The Daoqing opera finally ended, and the buzzing, lantern-lit market spilled into a tidal wave of chatter as villagers drifted home.
Xing Honglang, who spent all year running trade routes and rarely had time to sit for entertainment, was in an unusually good mood. She even tossed a small ingot of silver onto the stage—very generous for someone who usually negotiated prices down to the copper.
When she stood up, still savoring the aftertaste of the performance, she suddenly realized something horrifying.
She had been sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Gao Chuwu.
Shoulder.
To.
Shoulder.
Watching an opera.
Just like—
JUST LIKE THAT SORT OF THING!
Xing Honglang instantly exploded:
"I did not agree to anything!"
Gao Chuwu blinked. "Agree to what?"
"Humph!"
After the humph, she remembered something. She reached behind her back and unhooked the heavy-backed chopping blade she always carried.
"This knife," she said, thrusting it at him, "seems like it suits you. Take it."
"Huh?"
Gao Chuwu lit up like a lantern.
Xing Honglang snapped, "What are you grinning at? It's not what you think."
Gao Chuwu scratched his cheek. "Uh… what did I think?"
Xing Honglang stared.
He…
He actually didn't think anything?
He didn't even realize what she was mad about?
Her embarrassment was instantly unnecessary.
She snorted. "This knife is a thank-you gift for helping me last time. That's all it is. Understand?"
Gao Chuwu beamed. "Got it! But I can't take it."
The anger gauge inside Xing Honglang shot from 0 to 100.
"Why won't you take something from me!?"
Gao Chuwu said innocently, "You didn't take the chocolate I gave you. So I can't take a knife from you."
Crack.
Xing Honglang flexed her knuckles—loudly.
"Duel tomorrow. If I win, you take the knife. If I lose, you pay me."
Gao Chuwu flinched. "Wait—aren't you still injured?"
"My injuries healed ages ago. Tomorrow is a fair duel."
"…Okay!"
While these two negotiated violence like normal people negotiate grocery prices, Gao Yiye finished watching the opera and was preparing to go home to draw her little picture book. Then Dao Xuan Tianzun's voice echoed:
"Yiye."
She immediately looked up.
"Tianzun, what do you need?"
Li Daoxuan said, "Follow the crowd. Outside the venue, two newcomers are wandering around lost. Go talk to them."
"Okay! On it!"
Oneye bounded forward, weaving through the dispersing villagers.
Trailing behind her was Shansier's twelve-year-old daughter, bouncing along like a tiny shadow.
In no time, the two girls appeared in front of Xu Dafu and the lantern-maker—both of whom were still scanning the crowd helplessly, trying to locate Xing Honglang.
They had no idea she was busy arranging tomorrow's duel with the human embodiment of a loyal golden retriever.
Before they could panic further, the two girls stopped in front of them.
The older girl—Gao Yiye—still had her signature black eye circles from chronic overwork.
"Found you," she said.
The two craftsmen pointed at themselves.
"You mean… us?"
Yiye yawned so wide she looked like she might swallow a lantern. "Yeah. You."
The men examined her clothes—not luxurious, but clean cotton, definitely not something a poor family's child would wear. A girl from a decent household, at the very least.
Both bowed immediately. "Does the young lady have instructions?"
Yiye rubbed her dark eye circles. "Which one of you is the lantern-maker?"
"Me!" the lantern-maker said, startled. "How did you know?"
"Obviously Tianzun told me," she said.
The craftsmen jolted.
Tianzun?
The same Tianzun who handed out massive silver spheres earlier?
They straightened their backs at once.
The lantern-maker's face brightened. "Does Tianzun have orders for me?"
Yiye pointed to the Gaojia commercial street.
"You see how dark and boring the whole area is? Tianzun wants a lot of lanterns—enough to light up the entire district."
The lantern-maker's spirit soared.
Oh, this was his moment.
Yiye listened to the sky briefly, then relayed, "Tianzun says you get free meals and lodging, and three taels of silver a month. Do you want the job?"
Three. Taels.
The lantern-maker staggered.
Three whole taels for making lanterns.
He nearly kneeled right there.
He dug a massive piece of earwax out of his ear—just to confirm he was hearing correctly.
"Three taels? Truly three taels?"
Gao Yiye laughed. "Why would we lie? Craftsmen in Gaojia Village always get good wages. If you agree, go report to Third Steward."
"That's the person who stood on the wall earlier?"
"Yep."
The lantern-maker whooped and sprinted toward the main fortress—forgetting Xu Dafu existed.
Which left Xu Dafu standing alone in the dark corner of the plaza, the embodiment of confusion and regret.
Should he follow the lantern-maker?
Should he wait for Xing Honglang?
Should he go cry?
Dao Xuan Tianzun watched him from above with mild amusement.
"Yiye," he said. "Ask him what he does."
Oneye repeated the question.
Xu Dafu froze.
He was a gunpowder craftsman.
A dangerous profession, tightly monitored ever since the capital explosions. If he revealed that here, would he be dragged off by officials?
Gunpowder work had trained him to be cautious.
Very, very cautious.
He hesitated, mouth opening and closing like a stunned goldfish.
Just then—Xing Honglang arrived with Gao Chuwu, the two of them loudly arguing about tomorrow's duel rules.
She spotted Xu Dafu.
"Oh! Right! I forgot you two here. Where's the lantern-maker?"
"Found work," Xu Dafu said bleakly. "He went to see Third Steward."
Xing Honglang grinned.
"Why the long face? You don't need to worry about finding work. Tianzun asked for you specifically."
She turned to Yiye.
"Saint Girl, tell Tianzun—this guy's a gunpowder craftsman. I brought him from Xi'an Prefecture."
Li Daoxuan perked up instantly.
A gunpowder craftsman.
Now that was exciting.
Footnotes
Gunpowder Craftsmen's Paranoia
Gunpowder workers historically developed intense caution—one wrong spark could vaporize a workshop. Many walked lightly, spoke softly, and lived with fire-obsessed anxiety.
Three Taels of Silver
For common craftsmen, one or two taels a year was normal. Three taels monthly was wealth-level promotion, equivalent to "winning the jackpot but still having to clock in tomorrow."
Dueling as Social Communication
In frontier regions, settling arguments or proving sincerity via "friendly duels" was normal. If two people didn't fight at least once, were they even friends?
Lantern-Maker's Ecstasy
Lantern-making was an extremely low-income craft. Getting hired to illuminate an entire commercial district was basically becoming the CEO of "Lights Department."