Song Yingxing couldn't help feeling a little moved.
"So many great books, all open for me to read freely… what have I done to deserve such kindness?"
Zhao Sheng smiled softly. "Sir, you have the kind of talent that brings these books to life. They've been waiting for someone like you. If not for you, then who else could truly make use of them?"
Song Yingxing suddenly thought of something. "Wait—don't tell me… that Daoist Ma is actually one of you—?"
Zhao Sheng nodded. "That's right. Daoist Ma was sent by Dao Xuan Tianzun himself to invite you here. The library, too, is open to you by his will. Everything—your food, clothing, and study materials—is already taken care of. Dao Xuan Tianzun only asks that you focus your heart on research."
Song Yingxing blinked, trying to grasp it. "Dao Xuan Tianzun… is?"
Zhao Sheng smiled faintly. "The god of Gaojia Village."
Song Yingxing froze, misunderstanding. He thought this "god" was probably just some powerful local noble or self-styled landlord, so he quickly cupped his hands in respect.
"Then I must sincerely thank Tianzun. But to receive such generosity without having done anything… I feel uneasy. I'd like to repay this favor by teaching what I know to your students here."
Zhao Sheng laughed. "That's exactly what Tianzun hoped for. In fact, there's one thing he wanted you to help with—teaching our village blacksmiths to make something."
"Hmm? What thing?"
"Bird guns."
Song Yingxing smiled knowingly. "Ah, so that's it. Muskets aren't particularly complicated. If Tianzun wishes it, I can certainly teach the smiths how to make them."
He quickly pulled out a brush and paper. His strokes flew across the page, and before long, a complete diagram of the musket—every single part—was laid out with precision.
Zhao Sheng carefully gathered the papers, then pulled out a small coiled object.
"Tianzun also asked me to show you this—surely you've seen it before?"
Song Yingxing's eyes lit up. "Yes, the spring! Ingenious little thing."
Zhao Sheng nodded. "Tianzun said, when firing a musket, the burning fuse is troublesome. But if we attach a piece of flint beside the touch hole and set a striking plate, then—when the trigger is pulled—the spring could drive the flint to strike and spark. That spark would ignite the powder instantly, no fuse needed."
For several seconds, Song Yingxing stood there, stunned. Then he slapped his forehead so hard it echoed.
"Of course! Why didn't I think of that before? Brilliant! The spring makes it possible!"
Zhao Sheng's grin deepened. "Our smith Li Da has already figured out how to make a basic striker mechanism. With your expertise, we can refine it into a true flintlock ignition system. His springs aren't quite strong enough yet—he could use your help improving them."
Song Yingxing's excitement surged. "Then please, introduce me to this blacksmith! I've just thought of something new—the perfect way to turn bird guns into flintlock rifles!"
Up above the clouds, Dao Xuan Tianzun watched the scene and smiled with deep satisfaction.
Excellent. A true scientific mind changes everything.
With Song Yingxing's arrival, Gaojia Village's weapons were about to evolve by leaps and bounds.
And he hadn't even started learning formal math or physics yet. Once he did… ha! The things he could create would probably blow history's mind.
No need to rush—just guide him slowly.
Meanwhile, far to the northwest, in Yinchuan, Ningxia…
Li Zicheng, known here as "Huang Lai'er," was working at a relay station, feeding hay to a postal horse. The stable smelled of sweat and hay, when the station master called out, "Huang Lai'er, come here for a moment."
Li Zicheng wiped his hands and walked over obediently. "Yes, boss? What's wrong?"
The man sighed. "You've heard the news, haven't you? His Majesty ordered a budget cut for the imperial courier system."
Li Zicheng's stomach sank. "Yes, I've heard."
"You're smart," the master said heavily. "So you already understand what that means."
Li Zicheng's face fell. "But, sir—the Emperor only wanted to stop corrupt officials from squeezing extra funds out of us. If we just reduced the supplies for passing officials, that should've been enough. Why fire us couriers instead?"
The master gave another long sigh. "You think the officials will accept fewer gifts? Not a chance. We still have to pay them what they demand. And since we can't reduce those expenses… the only thing left to cut is manpower."
Li Zicheng stood silent.
"You're capable," the master went on. "You'll survive out there. Take this—three taels of silver from my own pocket. Go home and find a new start."
Li Zicheng looked at the silver, then shook his head with a tired smile. "You're a good man, boss. I can't take it. If Heaven closes one door, it'll open another. Farewell."
The master waved sadly. "Huang Lai'er—live well."
Li Zicheng packed his few belongings and left the post station. He looked out across the road—dusty, endless—and thought bitterly:
The world is vast, yet there's no place for me.
Fine. I'll just go back to Mizhi.
It was the second year of Chongzhen. The economy was faltering. Emperor Zhu Youjian's cost-cutting reforms had just thrown Li Zicheng out of work—turning him into another jobless young man.
And thus, the wheel of history began to turn.
Back in Chengcheng County, Gao Yiye was hard at work alongside the three talented ladies—Xia Lv, Qiu Ju, and Dong Xue—on the fourth volume of "Dao Xuan Tianzun's Demon-Slaying Chronicles."
By this point, their illustrations had reached the level of fine art—vivid colors, perfect composition. The three women, once famed in the pleasure quarters for their mastery of poetry, calligraphy, painting, and music, were now finally using those skills in freedom rather than servitude.
After Gao Yiye redeemed them, they no longer had to entertain men; they only had to paint, write, and calculate patterns. Good meals, warm clothes, and respect—they worked with all their hearts, grateful and happy.
Then Dao Xuan Tianzun's calm voice echoed in Gao Yiye's mind.
"Yiye."
She straightened at once. "Tianzun, your command?"
Dao Xuan Tianzun smiled faintly. "Under Song Yingxing's guidance, the village carpenters have just built the newest spinning and weaving machines. I've already instructed Shan Sier to deliver them to Chengcheng County."
Gao Yiye instantly understood. "So… we're expanding production to the city women too?"
"Exactly," Tianzun said. "Women are half of society's strength. Keeping them idle is a waste of potential. It's time to get them involved. Follow the Gaojia Village model—sell cotton to them cheaply, and then buy back the finished cloth at fair market rates."
Gao Yiye bowed. "Understood."
Just then, Xia Lv raised her hand shyly. "Tianzun, may I speak? The women here in Chengcheng have a special craft—you might find it worth your attention."
Dao Xuan Tianzun's tone lightened. "Oh? Tell me more."
Ming Context:
During the late Ming, the imperial courier system (驛站, yìzhàn) suffered major cuts under Emperor Chongzhen's austerity measures. Thousands of couriers and post-house laborers lost their livelihoods—many, like Li Zicheng, would later become key figures in peasant uprisings.
Trivia:
The term "bird gun" (鳥銃, niao chong) refers to early matchlock muskets introduced from Portuguese traders via Japan. The "flintlock" upgrade Song Yingxing envisions here foreshadows one of the key leaps in firearm evolution, centuries ahead of his real-world time.