Knowing how to use something and actually mastering it are about ten thousand li apart.
Li Daoxuan understood that much. The "divine ship" was impressive, sure—but right now, it was basically a floating decoration. The cannons were still fake, the mechanics unfamiliar, and the only thing the crew could confidently do was look nervous. He'd have to get Shansier to bring over real stainless-steel cannons from Gaojia Village's foundry. One by one, they'd replace the dummies before this ship could actually enter service.
For the people of this era, that was no small task. The scale of it—engineering, manpower, metal—was like asking a bunch of carpenters to build a spaceship.
Bai Yuan clearly knew that too. He turned to Zhang Yuanwai with a new sense of purpose.
"Zhang-brother, we need proper sailors for this. My Bai Fortress sits by Horseshoe Lake, so we've got plenty of fishermen there. I'll pick some of my own men to serve as the core crew. You, meanwhile, pick some from Heyang County—your folks have lived their whole lives on the Yellow River. Together we'll form a crew that can truly command this 'Immortal Ship.'"
Zhang Yuanwai lowered his voice.
"Those fishermen… they're not part of the militia yet. They haven't even learned the Three Major Disciplines or Eight Points of Attention. Letting them aboard directly—it might be… inappropriate."
Bai Yuan nodded.
"Of course it's inappropriate. But the Yellow River's waters are tricky. Without old fishermen who understand her moods, we'll be lucky if we don't capsize the first day out. So—let's train them while they sail. Teach them the rules as they work."
Then his tone grew solemn.
"And choose carefully. If a spy slips aboard this divine ship and decides to 'experiment,' flips it over in the river, Dao Xuan Tianzun will not be pleased."
That phrase—Dao Xuan Tianzun will not be pleased—was enough to make Zhang Yuanwai's spine go cold. Everyone knew the stories.
When the heavens get angry, it's never a light drizzle.
Zhang Yuanwai had read Journey to the West. He remembered that poor couple from Fengxian Town who quarreled and accidentally overturned the heavenly altar. The Jade Emperor got so mad he stopped all rain until chickens pecked through a mountain of rice, dogs licked clean a mountain of flour, and oil lamps burned through golden locks. The whole region suffered three years of drought, famine, and death—just because of one bad argument.
Modern readers would've roasted the Jade Emperor online by now: "Petty, vengeful, overpowered bureaucrat—classic divine narcissist. Zero stars, would not worship again."
But ancient folk? They didn't dare blame Heaven. They only blamed themselves for not being respectful enough.
Zhang Yuanwai swallowed hard. In his mind, offending Dao Xuan Tianzun ranked somewhere between "career suicide" and "natural-disaster generator." He quickly bowed toward the clouds.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun, rest assured! This humble one will select only the most loyal, the most disciplined men. We'll never give you reason to frown."
With that, Bai Yuan and Zhang Yuanwai stationed guards around the docked "Immortal Ship," treating it like a divine relic. Zhang Yuanwai began recruiting honest fishermen with good reputations. Bai Yuan galloped back toward Gaojia Village to summon Shansier and the craftsmen—real cannons needed fitting—and then onward to Bai Fortress by Horseshoe Lake, where his old fishermen still worshipped Dao Xuan Tianzun with the same energy they used to curse at storms.
Heyang County – Yangzhuang
A group of farmers were burning straw in the fields.
In the modern day, this kind of thing would've earned them a fine and a lecture about air quality. But in their world, burning straw meant clearing pests and feeding the soil—practical, traditional, and a little smoky.
As they watched the smoke drift upward, conversation drifted too.
"Old Yang, how much grain did your fields bring in this year?"
"Two mu, four dan."
"Four dan? That's not bad. Why the long face?"
"Because Gaojia Village gets four dan per mu. My two mu only got four total. You tell me if that's good news."
"Come on, that's just bragging."
"Bragging my ass," Old Yang snapped. "You know young Yang the blacksmith? Went to work in Gaojia Village. Said it himself—he's seen it with his own eyes. One mu, four dan."
The farmers fell silent, stunned.
"How the hell are they doing that?"
"They say they're using Immortal Fertilizer—a gift from Dao Xuan Tianzun himself. Stronger than manure, perfectly balanced—something about 'scientific ratios.' I didn't really get it. Just remembered the fancy phrase."
One man scratched his head.
"Then why don't we just go buy some?"
Old Yang sighed.
"Even if we got it, we'd still have to know how to use it. You dump that stuff wrong, you'll scorch the roots and lose everything. Fertilizer's like a sword—you hold it right, you feed the land. Hold it wrong, you cut your own harvest."
That logic landed hard. Every old farmer knew: no fertilizer was better than wrong fertilizer. Burn the roots once, and the field dies for a season.
Another man said:
"Then let's go to Gaojia Village and learn."
Old Yang grimaced.
"Easier said than done. Think they'll just hand over their secret method? It's like asking a cook for his best recipe—he'll teach you everything except the spice that actually makes it good."
The men sighed. Rural realism hit hard.
They were about to get back to work when the strangest thing rolled in—a bus-shaped solar cart, glittering on the dirt road like something out of a traveling circus.
Out jumped a dozen men. Mostly farmers, by the look of their hands and faces—brown from sun, steady from work—but their clothes were clean, almost too clean. Among them was a pale young scholar, maybe thirty, whose delicate build screamed "bookworm." Oddly enough, he seemed to be leading the group.
The Yangzhuang farmers watched with growing confusion.
"What in Heaven's name is this? A scholar leading peasants?"
The newcomers hauled several large sacks off the bus. The sacks were marked with words the Yang farmers couldn't read. Whatever was inside, it made a dull, promising thud when dropped.
The group looked around, spotted the local farmers, and hurried over—well, most of them hurried. The scholar didn't make it far before gasping like a fish out of water.
"Slower—slower… I can't… feel my legs…"
The others waited politely as he recovered, then continued their march until they stood before the Yang villagers.
The scholar straightened, wiped his sweat, and managed a half-bow.
"Huff… you must be the farmers of Yangzhuang. I'm… Zhao Sheng—people call me Teacher Zhao. We've come from Gaojia Village."
Old Yang's eyes widened. He nearly dropped his hoe.
"Teacher Zhao! Sit down—sit down before you fall down! You're from Gaojia Village? Then tell us, what brings you here?"