how deeply their joy affected him.
Once, long ago, when he served as Zhang Yaocai's strategist, he had watched people starve while drafting plans no one funded, had swallowed their curses while lacking the power to change anything, had wanted to help but possessed nothing but clever words.
Now a few sentences from him could ignite cheers.
It felt unreal.
"Thank you," he thought quietly, not to the crowd but to Dao Xuan Tianzun, "for giving me the means to be a good person at least once in this lifetime."
When he turned back, his face was composed again.
"Now that wages are settled, we discuss work."
"We will do anything!"
"Anything!"
San Shier nodded solemnly.
"You will mix cement and lay cement roads."
Collective confusion.
Blank stares.
San Shier began to explain.
"Follow me. I will show you how to mix the materials properly, how to lay the—"
A voice interrupted gently from behind him.
"Esteemed patron, why carve a chicken with an ox cleaver?"
San Shier froze.
Strategist Tan Liwen stepped forward with an elegant bow.
"These small matters can be left to me."
San Shier slapped his forehead lightly.
He had nearly forgotten.
He was no longer merely the strategist.
He now employed one.
"Ahem."
He straightened.
"Strategist Tan. Arrange food and lodging. Teach them cement mixing and road laying. Ensure everything runs smoothly."
Tan Liwen bowed.
"As you command."
He turned to the crowd.
"Follow me."
They followed obediently, like a tide shifting direction.
San Shier watched them go and could not suppress a soft laugh.
"Hehehe."
Then louder.
"Hahaha."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"This," he murmured to himself, "is what we call making every household prosperous."
Above, unseen by them, Li Daoxuan shifted his attention from San Shier to Tan Liwen.
Strategist Tan moved efficiently, organizing food first by retrieving ample supplies from the second floor warehouse of the watchtower, enough to fill empty stomachs without difficulty.
Food was simple.
Housing was not.
These were complete newcomers.
No artisans with introductions.
No guarantors.
He could not simply house them inside Gao Family Fortress. If even one among them harbored ill intent, the safety of established residents would be compromised.
His gaze drifted toward the plastic houses outside the fortress where labor reform prisoners stayed.
"House them there?"
He frowned.
"Not appropriate."
Above, Li Daoxuan pondered as well.
Gao Family Village's reputation had already spread beyond its borders. More people would come. Some seeking work. Some seeking refuge. Some perhaps seeking something else entirely.
A dedicated migrant area was necessary.
Close enough to monitor.
Far enough to protect farmland.
He scrolled his view across the terrain inside the box world, examining every patch of earth like a god surveying a chessboard, until his attention settled on a rocky slope southwest of the fortress, near a bamboo grove where the soil was too thin for crops yet newly sprouted with green shoots after recent divine rainfall.
"This will do."
He retrieved the large sample box sent by Ningyang Toy Company and pulled out over a dozen plastic houses, placing them neatly along the slope with a casual flick of his wrist.
In an instant, brightly colored houses appeared on the rocky incline.
Below, villagers heard the sudden sound and turned.
San Shier saw.
Tan Liwen saw.
They both immediately understood.
Dao Xuan Tianzun had provided housing.
"The Heavenly Lord is benevolent!"
Everyone dropped to their knees and bowed deeply toward the sky.
Only the newcomers stood stiff and bewildered, having witnessed structures materialize from thin air without context or explanation.
They did not understand.
But they were awed.
Strategist Tan smiled reassuringly.
"Stay a few days," he said. "You will understand."
He gestured toward the slope.
"Come. Let us see your new homes."
As they walked, he began issuing instructions calmly and methodically.
"Inform the blacksmiths. We need iron pots. Kitchen knives."
"Yes, sir."
"Contact the bamboo weavers. Baskets. Creels."
"Yes, sir."
"And the carpenters. Build beds."
"Yes, sir."
The refugees listened to this cascade of practical arrangements, each detail considered, each necessity accounted for, and a quiet realization formed within them not from miracle alone but from management.
They had not merely found food.
They had found order.
They had not merely found shelter.
They had found intention.
And in their hearts, a single thought echoed with growing certainty.
This is truly a good place.
Footnotes
Refugee labor misunderstandings – Historically, famine refugees often misunderstood local labor systems, especially if a village looked unusually organized. Any place with uniforms and schedules could be mistaken for a prison… or, conversely, a paradise. Often both at once.
County porridge vs. village food – In many dynasties, state relief porridge was notoriously thin — watery enough to prevent starvation, thick enough to avoid riots, but never generous. Villages that fed refugees too well could attract even more refugees, creating a logistical nightmare.
Craftsmen vs. convicts – In real records, skilled artisans were sometimes treated better than ordinary villagers because they were economically valuable. This could easily confuse onlookers: "If those guys work so hard and still look healthy… they must be prisoners."