Spring, third month.
Everything was sprouting back to life, the perfect time to sow the fields—if only Heaven had remembered to send rain.
Thankfully, even when Heaven slacked off, Dao Xuan Tianzun didn't.
According to Yiye—who whispered it to the villagers with theatrical secrecy—Tianzun once again grabbed the Dragon King by the neck and dragged him out to dump rain onto the fields.
The folks of Wangjia Village immediately began sowing sorghum.
Li Daoxuan finally pieced together how farmers in normal years lived around here. They planted sorghum in the third month and harvested in autumn; then sowed autumn wheat in the ninth month to be harvested the next May or June.
If the wheat harvest was late, sorghum planting got pushed to June…
Farmers, it turned out, navigated the seasons like seasoned gamblers—shifting their hand, adjusting their rhythm, maximizing whatever Heaven didn't ruin that year.
To them it was as natural as breathing.
To Li Daoxuan—raised on city pavement—even staring at it didn't guarantee understanding.
So he simply grinned like an idiot and followed the farmers' cheerful rhythm. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
Xing Honglang's wounds had finally healed. As Daoxuan predicted, with robbers stirring up chaos in Heyang County, she couldn't return east to Shanxi for her usual business route. So she turned west—to Xi'an Prefecture.
Gao Chuwu escorted her to the village entrance, but didn't dare speak much. He was still drowning in guilt over that… incident where he "took advantage of her injury to spar."
The Village Gossip Supreme—Daoxuan—had been looking forward to juicy love-plot developments. But with Gao Chuwu acting like a shamefaced mushroom, his favorite gossip line had stalled. Very tragic.
Ah well. Xing Honglang would return eventually. High-value drama always circles back for a second season.
Recently, a new "attraction" had appeared in Gaojia Village: Ma Tianzheng, the wandering Taoist.
This man wandered the village every day doing absolutely nothing.
No job.
Collects relief grain.
Studies gadgets and "divine objects" like an archeologist possessed.
Every morning he inspected the Sun-Car.
Given his knowledge level—which hovered somewhere between "confident" and "confidently wrong"—he concluded the device was definitely the personal chariot of the Constellation Marshal of the Daylight Star.
He also studied the giant white rice.
Naturally, he determined it must be Heavenly Immortal Rice without question.
But after obsessing over the "Immortal Rice," he suddenly had a spark of genius.
Li Daoxuan spotted him pulling aside Gao Labba—one of the original forty-two villagers. Gao Labba was a master pot maker and part-time watchman, often spinning a bow on the battlements just for fun. He was also the first villager to greet Flat-Rabbit when he arrived, and the first to greet Xing Honglang as well.
A true social butterfly.
Since he wasn't on duty today, he rested at home—only to be captured by Ma Tianzheng. Naturally, Ma preferred chatting with extroverts.
"Esteemed villager," Ma Tianzheng said reverently, "how did you used to eat this Immortal Rice? With such gigantic grains, you cannot possibly cook them whole."
Gao Labba grinned: "Of course not. We chisel off a chunk and boil it into porridge."
Ma Tianzheng nearly fainted from sacrilege.
"Such divine treasure, ruined by mortal negligence!"
"So what do you propose?" Gao Labba asked.
Ma stroked his beard. "On my journeys in the south, I learned a method: soak the rice, steam it, press it, then slice it into strips—thus creating a food known as rice noodles. This divine rice would be perfect for such treatment!"
Gao Labba brightened. "Sounds fun. Let's try!"
Daoxuan, amused: Rice noodles? I only know how to order takeout rice noodles… perfect chance to watch real craftsmen at work.
Except the first step—soaking—took ages.
Daoxuan, unable to handle non-moving content, promptly wandered off and forgot the entire project.
A few days later…
The first shop on Gaojia Village Commercial Street opened.
A bookstore!
Run personally by Shansier as temporary shopkeeper, with two helpers. Bright banners fluttered. Grand opening.
The villagers were baffled. A bookstore? Here?
This was a habitat of unparalleled illiteracy. Out of over a thousand people, fewer than a hundred could read.
Opening a bookstore here was like opening a violin shop in a village where no one had fingers.
Naturally, they flocked to watch.
On opening day, the bookstore was surrounded three layers deep—Gaojia villagers, plus Wangjia, Zhengjia, Zongjia immigrants, plus the entire short-term labor village. Everyone stared, whispering:
"This place won't last three days."
"Only a handful can read. The kids already get free books from Tianzun."
"What is Shansier thinking?"
Then—shockingly—Wang-xiansheng stepped forward.
Usually the most low-profile man alive, living in the "Study Well" building, reading and teaching and rarely breathing fresh air.
