Fang Wushang was dizzy.
The kind of dizzy that came from talking to someone whose logic looped like a snake eating its own tail—except somehow it made sense at the end.
He had to admit, what Gao Yiye said wasn't entirely wrong.
The people of Gaojia Village could roam the land freely as long as they had the proper route seals. Meanwhile, his title of Chengcheng County Inspector bound him like a chained watchdog—he could bark all he wanted, but only inside the fence.
If trouble happened beyond the county line, the outside officials might not even care.
Like that time in Heyang County—when the rebel Wang Jiayin's men rampaged—the local magistrate Feng Jun didn't dare lift a finger. Why? Because the raiders carried five hundred fire-lances and the confidence of men who knew nobody would say "stop."
So Feng Jun ran to Chengcheng, clutching his sleeves, begging Magistrate Liang for advice like a man begging a neighbor to handle his own robbery.
Gao Yiye watched Fang Wushang sink into thought and smiled.
"Tell me, General Fang," she said sweetly, "are you only planning to keep Chengcheng clean? If there's chaos flooding right past the border, would you still be sitting there, pretending it's not your business?"
Fang Wushang straightened immediately.
"Of course not! I'm not one of those who only sweep snow off my own doorstep! Last time, I wanted to chase the bandit Fanshan Yue straight into Heyang—but jurisdiction stopped me. Bah! If I were the Shaanxi Chief Commander, I'd have led troops right into Heyang and chopped off that dog's head myself!"
Gao Yiye tilted her head. "Then we agree. If you serve as Gaojia Village Inspector, even when our villagers step outside the county and do something… questionable, you'll have full authority to handle them. You're the one who keeps warning that power without restraint breeds chaos, right? Then here's your chance to guard mortal justice itself."
Fang Wushang clenched his teeth. "Fine! I'll take it!"
He had no idea he'd just stepped clean into a trap.
High above, Dao Xuan Tianzun chuckled, watching through drifting clouds.
Ah, soldiers, he mused. So earnest, so pure. Tell them it's "for justice," and they'll sign any paperwork, even if it's a declaration of treason.
If this were Liang Shixian or Feng Jun, they'd have sensed the trick within a breath. But Fang Wushang? The man's head was built for helmets, not politics.
And so, in less time than it takes to light incense, Fang Wushang was officially announced as "Inspector of Gaojia Village."
The appointment spread through the village like gossip at a wedding.
Then came the spectacle—Dao Xuan Tianzun himself descended in divine radiance, manifesting before everyone's eyes to bestow upon him a "Divine Sword."
A blade said to slay corrupt kings and treacherous ministers.
Fang Wushang could only stare, half honored, half terrified, wondering whether to salute or faint.
By the time the ceremony ended, he found himself walking home in a daze—holy sword on the right, overpriced Japanese katana on the left—looking like a man who couldn't decide whether he was a saint or a tourist.
He muttered to himself as he walked, "I wonder how sharp this divine sword really is…"
Then curiosity got the better of him.
He drew both blades—left hand, the katana he'd bought for five taels; right hand, the gift of a god—and struck them together with a loud crack!
The katana snapped clean in half.
Fang Wushang stared at the stump in horror.
"My five taels!"
Late autumn arrived, bringing a rumor from Heyang County—
a "grand harvest," they said.
When the villagers of Gaojia heard it, they burst out laughing.
"A 'grand harvest'? Don't make me laugh. That's just a normal year's yield!"
"Exactly! One or two shi per mu, and they're calling it prosperity? They should come see our fields before bragging."
"In Gaojia Village," another boasted, "if you don't harvest three or four shi per mu, people think you've been cursed!"
"Of course," someone added smugly, "we've got celestial fertilizer. They don't."
From his divine vantage point, Dao Xuan Tianzun overheard them and rubbed his forehead.
He'd blessed Heyang with rain but forgotten to send them fertilizer.
"Well, that explains it," he sighed. "Give mortals one miracle and they immediately ask for accessories."
Still, it was a simple fix.
He murmured a few instructions through his heavenly console, and Gao Yiye soon summoned Zhao Sheng, the Lighter Lamp.
Within the hour, an "Agricultural Technology Exchange Team" rolled out—led by Zhao Sheng and a band of veteran Gaojia farmers, all riding the solar-powered bus toward Heyang County.
Li Daoxuan's vision followed them, gliding over the smooth gray ribbon of road connecting Gaojia to Heyang.
The cement highway had long since opened—proof that divine construction teams worked faster than imperial bureaucrats ever could.
As the bus rumbled past golden fields, the air was full of shouting and laughter.
Farmers in patched cotton coats were harvesting grain with the zeal of gamblers cashing out a lifetime bet. After four years of drought, even a normal harvest felt like heaven's apology.
When the solar bus passed by, the farmers dropped their sickles and bowed.
"Thanks to Tianzun! It's all thanks to Tianzun asking the Dragon King for rain!"
Li Daoxuan watched as faint motes of light rose from their bodies—one here, another there—tiny sparks of gratitude gathering like fireflies against the night.
They flowed into the walls of his celestial box, merging into his ever-growing "Salvation Index."
Curious, he opened the panel and grinned.
The numbers had jumped again—by the looks of it, his viewing radius had expanded another thirty li.
He did some quick math in his head.
"Thirty li… Heyang County to Qiachuan Dock—that's about thirty li. Which means…"
Excitement surged through him.
He switched perspective, hammering the East and South buttons like a man refreshing a stock chart, until the view panned over a stone fortress—then beyond it—
The Yellow River.
Finally, the Yellow River rolled into his sight.
First, a row of small fishing boats by the dock—tiny, battered things that looked like they'd lose an argument with a wave. Then, as his gaze drifted further, the vast expanse of muddy gold filled his entire vision.
His divine monitor measured roughly five by three meters. The visible range? About one thousand by six hundred. Coincidentally, that was about the width of the Yellow River at Qiachuan.
He pressed the East key until it refused to budge, and the whole box filled with turbulent, ochre water, roaring through like an uninvited guest.
It was an eerie sight—like someone had installed a live river in his living room.
For a moment, he just stared, lost in thought.
The poets always said, "The Yellow River flows down from Heaven."
He chuckled softly. "If that's true, Heaven should've installed a filter."
Still, he couldn't help but smile. Even gods, it seemed, couldn't resist a bit of theatrical excess.
At last, he exhaled and said, "Finally, I can see the Yellow River. Time to deploy the ships I've been working on."
He paused, though. Dropping models into the box was pointless unless someone could steer them. He'd need to summon his miniature people to the dock first.
Just as he was about to switch views, movement caught his eye—
Atop the fortress by the Qiachuan Dock stood a familiar white-robed figure.
Straight-backed, sleeves fluttering dramatically in the wind—
Bai Yuan himself, looking like a man in a painting who desperately wanted everyone to know he was in a painting.
Beside him stood Heyang's militia instructor, Zhang Yuanwai, hands clasped behind his back, the two of them pretending to discuss something deeply profound while mostly admiring their own silhouettes.
Zhang Yuanwai cleared his throat.
"Master Bai, about those fine weapons you've been crafting… any chance you could, ah, share a few with our militia?"