At dawn, Li Daoxuan had just crawled out of bed when he noticed a new line of text on the side of the box:
"Wangjia Village."
Huh?
When did that show up?
…Was it during yesterday's drunken mess?
Yesterday the whole Gaojia Village was drinking like it was New Year's. Everyone danced, hollered, and refused to sleep even after dark—they even built a giant bonfire outside the village and started a collective ancient-version Fortnite dance-off.
Even Li Daoxuan—who normally treated alcohol like poison—fell victim to the atmosphere, poured himself a few beers, and decided to "just taste" the Wuliangye.
One sip later: blackout.
Everything after that was fuzzy.
Now, waking up groggy, he saw that the rescue index had increased again—and below it appeared the words "Wangjia Village."
Looks like last night his expanded field of vision reached a few more li and dragged Wangjia Village into the map.
Who got saved? No idea.
And honestly—does he care?
As long as he stops checking the rescue index, no one can guilt-trip him into productivity.
He tapped the words "Wangjia Village," and his vision jumped there.
The village was twice the size of Gaojia Village, but the place was devastated—most of the thatched houses were burned down, leaving a wasteland of ashes and broken beams.
No surprise.
This must've been the base of Wang Er's uprising. Most villagers had left with him, and only a few families had taken refuge in Gaojia Village.
Li Daoxuan sighed, long and tired. He took out the medical nebulizer and sprayed mist over the ruined village.
Then he ordered takeaway oil tea, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and handled the morning routine of "annoying but necessary human chores."
When the oil tea arrived, he sat at the edge of the container, sipping from the paper bowl.
Half an hour of misting later, Wangjia Village's soil was moist again, no longer a cracked yellow desert.
He put away the nebulizer and switched back to Gaojia Village.
This morning was quieter than usual.
No surprise—half the population was hungover.
Joyful nights lead to tragic mornings.
But the Learning Well ran as usual.
The children had done morning exercises, drank goat milk, and were now sitting in neat rows reading aloud.
Even Young Master Bai was there. He had long mastered the basic curriculum but remained a helpless baby in pinyin, so Mister Wang had to give him extra lessons.
Li Daoxuan opened his phone and glanced at several major ideological guidebooks he had preloaded. He sighed.
Too early for the kids.
Definitely too early.
Education is like cooking rice—rushing it just burns the pot.
Just then, a craftsman rushed into the Learning Well, holding a pile of small wooden blocks.
"Teacher! I've finished carving the pinyin letters! Please check!"
Mister Wang's eyes lit up.
"Bring them here!"
The craftsman, the same woodblock carver from before, had carved small movable type blocks for printing.
The Ming Dynasty had already begun using movable type printing—carving commonly-used characters onto small blocks, setting them into a frame, and stamping them on paper.
Now he had carved the entire pinyin alphabet.
He dipped a block in ink, pressed it onto paper—pa!—and a clean "a" appeared.
Mister Wang was thrilled.
"Excellent! This is 'a.' Show me the rest!"
The craftsman stamped the rest of the letters—pi-li-pa-la—filling the sheet.
Mister Wang checked each one, smiling wider and wider.
"Perfect! Not a single mistake. Truly meticulous craftsmanship."
The craftsman basked in the praise.
Mister Wang clasped his hands excitedly.
"Then now… we can finally print the book Hanyu Pinyin, yes?"
This was the celestial language, taught by Tianzun himself. Printing it would be akin to holding a sacred scripture in one's hands—passing on the wisdom of sages, the dream of every scholar.
The craftsman suddenly looked embarrassed.
"Apologies… with only the alphabet, we still cannot print. I must carve the common characters too."
Mister Wang froze.
Of course.
In a city, he'd only need to carve the alphabet—common characters already existed in print workshops.
But Gaojia Village had no printing industry at all.
So they needed to carve everything from scratch.
Progress could not be rushed.
"Alas!" Mister Wang held his head.
"With only one carver, it'll take forever to prepare all the characters…"
The craftsman bowed apologetically.
"There are too few people in my trade… I can't find anyone to help. Please grant me more time."
At that moment, someone who had been silently listening stood up—Young Master Bai.
"This is a trivial matter."
Both men turned, stunned.
Young Master Bai grinned confidently.
"Just send someone to the county and buy the Chengcheng Bookstore. Then move all their carved characters here. Combine them with our pinyin blocks, and we can print immediately."
They both froze.
Well damn.
That… works.
Li Daoxuan nearly spit out his oil tea.
Right!
Why didn't anyone think of that?
…Oh.
Because everyone in Gaojia Village grew up poor.
Talent existed, yes—but the mindset was always:
"I'll work harder."
Not:
"I'll throw money at it."
Young Master Bai arrived, and suddenly everyone remembered the world had more than one solution.
Mister Wang cried,
"Then this job must be entrusted to you, Young Master Bai!"
"Me? Impossible." Young Master Bai raised both hands defensively.
"I'm a thirteen-year-old kid. I walk in to buy a bookstore and they'll beat me with a slipper."
Everyone thought silently:
You're the young lord of Bai Fort—
aside from your mother, no one dares beat you.
Still, it would be bizarre for a kid to negotiate business.
Even if they didn't beat him, they wouldn't take him seriously.
This required a grown-up.
Young Master Bai turned to Mister Wang and bowed.
"Teacher, you've bought books at Chengcheng Bookstore before. The owner recognizes you. If you say you came into money and want to purchase the shop, it is entirely reasonable. You're the ideal person for this task."
Mister Wang blinked.
"…You know, that actually makes perfect sense."
Footnotes
Oil tea – A traditional morning drink in several regions, calorie-heavy and beloved by people who do physical labor.
Movable type printing – Invented earlier in Chinese history but never became mainstream due to the huge number of characters needed. A rural village starting from scratch would face exactly this problem.
Scholars vs. practicality – Poor-background scholars historically excelled in diligence but often lacked capital-based thinking; elites, on the other hand, treated "throw money at the problem" as the default solution.
Big slipper beating (大比兜) – A joking reference to adults disciplining kids with household footwear. A beloved trope throughout East Asian comedic storytelling.