Early the next morning, several large delivery trucks slowly made their way toward Bai Family Fort.
(These 'trucks' were likely horse-drawn carts scaled up in the villagers' perception. The 'large delivery trucks' would appear as celestial wagons—massive, rumbling conveyances that moved with steady, inexorable purpose.)
Meanwhile, Li Daoxuan began preparing the "Refugee Valley" to settle Dian Dengzi and his people.
First, he dug a hole in the middle of the valley and buried a plastic container filled with water, creating a pond in the valley.
(Water management was critical for Ming settlements. A reliable pond could mean the difference between life and death during droughts. Villagers would see this 'instant pond' as miraculous hydrological engineering.)
Next, at both ends of the valley, he placed two small plastic castles, perfectly blocking the entrances and protecting the interior.
Then he arranged numerous plastic houses throughout the valley, filling it completely. Of course, for the well-being of the little people, the space couldn't feel too oppressive. He left several small plazas within the residential blocks, placing a few plastic trees and flowers to bring springtime vibrancy to the entire valley.
(Urban planning, Ming-style: The 'plazas' (街心花园) followed Confucian principles of harmony with nature, even in refugee housing. Traditional Chinese settlements always incorporated gardens—not just aesthetics, but practical spaces for socializing, drying grains, and emergency gatherings.)
Now came the main event: laying the small train tracks.
The miniature tracks bought online came in short segments about ten centimeters long, highly flexible and freely combinable. There were straight sections, curved sections, and even slopes—with enough imagination, you could arrange them into any shape.
Li Daoxuan had desperately wanted to play with these as a child, but back then, he had no money…
When he finally had money to buy the toys he'd most wanted as a child, he discovered he had grown up. Toys in hand no longer brought the excitement they would have in childhood.
Such is life!
When you want something, you must strive for it with all your might. Never tell yourself to wait for a price drop or until you have more money… because you can't be sure that by then, you'll still yearn for it as you do now.
(This philosophical aside reflects a core tension in the novel: Li's godlike power versus his very human nostalgia. He can reshape worlds but can't reclaim childhood wonder—a poignant limitation even for a 'deity.')
Li Daoxuan snapped the sections together, connecting track after track, stretching from the entrance of "Refugee Valley" all the way to Gao Village.
At first, with no one around, nobody saw his work.
But the closer he got to Gao Village, the more people witnessed the operation. The convict laborers and short-term workers toiling on Gao Village's outskirts were the first to see this wondrous sight.
Vividly colored strange tracks continuously descended from the sky, landing on the ground and connecting with already-laid tracks with crisp "snap" sounds.
They kept descending, assembling, descending, assembling—the multicolored tracks steadily extended toward Gao Village.
Anyone with a working brain knew the Tianzun was at play with some wondrous "celestial artifact." The convicts and short-term workers stopped their tasks and turned to watch the spectacle.
The tracks advanced relentlessly!
Villagers in the tracks' path naturally stepped aside, watching as the tracks continued past them along the ground.
Passing through open land between two wheat fields, they extended all the way to Gao Village's entrance.
Villagers stared at this long, strange track, rows of question marks practically visible above their heads.
Then—whoosh—a bizarre large vehicle descended from the sky onto the tracks.
This vehicle was much larger than the solar bus, even bigger than Solar Bus No. 3, the large freight vehicle.
And it wasn't just one section—it was an engine pulling carriage after carriage, over a dozen linked together, ending with… another engine?
Villagers were even more bewildered. A vehicle with two engines? What was this about?
(The double-ended train design was brilliantly practical for a shuttle service: no need for turntables or complex switching. In the 1630s, even the concept of 'rail vehicles' was centuries premature—Europe's first wagonways were just emerging in mining districts.)
Then Gao Yiye came running out of the main fort, calling out cheerfully, "The Tianzun decrees: The little train requires two drivers, working in shifts. Wages are the same as for solar bus drivers. Any volunteers?"
"Me! Me! Me!"
A crowd immediately surged from Short-Term Labor Village, scrambling for the positions.
Seeing so many applicants, Secretary Tan Liwen had to step in. He first eliminated several slow reactors, then removed a few who clearly lacked diligence and attention to detail, finally settling on two quick-witted, agile-minded individuals.
The two cautiously boarded the engine.
Gao Yiye, listening to Li Daoxuan's instructions, taught them how to turn the switch on and off, what to watch for while driving (people or animals on the tracks, etc.)—a series of basic safety essentials.
After the briefing, the two drivers prepared for their test run.
Li Daoxuan sat beside the diorama, ready to intervene if needed.
One driver flipped the switch. The little train emitted a "woo" sound—a simulated steam whistle—quite pleasant to hear. Then came the "clackety-clack" noises…
The train powered up and began moving slowly along the tracks at eight centimeters per second.
To Li Daoxuan, this speed seemed sluggish.
But eight centimeters per second in the box translated to sixteen meters per second in the late Ming—about 57.6 kilometers per hour. Not slow at all. The little train zoomed along the tracks toward Refugee Valley.
The two novice drivers screamed in shock…
But only momentarily. Within a minute or two, their tension eased. They realized the vehicle, though fast, stayed firmly on the tracks without deviation—quite stable, even steadier than riding the solar bus.
Soon, Refugee Valley came into view.
Gao Yiye smiled. "We're approaching the terminal station. When you see that station house ahead, prepare to stop."
The drivers acknowledged, readying themselves.
At Gao Yiye's command, they quickly shut off the power. The little train screeched to a halt precisely before the platform.
"Alright!" Gao Yiye laughed. "Now the little train will load and unload passengers. You two can disembark. Lock this engine's door to prevent unauthorized entry. Then quickly move to the other engine."
The drivers didn't understand at first, but soon realized: moving to the other engine at the rear would allow the train to travel back along the tracks. So that's why this strange little train had two engines!
They and Gao Yiye hurried to the other engine.
Using the same method, they started the train. The little train again went "woo" and began clackety-clacking along.
The two drivers laughed. "This thing called a 'train' is quite simple to operate!"
Gao Yiye's expression turned serious. "The Tianzun says: if this vehicle crashes, everyone in the dozen carriages behind could die. As its drivers, you must be extremely careful. Absolutely no mistakes permitted. Never think that because it's simple to drive, you can neglect observing the track. Maintain utmost vigilance. If you see any foreign object on the tracks ahead, stop immediately, assess the situation, and only proceed when clear. Understood?"
The drivers quickly responded, "Understood! But… who will actually ride this train? That valley is empty."
Gao Yiye smiled. "Perhaps… people will come soon."
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[Behind the Technology]
The train's speed—57.6 km/h—was revolutionary for the 1630s. For comparison: the fastest Ming courier horses could maintain 20-30 km/h for short stretches; European stagecoaches averaged 10-15 km/h on good roads. This "little train" effectively doubled terrestrial speed limits overnight.
The "clackety-clack" sound was pure theater—Li added it for atmosphere. Real early trains were nearly silent on smooth track, but he knew villagers would find the rhythmic noise reassuring, like a heartbeat confirming the machine was alive and functioning.
Double-ended design solved the "terminal problem": no turntables needed. This mirrored real-world mountain railways where shuttle trains with engines at both ends still operate today (like the Pilatus Railway in Switzerland, opened 1889—Li beat them by 250 years with toy tech).
Most subtly: the train created psychological connection. Six li (3.5km) was previously "a separate world." Now it became "a few minutes away." This compression of space would reshape Gao Village's expansion from concentric growth to linear corridor development—the beginning of true urbanization.