Spring, third month of the year.
The world thawed, shoots broke the earth, and everything smelled of new life. Perfect season for planting—
If only the heavens weren't stingy with rain.
Fortunately, even if Heaven withheld rain…
Dao Xuan Tianzun did not.
Gao Yiye whispered to the villagers, brimming with secret pride:
"Tianzun grabbed the Dragon King by the neck again and dragged him over to deliver rain."
So Wangjia Village's farmers began sowing sorghum.
Li Daoxuan finally understood how local farmers lived in normal years.
They sowed sorghum in the third month, harvested in autumn, then planted winter wheat in the ninth month and harvested the wheat around the fifth or sixth month of the next year.
If wheat harvesting came late, sorghum sowing shifted into the sixth month.
Farmers had their own rhythms, always adjusting to coax the best yield from the land.
Simple if you grew up rural.
Complicated if you grew up in a city like Li Daoxuan, who stared at the process the same way one stares at an alien tax form.
Couldn't understand?
Then laugh along with the villagers. Problem solved.
Meanwhile, Xing Honglang's wounds had healed. Just as Li Daoxuan predicted, with bandits haunting Heyang County, she couldn't travel east back toward Shanxi to trade, so she turned west instead—toward Xi'an Prefecture.
Gao Chuwu escorted her to the village entrance but said almost nothing.
He was still drowning in guilt for "hitting her while she was injured," and had not emotionally recovered.
This meant the Eight-Trigrams Tianzun—Li Daoxuan—failed to harvest any gossip for days, making him deeply, spiritually upset.
But fine. Xing Honglang would now use Gaojia Village as her base long-term. She'd go out, do business, then return.
This love story had legs.
Recently, Gaojia Village gained a new spectacle:
Ma Tianzheng.
The wandering Daoist drifted about the village every day.
He didn't look for work.
He simply collected relief food and then wandered around studying the "divine objects."
For example—the Sun Car.
He researched it daily.
But with his knowledge structure, no matter how he analyzed it, he concluded:
"Yes. This must be the chariot of the Stellar Deity of the Dawn Star. Absolutely."
He also studied the gigantic rice grains—millstone-sized—and firmly concluded they were celestial rice from the immortal realm.
But after inspecting the "immortal rice," inspiration struck him.
Li Daoxuan saw him dragging over an old villager—Gao Labba, one of the original 42 villagers of Gaojia Village.
Gao Labba was a pot-maker, part-time watchman, and full-time social master—one of the village's peak extroverts. He was the one who first greeted Flat-Rabbit when she arrived.
And also the one who first greeted Xing Honglang.
A true social tiger.
Today wasn't his work shift, so he was lounging at home.
Which made him prime target for Ma Tianzheng, who preferred chatting with social butterflies rather than introverts.
"Good sir," Ma Tianzheng asked solemnly, "how do you usually eat celestial rice? Such enormous grains cannot be cooked whole."
Gao Labba grinned.
"Easy. We chisel pieces off and boil them into porridge."
Ma Tianzheng looked devastated.
"A travesty! Divine materials—handled so crudely?!"
Gao Labba scratched his head.
"Then how should we eat it?"
Ma Tianzheng stroked his beard with sage-like elegance.
"When I traveled the south, I learned a technique for processing rice. They soak, steam, and press it… and finally turn it into a food called rice noodles.
This method is perfect for celestial rice. I shall teach it to you."
Gao Labba became intrigued immediately.
The two plunged into experimentation.
Li Daoxuan watched, amused.
Rice noodles? Interesting. I only ever ordered rice noodles online. Never seen them made.
But the first step—washing and soaking—took so long that Li Daoxuan got bored, looked elsewhere, and promptly forgot the entire thing.
A few days later…
Gaojia Village Commercial Street welcomed its first official shop.
A bookstore.
Shansier herself served as temporary shopkeeper.
She hired two assistants, hung celebratory red flags, and prepared for grand opening.
The villagers were bewildered.
A bookstore?
Here?
This was a village of enthusiastic illiterates.
A thousand people, and fewer than a hundred could read.
Opening a bookstore here felt like opening a swimming gear shop in the desert.
The villagers didn't understand.
But not understanding didn't stop them from rushing over to watch.
On opening day, people surrounded the entrance three layers deep.
The original 42 locals showed up, villagers from Wangjia Village, Zhengjia Village, Zongjia Village came en masse, and even the laborers of Dagong Village gathered around.
Everyone whispered:
"This bookstore will collapse in days."
"Only a few scholars and some children can read. And the kids already get free books from Tianzun."
"What is Shansier thinking?"
Amid the gossip, Wang Xiansheng—the frail village teacher—stepped forward.
Normally, he almost never left the school well.
He spent his life teaching children to read, then retreated to books during every spare moment.
People often forgot he existed.
But today, he strode forth with surprising authority and shouted:
"Silence!"
Everyone fell quiet out of respect for the village's lone scholar.
Wang Xiansheng scolded,
"You cannot read, so you only look at the 'fun' of a bookstore?
Without books, culture dies.
If culture dies, the world collapses.
Shansier opened a bookstore to continue the teachings of the sages.
I support her. When the shop opens, I will be the first to buy a book."
The crowd suddenly felt they should perhaps not predict the store's death so loudly.
The doors opened.
Shansier walked out beaming.
"Esteemed villagers! The auspicious hour has arrived.
I declare Gaojia Village Bookstore officially open!
And now, our first published book…"
The crowd cheered.
Wang Xiansheng was trembling with excitement.
"A fine book! I shall order a copy at once!"
Shansier raised a book with a blue cover.
The front depicted a valiant general on horseback with a long spear.
Beside it, the book title printed vertically.
The villagers who couldn't read stared blankly.
But Wang Xiansheng recognized it instantly:
"'Blood and Sky: The Yang Family Generals'! A classic!"
Shansier opened the first page.
Everyone leaned in.
No text.
Not a single character.
Just a drawing.
Next page—another drawing.
Next page—still a drawing.
Wang Xiansheng: "!!!"
The villagers lit up.
"Wow! I get it! Yang generals are smashing the Liao soldiers! Great book! Great book!"
Wang Xiansheng clutched his chest:
"No—no—this is NOT a book.
This is obviously a picture book!"
Footnotes
Sorghum and Wheat Rotation — This crop pattern was common in northern regions with limited rainfall. Farmers used flexible schedules to balance food security and soil management.
Immortal Rice Mythology — Folktales often described giant grains of rice or millet as divine gifts. Here it becomes comedic worldbuilding when villagers casually chisel chunks off.
Southern Rice Noodles — Rice noodles originated from southern culinary traditions. Travelers often carried food-processing ideas between regions, making Ma Tianzheng's suggestion both plausible and culturally rooted.
Village Bookstores Historically — Rural literacy rates were historically very low, so opening a bookstore in a village was rare but symbolic—showing cultural aspiration and rising education.
Yang Family Generals Stories — A hugely popular storytelling tradition, especially through theater and illustrated folk books. Picture-based storytelling allowed illiterate audiences to enjoy heroic tales.