"Look up," Shansier said, half laughing, half scolding.
Zhong Gaoliang tilted his head. Above the village sky, the golden divine hand still hovered—and just then, the fingers curled into a thumbs-up.
He didn't quite know what it meant, but he could feel it: that gesture was encouragement, approval from heaven itself.
"Well then," he muttered. "If even Tianzun approves… must be fate. Heaven's will is the biggest will of all."
He sighed in resignation. "All right, I'll do it. I'll be the warden. But what about my sorghum fields?"
Shansier chuckled. "Rent them to your neighbors."
Zhong Gaoliang froze. "Wouldn't that make me a landlord? I don't wanna be a landlord—landlords are bad people."
Shansier: "…"
Even Li Daoxuan couldn't help laughing in the clouds. This guy's adorable.
Technically, he wasn't wrong—renting land did make one a landlord. But to divide "good" and "bad" over something so trivial? That was innocence in its purest form.
Shansier spread his hands. "Listen, warden pay is very good. Five taels of silver a month. Do the math—twelve months a year, that's how much? Then compare that to what your few acres of sorghum can bring in."
Zhong Gaoliang frowned, counting fingers and toes. "Twelve times five taels… how much is that again? I'm out of toes already…"
"Pfft!" Shansier snorted.
"Pfft!" echoed Li Daoxuan.
Just then, a child darted by—the mischievous Gao Sanwa.
"Uncle Zhong, that's easy!" he laughed. "Two fives make ten, right? Twelve of them means six tens! So that's sixty taels total!"
Zhong brightened. "Sixty taels? You're clever, Sanwa!"
Sanwa puffed his chest proudly. "Haha! My ma says I'm dumb—she just doesn't know how awesome I am!"
"Sanwa!!" came an enraged voice.
Down the lane stormed Madam Gao with a bamboo switch in hand. "Your teacher says you skipped class again—come here for your beating!"
Sanwa yelped. "She's here! Gotta go!"
He took off like a rabbit, his mother in hot pursuit. Within moments, both disappeared around the bend.
Li Daoxuan chuckled. The younger generation of Gao Village really does have potential.
By now, Zhong Gaoliang had done the math properly. Sixty taels a year—far better than what his fields could ever yield. Best not to rent them either, or he'd still become a "landlord."
He grinned. "I'll lend the fields out free. Let the neighbors use them."
"Good choice," Shansier said. "Now, about the job—you'll organize the reform prisoners, tell them what to do, give them some hope. You lived in a labor village before; you know what they need."
Zhong scratched his head, then grinned wide. "Hey, yeah, I actually do know!"
"You can't handle six hundred men alone," Shansier added. "Call in your old buddies from the labor camp. Build a team—something big enough to manage all six hundred."
Zhong's eyes widened. "Six hundred? That big?"
Shansier looked up at the sky, his tone turning thoughtful. "Our roads—rail and cement—are stretching farther every day. There'll be more reform workers coming, maybe six thousand, even sixty thousand one day. Zhong Gaoliang… your position might grow more important than you think."
Before Zhong could answer, a familiar voice called out.
Cheng Xu had returned, flanked by his local militia. They'd gone in circles pretending to "scout Huanglong Mountain," then looped back to Gao Village once Fang Wushang's troops left.
He smiled as he approached. "Zhong Gaoliang, until your team's ready, my men will help manage the prison. Those Guyuan rebels are fierce soldiers—no easy bunch to control."
Zhong bowed deeply. "Many thanks, Instructor He!"
Li Daoxuan, observing from the heavens, smiled faintly. Good. They'll handle the six hundred just fine.
No need to worry here—his attention shifted elsewhere.
He switched perspective with a single thought.
The view flashed, and the world reformed into Chengcheng County—bathed in molten gold under the setting sun. The shadows of the city walls stretched long and thin.
The battle had ended half a day ago, yet the townsfolk were still riding the thrill of it. Every street corner buzzed with talk of Tianzun Li Daoxuan and his miracles.
One street vendor had even laid out stacks of The Tale of the Daoist Tianzun Vanquishing Demons, Vol. 1. When the book first released, it sold for a single copper—and came with two taels of flour as a bonus.
Now? He was shouting himself hoarse selling copies for ten copper each.
Before long, a wealthy man rushed up, snatched one, and began reading right there in the street. When he finished, unsatisfied, he shouted, "Who's got Volume Two?!"
But no one answered.
Volume Two had been printed, but only two thousand copies had reached the county. They'd sold out instantly, now hoarded like treasure.
The rich man shouted until his throat went dry. No one offered to sell. Finally, he marched straight to the bookstore, pounding on the door.
"When's Volume Two coming out? Hurry up! You print this slow again, I'll report you to the magistrate!"
Li Daoxuan couldn't help laughing from above. Reader culture: eternal since the Ming.
(Trivia: In late-Ming China, "xiaoren books"—cheap illustrated novellas—spread folk legends faster than any news sheet, foreshadowing modern pulp fiction.)
His awareness drifted toward the City God Temple.
There—packed. Three layers inside, three more out. The side hall where the Third Madam prayed was so full that no one could move, and even those outside stood quietly in line, not daring to speak above a whisper.
At the center, a finely dressed man was addressing the Madam earnestly.
"Reverend, all these faithful here are willing to contribute—to build a statue of Tianzun and enshrine it in the temple. That way, everyone can come pray and chant daily."
The Third Madam smiled gently. "A noble thought indeed. But I am a humble nun, not skilled in such worldly affairs…"
The man bowed deeply. "Leave it to me, then. I am Teng Yifeng—most of the county's craftsmen are my friends. By Tianzun's grace, I also run the Chengcheng Cement Works. All the road cement comes from my factory! Just say the word, and I'll organize the artisans to cast a grand statue worthy of Tianzun."
The Madam beamed. "Then I entrust this sacred duty to you."
Teng Yifeng's eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Reverend. I'll see that the statue stands tall and mighty!"
From above, Li Daoxuan groaned and laughed. A statue? Really? Don't waste labor on monuments—fix the roads instead!
But after a moment, he reconsidered. Well, building statues is labor, after all. It'll feed mouths the same way. Fine. Whatever works.
(Ming Context: Large-scale religious sculptures were often commissioned by local guilds or donors—both an act of devotion and a public employment project, not unlike "infrastructure through faith.")
And thus, the divine hand stilled, the sun sank low, and in Chengcheng and Gao Village alike—the energy, indeed, had kicked in.