He raised his hand.
"Silence!"
The crowd instantly shut up. Respect for scholars still ran deep.
"You may not understand books," Wang-xiansheng declared, "but you can at least respect them! Without books, culture dies. Shansier opens this bookstore to preserve the teachings of the sages. I shall support him. When the doors open, I will buy the first copy!"
The villagers blinked. The scholar had spoken. They dared not mock the bookstore anymore.
The shop doors opened.
Shansier emerged, smiling proudly.
"Today, Gaojia Village Bookstore officially opens! And our first published book is…"
Cheers erupted.
"What masterpiece is it?" Wang-xiansheng asked, trembling with excitement.
Shansier raised a booklet with a blue cover—an armored warrior on horseback, spear lowered in heroic pose. The villagers, illiterate, stared blankly at the title.
Wang-xiansheng recognized it instantly.
"'Blood and Honor: Tales of the Yang Clan Warriors.' Excellent! Excellent!"
Shansier opened it.
No words.
Not a single character.
Just… drawings. Page after page.
Wang-xiansheng: "???"
Villagers: "Ohhh, I get it! Yang warriors fighting the Liao! Good book!"
Wang-xiansheng: "This—this isn't a book! This is clearly a picture album!"
But the crowd was delighted.
"This book is fun!"
"The pictures tell the whole story!"
Even the old village chief—wealthy from chocolate profits, famously illiterate—slapped down coins.
"I'll buy one! I'll go home and enjoy it slowly!"
Once he started, the stampede followed. Within minutes, dozens of copies sold.
Wang-xiansheng stood stunned.
They ignore literature… but go feral over doodles?!
Shansier patted his shoulder.
"Not buying one?"
Wang shook his head violently.
"I only buy fine art. Not… this."
Shansier grinned.
"You haven't noticed? Fancy art books don't tell stories. But these—these picture-stories do. For common folk, a good story matters more than artistic finesse."
Wang-xiansheng froze.
"Ah… this might actually teach non-readers… something."
"Exactly," Shansier said, satisfied. "This is only Volume One. Volume Two and Three are coming soon. You can wait for the whole set or buy as we print—each according to their needs."
Village chief shouted, "Faster! Print faster!"
Kids demanded full sets. Mothers approved.
Bai Yan begged his mother; Bai-furen smacked him; he complained; she realized she had become exactly like Gasanian's mother. Cue panic.
Then guilt.
Then unconditional buying.
Just then, someone slunk up beside Shansier.
Flat-Rabbit.
Clean clothes. Sharpened ancestral sword. A new scabbard made by a convict during break time. The rabbit looked almost respectable.
But the way he whispered was absolutely not respectable.
"Three-manager… do you print… that kind of book?"
Shansier blinked.
Ah. That kind of book.
He leaned in.
"Spring… illustrated…?"
Flat-Rabbit choked.
"What nonsense?! You think I'm that shameless?! I don't want your filthy pictures!"
Shansier coughed. "Then say what you want!"
Flat-Rabbit whispered: "Sword manuals. Any secret manuals?"
Shansier facepalmed.
"You creep up like a spy asking for forbidden goods—what was I supposed to think?!"
Flat-Rabbit: "Secret manuals are secret. Secret things must be asked secretly. Naturally."
"Absolutely not." Shansier said flatly. "There are no manuals. There will never be manuals."
Flat-Rabbit sighed dramatically.
"No manuals? With such a lacking inventory, your bookstore is doomed."
"Get. Out." Shansier snapped.
"Hey, why angry? Business fails, friendship remains—"
"One more word and I'll ask Instructor He to stew you into Red-Braised Rabbit Head."
Flat-Rabbit vanished instantly.
There were only two people he feared: the Saintess… and Instructor He.
Shansier stared after him, helpless.
"That idiot… what goes on in his head all day?"
Footnotes
Picture-story books (also called "lianhuanhua" in later centuries) became hugely popular in China for mass literacy, especially during the late Qing and Republican eras. They offered accessible storytelling for people who couldn't read long texts.
Rice noodles developed in southern China as early as the Tang, but widespread folk production methods—soaking, steaming, pressing—became especially standardized in the Ming. Many northern travelers recorded shock at how versatile southern rice cuisine was.
Spring picture albums—erotic illustrated books—were historically widespread but circulated privately. Ming authorities alternated between cracking down and tacitly ignoring them, which led to a notorious underground market.
Village bookstores in agrarian societies were rare due to low literacy, but picture-story publishing often became the spark of early cultural uplift, allowing commoners to access moral tales, heroic epics, and simplified classics.