Just as Zhong Gaoliang was busy celebrating the glorious return of his "pure civilian status," trouble elsewhere was already simmering like a forgotten pot on a winter stove.
Far to the north, in Qingjian County, a scholar named Zhao Sheng sat inside the stone-walled Shiyou Temple, reading under a trembling oil lamp. Zhao was one of those classic exam veterans: the kind who kept failing but refused to stop. He had no official title, no success to his name, but his moral reputation gleamed brighter than any bronze mirror. Villagers brought him family letters to write, announcements to read, even storybooks to interpret. He helped everyone and charged no one, which automatically made him beloved—ancient rural economies ran on this sort of unpaid community labor.
Whenever he had spare time, he would sit outside and tell stories to farmers returning from the fields. It was the closest thing to evening entertainment before the invention of card games.
Tonight, he was lost in a chapter when a little monk burst in like a startled quail.
"Master Zhao! Run!"
Zhao blinked. "…Run?"
The monk lowered his voice as if the shadows might overhear.
"The magistrate's runners are coming for you. Someone spread a rumor saying you've been lighting lamps at night in a lonely temple—just like Huang Chao in the old Pinghua tales, secretly raising troops for rebellion."
Zhao almost dropped his book. "How—how did that nonsense start?"
"Who cares how? They're nearly here!" the monk whispered urgently. "All of Shaanxi is a powder keg right now. Rebellions everywhere. The officials are so tense their eyelids twitch when a dog barks. If anyone so much as looks suspicious, they arrest first and invent your confession afterward."
Zhao's heart sank.
He only wanted to study, pass the next exam, make his ancestors proud… but apparently even reading at night now counted as a revolutionary act. That was the problem with times of unrest: the line between scholar and suspect became razor-thin.
He grabbed his books and slipped out the temple's back door.
By the time he fled into Jiejia Gully, the sound of boots thundered behind him. Zhao, being the type of scholar who specialized in "strong ideals, weak legs," was not built for sprinting. The runners were closing in fast.
Just as he braced for doom, shouts erupted from the fields.
A sea of villagers surged in, wielding hoes, sickles, wooden staves—everything except proper weapons, which was standard issue for spontaneous uprisings.
"Don't touch Master Zhao!"
"He's a good man! You're framing him!"
"I'm rebelling today, damn it!"
"Beat these government bastards!"
The mob crashed into the runners like a furious tidal wave. Ancient villagers didn't know the word "solidarity," but they certainly practiced it—once riled up, they could flatten an entire county office before breakfast.
…
Chongzhen Year One, late April, dawn.
Back in Gaojia Village, Li Da burst out of the forge, holding a tiny spring like a victorious general waving a captured flag.
"I did it! Hahaha! I finally did it! The spring regained its bounce!"
Li Daoxuan, who had just woken up and was munching a sticky rice ball beside a crate, looked over despite himself.
Li Da rushed to the foot of the watchtower—too respectful (and too nervous) to climb it—and shouted up.
"Saintess! Are you awake? Come look!"
Gao Yiye poked her head out from the third-floor balcony, eyes bright and face free of the dark circles she used to sport. Li Daoxuan had purposely lightened her workload so she could paint during daylight instead of sacrificing sleep at night.
Li Da pressed the spring between his palms—squish—and let go.
The spring bounced back with a cheerful little boing, proud of its own revival.
"See! I did it!"
Yiye laughed. "Uncle Li, I… don't understand a word of this. But don't worry—Tianzun saw it."
Li Da straightened like a man reporting to heaven itself.
"Tianzun! Did you see? I heated it red-hot, then plunged it into cold water! It regained some elasticity—not as good as before, but at least it doesn't flatten instantly!"
Li Daoxuan smiled internally.
He had discovered quenching—well, a clumsy, beginner-friendly version of it. But considering ancient craftsmen mostly operated on tradition and instinct rather than principles, this was already a breakthrough. Ancient technology often solved problems without knowing why the solutions worked. People boiled water daily but had no idea about molecules speeding up. They hardened metal with cold water but couldn't imagine atomic structures tightening.
Civilization advanced on clever hands, not scientific understanding.
So they always knew what worked, never why it worked—a charming flaw and the long-term bane of technological progress.
"Yiye," Li Daoxuan said softly, "go fetch Daoist Ma."
Daoist Ma Tianzheng arrived at once. Unlike villagers who hesitated, a Daoist priest practically sprinted to earn heavenly merit. He dropped into a full ceremonial bow.
"Disciple Ma Tianzheng awaits the divine command!"
"Li Da," said Li Daoxuan, "give him the spring. And a bag of cement."
Ma Tianzheng found himself holding a spring in one hand and a sack of cement in the other, staring with the expression of a man asked to solve a riddle without hints.
"Tianzun… I cannot understand these mysteries."
"There is a difficult and glorious task for you," Li Daoxuan said. "Travel to Waxi Pailou in Fengxin County, Jiangxi. Find a scholar named Song Yingxing—he's failed the exams many times and is questioning his life choices. When you meet him, show him the spring. Then teach him how to use the cement."
The instruction was simple, but its historical weight wasn't—Song Yingxing, the future author of Tiangong Kaiwu, one of the greatest technological encyclopedias of ancient times, was currently somewhere between depressed and unemployed. What he needed was inspiration, not theology.
Ma Tianzheng nodded solemnly.
"So I merely travel to Jiangxi. Not difficult at all. I shall depart this moment."
"Go safely," Li Daoxuan said. "If the spring and cement are lost, we can make more. But if you are lost, you cannot be replaced."
Ma's eyes turned red.
"Tianzun's mercy eclipses the sun. This humble body is worth nothing, yet you still care."
He packed immediately—dry rations, travel clothes, leggings—and tucked the spring and cement into his chest as if carrying two sacred relics. Then he set off toward Jiangxi with the seriousness of a pilgrimage.
Only when he left did Li Daoxuan turn back to Li Da, toss him a silver pellet as reward, and say:
"You did well with the spring. Now tackle the next challenge. While developing the new musket, take on apprentices. Teach them the firelance you already mastered. With gunpowder ready, it's time to build transitional weapons."
Li Da grinned from ear to ear and ran back to the Workshop, ready to terrorize apprentices with new homework.
Just then, voices drifted from the official road outside the fortress. Li Daoxuan looked over and immediately saw Magistrate Liang Shixian and Inspector Fang Wushang approaching—trailing behind them a thick swarm of officers and soldiers.
The government had come calling again.