Morning stretched across Wangjia Village like a lazy cat waking from a nap, and once again the Solar Bus rolled out, carrying villagers off to sow sorghum.
The surrounding villages—Zhongjia, Zhangjia, Lijia—had already received rainfall from the Dragon King, so their fields were ready for planting too. Sure, they didn't have buses yet, but cement roads were under construction, and nothing boosts a farmer's energy like a dry sky, a working hoe, and the promise of crops. They marched to their fields humming, like laborers with a festival bonus.
The militia, usually up at dawn yelling and sweating, was strangely late today. Cheng Xu had postponed their gathering by an entire hour so everyone could rest properly—because even warriors fight better when their souls aren't half-asleep.
Li Daoxuan, as usual, rose early. In one hand: a huge meat bun. In the other: warm soy milk. One bite bun, one sip drink—balanced breakfast of divine overseers.
The old village chief of Gaojia Village lay half-reclined on his bamboo lounge chair, clutching a freshly printed Storybook of the Yang Clan Generals. The man was practically glowing with joy.
"This book—ha! Good! Too damn good!"
His eyes squinted into happy slivers.
Back in his youth, he'd often traveled to the county town, listening to storytellers narrate broken fragments of the Yang family saga. Once, he even peeked at an opera troupe performing it—didn't dare get close because he had no coins to tip.
So he'd lived decades with only patchwork pieces of the story spinning around in his head. Now, with the complete storybook in his hands, he finally saw the tale in one seamless line from start to finish. He read it once, twice, thrice—breakfast long forgotten, hunger be damned. The man could've starved triumphantly.
But his stomach suddenly complained: gurgle.
Loud enough to accuse him of neglect.
Just then—
"Rice noodles! Fresh rice noodles! Rare southern delicacy! One bowl, only five coppers!"
The old chief froze.
Li Daoxuan also froze.
Someone in Gaojia Village was… selling this?
He turned his gaze and spotted the culprit—Gao Laba. Of course. Just a few days ago, Daoist Ma Tianzheng had taught him the rice noodle craft. Li Daoxuan had been present, but as soon as the "soak the rice forever" step began, he wandered off because he despised "non-static images"—meaning: anything that takes patience.
And now the man was already running a business.
Gao Laba strutted through the nine halls and eighteen courtyards like a perfect street vendor, shoulder pole bouncing, voice pitching:
"Rice noooodleees!"
The old chief hollered,
"Laba! Is that you? Come here!"
Gao Laba darted through three turns and two corridors and arrived before the chief, unloading his pole with a proud grin.
"Village chief, want a bowl?"
"Bring it over. I got too absorbed in reading—lazy to cook. Let me try your new thing."
Inside the pole basket sat a large clay jar of freshly cooked rice noodles, steaming like a miniature hot spring. Gao Laba scooped out a bowl, sprinkled a few grains of salt—his version of gourmet seasoning—and handed it over.
The old chief slurped one mouthful.
His eyebrows shot up.
"Well butter my beard—this is actually good!"
Gao Laba chuckled.
"Daoist Ma taught me. He said southern folks have endless tricks with rice. Us northerners only know how to eat it plain."
The old chief immediately performed mental arithmetic.
Five coppers per bowl.
Eat one bowl a day.
Even if he ate until he keeled over as an ancestor, he still wouldn't burn much money.
Why cook for himself ever again?
He had old bones, no wife, and zero interest in chopping wood and boiling water every morning.
"Laba, from now on, bring me one bowl every morning."
Gao Laba's grin could've lit a lantern.
"Yes, sir!"
A good start boosts the spirit. He hopped away with renewed energy, weaving through the fortress like a monkey on a mission. Within minutes he'd sold dozens of bowls—after all, these were Gaojia's "old villagers," practically nobles now. Spending five coppers for novelty food was nothing.
Even Gao Sanwa had a bowl, slurping like it was a limited-edition delicacy.
By the time Laba's pot ran dry, his confidence had doubled.
But one problem gnawed at him:
Rice noodles, if prepared ahead, turned mushy when soaked too long.
How to scale up?
So Laba went to Daoist Ma again.
Ma Tianzheng chuckled, "Open a shop. Customers come in, they order, you cook fresh. That's how every noodle shop in the south works."
Enlightenment dawned on Laba.
"But where do I get a shop? Building a house is expensive."
Ma Tianzheng pointed to the hillside—at the rainbow-colored plastic houses known collectively as the Gaojia Commercial District.
"That's the marketplace given by Dao Xuan Tianzun. Many empty units. Ask the saintess if you can rent one."
Li Daoxuan, watching from above, nearly applauded.
Excellent. This was the first spark of true commerce in Gaojia.
But those plastic houses—absolutely not fireproof. He needed Laba to construct his own stove inside.
He issued the order through Gao Yiye:
Laba gets a special policy.
First three months: free rent.
From month four onward: fifty copper coins per month—symbolic.
After that, price may rise slowly.
Li Daoxuan worried stove-building might be too hard for Laba.
Turns out: nope.
Ancient people had lived in wooden houses forever—far easier to burn down than plastic ones. So their indoor fire-prevention skills were legendary. With some mud and stones, Laba swiftly built a safe, compact stove.
Before long, the second shop of the Gaojia Commercial District opened:
"Laba Rice Noodles."
Right beside the "Gaojia Book House" operated by Shansier.
Villagers bought storybooks, then strolled next door, plopped into a seat, opened their latest comic, and casually called:
"Boss! One bowl of rice noodles!"
"Coming right up!"
Laba grabbed a handful of noodles, tossed them into boiling water, cooked them with practiced speed, scooped them into a bowl, sprinkled a pinch of salt, and served them with pride.
Customers flipped their storybooks with their left hand, lifted chopsticks with their right, and—
shuuuup—
Slurped the noodles with blissful abandon.
Life didn't get more heavenly than this.
Footnotes
Southern rice noodles (mifen) — A staple in many southern regions; unlike northern wheat noodles, these rely on rice-soaking, grinding, and steaming techniques, reflecting regional grain differences across China.
Solar Bus commute — Rural communities historically walked long distances to fields. The "Solar Bus" blends modern convenience into ancient settings, parodying how infrastructure changes revolutionize daily labor.
Street vendors with shoulder poles — The danbang-style vendor was common across East Asian markets. Food mobility let people sell breakfast without needing shops—an early form of pop-up economy.
Cement roads under construction — A reference to the dramatic change in rural accessibility once hard roads appeared. Historically, villages with roads gained faster development and better trade opportunities.
Indoor clay stoves — A classic feature of old homes, hand-built using mud, straw, and stone. These shoestring innovations let villagers cook safely even in flammable wooden structures.
Commercial districts in villages — Rural markets often grew spontaneously around temples or wells. Here, Gaojia's "business district" parodies modern urban planning inside a historically rural world.