Zhang Banzhu mulled over something Dao Xuan Tianzun had said earlier.
Indeed, their Zhang Jiaban troupe only knew a few dozen plays. In a big county town where the crowd was constantly changing, performing the same repertoire again and again wouldn't matter—someone new would always show up.
But here?
This bizarre little village had a fixed population. If they performed one play a day, they'd run through their entire repertoire in just a few weeks. When the cycle repeated… who would come watch again?
Should they tuck their tails between their legs and crawl back to the county?
Back there, people couldn't even fill their stomachs. Who'd spend time watching opera? Should they line up for relief food again? Never! Absolutely not!
After finally finding a place—this miraculous village—where they could earn a living performing, Zhang Banzhu swore he'd rather die than return to the miserable county.
A fire lit up inside him.
He needed new plays. Lots of new plays. Immediately.
Just then his eyes swept across the thinning crowd… and spotted a Daoist priest among them.
Ma Tianzheng.
Zhang Banzhu lit up like a lantern, rushing over.
"Daozhang! Please, wait a moment!"
Ma Tianzheng bowed. "Does the benefactor require something?"
"Just now you saw our Shanbei daoqing performance, yes?"
Ma Tianzheng nodded with pride. "Splendid. That was one of the stories I taught."
Zhang Banzhu clasped his hands.
"Daoqing relies on Daoist tales for its material. My poor belly holds little ink—I know too few stories. Daozhang, would you tell me more so I can adapt them into new performances?"
Ma Tianzheng was ecstatic.
Priests loved telling Daoist stories. And if those stories turned into songs and plays spread to the common folk?
A perfect win-win for religion and entertainment.
No need to wait until tomorrow—start tonight!
A candlelit story-marathon awaited.
Once the crowd completely dispersed, Li Daoxuan switched off the colorful lights. He took them out of storage carefully—those modern lights carried electricity, and he definitely didn't want some mischievous idiot deciding to try his "Heavenly Bunny World-Cutter Sword" on the wires.
One careless slash and the village would discover a new kind of explosion.
He had just finished gathering the lights when he noticed a small group moving gloomily at the edge of the commercial district. Everyone else was cheerful, but these men looked like they'd swallowed a bucket of bitterness.
Labor-camp prisoners.
Li Daoxuan's interest immediately sharpened.
He quietly followed their direction with his eyes.
At first the noise around them was too loud for him to hear.
But once they reached the path near the labor-camp village, the voices became clear.
One prisoner sighed, "Everyone else was giving tips to the troupe… and we're the only ones with no money."
Another grumbled, "Yeah… even if I had one copper, I'd have tipped. But I've got nothing. Feels embarrassing."
A third said bitterly, "We're labor-convicts. What face do we have? We attacked Gaojia Village trying to kill people. They didn't execute us and they feed us—already a heavenly blessing. We can't complain."
"I know, I know, I'm not complaining," the first one said. "It's just… refugees doing short-term work now live better than us. If I hadn't followed Zhong Guangdao down the wrong path… things would be different."
"Oh? You're from the Zhong family village?"
"Yeah. My name's Zhong Gaoliang."
"Your name is… well…"
Zhong Gaoliang sighed.
"I'm not blaming anyone. Dao Xuan Tianzun and Gaojia Village have treated us well. Shansier is a good man—he always sneaks us extra portions. I just regret taking the wrong step. With my strength, I'd definitely earn as much as those short-term workers if I hadn't messed up."
The group sighed together.
"Who knows when this labor sentence will end…"
Heads hanging, the convicts crawled back into their plastic barracks.
Li Daoxuan mentally counted the dates.
Yes… it had been a while.
These men had attacked Gaojia Village in the eighth or ninth month of the 1627 lunar calendar.
It was now late third month of 1628.
They had served half a year.
For attempted murder and robbery, half a year was laughably short by modern legal standards—ten years easy.
But Ming-dynasty standards weren't the same. Context mattered.
It was about time to introduce things like "model laborers," sentence reductions, early release ceremonies…
Give them hope. Motivation. A reason to rebuild their lives.
…
Next morning at dawn—
Shansier shot out of bed.
He had been waking early and sleeping late for days, completely obsessed with a grand project: reclassifying worker wages.
Ever since Xing Honglang explained the idea to him, he'd been reorganizing the village's entire labor system—listing every job type, then assigning each job a different kind of payment.
One worker might get rice. Another oil. Another salt.
Naturally, the rice-holder needed oil, the oil-holder needed salt, and so on.
The village's goods would circulate internally—a much healthier economic ecosystem.
But it was a headache-inducing nightmare.
He had to calculate the value of every item, then distribute the right amounts so that no one felt cheated.
He was deep in painful arithmetic when—
Knock knock.
Gao Yiye called from outside.
"Third Manager, you awake? Tianzun sent me with instructions!"
Shansier jumped to open the door.
"What does Tianzun command?"
Gao Yiye said, "You're in charge of labor-camp affairs, right?"
"Yes. I handle the general direction. Tan Liwen handles the details."
"Good. Tianzun says he remembers five newer prisoners. Their crime was minor—they robbed Shitou Si."
Ah yes, that event happened not long ago, after Flat-Rabbit arrived. Shansier remembered clearly.
"Yes, that was New Year's Day. Five men struck Shitou Si once with a stick and robbed him of food. Flat-Rabbit's team captured them and tossed them into the labor camp. It's been three months."
Li Daoxuan praised him silently from afar.
This guy truly understood grassroots work—he remembered everything. Even Daoxuan forgot it happened on New Year's Day.
Gao Yiye continued relaying Tianzun's words:
"For such a small offense, three months is enough. Have Shansier host a grand 'completion-of-sentence release ceremony.'
In front of all other convicts, release those five.
Move them to the short-term workers' village.
And pay them normally from now on."
Footnotes
Labor Camp Structure – In many ancient rural communities, makeshift "labor camps" were more like controlled work-villages rather than prisons. The story plays with that concept in comedic, modernized fashion.
Shanbei Daoqing & Daoist Tales – Daoqing often adapted religious stories into musical theater to teach lessons. It was basically ancient infotainment.
Economic Circulation – Shansier's system mimics early planned-economy barter cycles, amusingly ahead of its time.
Sentence-Reduction Ceremonies – Historically, public pardons and clemency ceremonies were common; they reinforced social order and rewarded good behavior.