The morning mist still clung to the valley when Shan Sier smiled faintly and said,
"That's the Gu Yuan rebels. A few days ago, under the command of that brute Bei Shuilang, they tried to attack Chengcheng County. Our village militia beat them down and captured the whole lot. They've been locked up here ever since."
Zao Ying's jaw dropped.
"You caught that many frontier troops alive?"
"Come on," Shan Sier beckoned. "Let's go take a closer look."
Outside the Gaojia Village prison, patrol guards were already making their rounds.
Some were drawn from the village militia, some were newly recruited, and others — quite interestingly — were once prisoners themselves, the first batch of labor reform convicts who had earned release and been rehired as wardens.
Those people, Shan Sier knew, understood prisoners' minds better than anyone else.
The warden, Zhong Gaoliang, hurried up the moment he saw him.
"Manager Shan! What brings you to the prison today?"
Shan Sier didn't answer directly. Instead, he simply pointed toward the sky.
Zhong Gaoliang looked up — and there it was, a small, glowing "Heavenly Cloud" drifting above the compound.
He instantly understood.
Dao Xuan Tianzun was watching.
His eyes lit up; this was the perfect chance to perform well under divine supervision.
"Since Tianzun is observing, please, both of you — come right in!"
As he led them inside, Zhong Gaoliang explained in a half-whisper,
"The Gu Yuan rebels have been here several days already, but I didn't rush to send them out for labor. They're too dangerous. Letting them loose too soon might endanger our villagers — so these days, I've been… softening their fighting spirit."
Shan Sier nodded seriously.
"Rightly so."
Zao Ying, though, arched an eyebrow. Softening their fighting spirit?
These were frontier soldiers — killers who lived by the blade. Even her horse-thief band would run from men like them. How could this village possibly "soften" people like that?
But Zhong Gaoliang continued, clearly speaking for the record so that Dao Xuan Tianzun above could hear every word.
"First thing is to make them feel safe — keep them well-fed, well-rested, no fear of torture or execution. Once they stop worrying, they stop rebelling."
He pointed toward a corner of the yard.
"Look — it's breakfast time now."
Several guards were pushing carts piled high with sacks of flour. They stopped at the barred door, opened a hatch, shoved the carts through, pulled them back, then shouted,
"Come get your flour! Cook your own meal!"
Inside, the one who stood tallest was the captured general Lao Nanfeng.
At his signal, a few soldiers moved forward, grabbed the cart, and began preparing food over the clay stoves that Zhong Gaoliang had arranged for them.
To their surprise, the rebels were being treated almost… kindly.
They'd expected beatings, starvation, humiliation — yet here they were, eating their fill every day. It was confusing, but not unpleasant.
Some men cooked; others lounged around reading illustrated booklets titled "Dao Xuan Tianzun: The Demon-Banishing Chronicles", which Zhong Gaoliang had specially sent into the cells for "spiritual education."
During their last battle with the Gaojia Village militia, the rebels had been terrified by that enormous golden hand that had descended from the sky.
They'd thought it was some demonic trick.
Now, after reading Tianzun's "scriptures," they realized what they'd truly run into — not a demon, but a divine power. And they'd picked the wrong fight.
Shan Sier chuckled softly.
"Zhong Gaoliang, you clever dog. You've actually got a head for this."
The warden laughed modestly.
"Just experience, sir. I used to be one of them — remember? We were tricked by Zhong Guangdao and Zheng Yanfu into attacking Gaojia Village. When Tianzun appeared that night, I nearly pissed myself. But later, the villagers taught us his teachings, and that's how we became proper Gaojia folk.
So I thought — these rebels should learn the same way."
Zao Ying, still puzzled, asked,
"So… who exactly is this Tianzun?"
Without a word, Shan Sier pulled a small booklet from his sleeve and handed it to her.
"Read it, Chief Zao."
She flipped a few pages.
"…A giant hand from the heavens? This reads like a miracle pamphlet. Is this some new branch of the White Lotus sect?"
But… she didn't feel that mad zeal of cultists here. Instead, there was a calm confidence — even joy.
Strange, she thought. It doesn't feel evil at all.
Just then, a prison guard climbed up the wall platform and began lecturing the inmates.
He spoke loudly, earnestly — not about faith, but about human decency.
Good and evil. Compassion for common folk. How everyone's parents had once been farmers too. How robbing and killing one's own people brought shame upon heaven and earth.
The labor prisoners listened quietly.
Some even lowered their heads, faces flushed with shame.
Finally, the warden declared, "If you wish to atone, work! Through labor, you'll wash away your sins and earn your way home. Your families await you — cleanse your hearts, redeem your lives!"
Zao Ying smirked to herself.
Ah. So in the end, it's still about drawing a big dream to keep them moving.
Zhong Gaoliang turned to Shan Sier.
"The moral education's been effective, sir. I think it's time to test them — maybe let them start light labor."
Shan Sier nodded.
"Good. Be bold. Let them out and see how they behave. Tianzun's watching today anyway — what's there to fear? That's what I call confidence backed by heaven."
Zhong Gaoliang grinned. "Understood. We'll start right away."
He raised his voice and shouted toward the cells:
"Listen up, labor convicts! From today, you'll be going out for reform work — road construction. The sooner you work, the sooner you pay off your debts and earn your freedom. But if you commit new crimes while out there, your sentence will be doubled — maybe even for life! Think carefully before you act!"
A roar of excitement erupted from the cells.
Some men cheered openly — finally, a taste of fresh air!
But Lao Nanfeng, the hardened commander, merely squinted, eyes flashing with cold calculation.
Zhong Gaoliang waved to the guards.
"Open the gates. Tools are outside — shovels, picks. Each man takes one, follow the marked route to the work site."
The heavy doors creaked open.
The guards, prepared for this day, had everything ready.
The convicts filed out one by one, each grabbing a tool.
When Lao Nanfeng's turn came, he let out a quiet laugh, selected the sturdiest iron shovel, and hefted it like a warhammer. His gaze flicked back and forth, sharp as a blade, then he slipped among the others.
The moment they stepped out of the prison, men began stretching, waving their arms, shouting with relief.
"Finally out!"
"Even if it's roadwork, it beats rotting in a cell!"
"Come on, let's move!"
"Let's earn back our lives!"
They walked on, laughing.
All except Lao Nanfeng.
He pursed his lips and gave a low, sharp whistle.
Instantly, seven men drifted closer to him — not enough to draw notice, but tight enough to form a small, quiet formation.
Lao Nanfeng murmured,
"Stay sharp. We move when I say."
Seven voices answered, just as low.
"Understood."
Ming Context
During the late Ming, many local militias ("min-tuan") and warlord groups adopted a mix of military discipline and moral reform, influenced by both Confucian ethics and millenarian cults. The blending of "divine oversight" with "labor reform" reflects early social engineering ideas — centuries before modern systems.