Li Daoxuan quickly pieced together the situation. The two magistrates had come to him with one thing on their minds: taxes. More specifically, the dreaded tax collection that was about to hit them like a freight train.
You see, Chengcheng County had been conveniently "forgetting" about taxes ever since Magistrate Zhang Yaocai passed away back in 1627, and the new guys, Liang Shixian and Feng Jun, had been riding the delay train ever since. But now, with the imperial court's crackdown, things were getting real. The threat was clear: "Miss the deadline, and the consequences will be severe."
For those of us who don't quite speak bureaucratic, that means: You're screwed.
Li Daoxuan, ever the strategist, could see the panic creeping into their faces. Ah, he thought to himself, this could get messy. But, of course, he wasn't exactly shaking in his boots—after all, what could a few Ming soldiers do against him?
Annihilate the Ming army?
Absolutely not, he decided. The Ming's last breath wasn't worth it. Plus, a massive bloodbath would only make things worse for the common folk, and that's the last thing he wanted. With bandits on the loose and the Manchus eyeing the horizon like that creepy cousin at family reunions, now was not the time to throw punches at the Ming.
So, how to save his friends from the taxman?
Simple. Well, kinda simple.
He wasn't about to waste his own precious silver to help them out. He knew exactly how that would play out. The moment the imperial court got their grubby little hands on any tax money, it would disappear faster than your mom's last piece of cake. Gone, evaporated into the pockets of some corrupt official. Not gonna happen.
Now, his mind raced. How could he resolve this?
"Who's the current Governor of Shaanxi?" he asked, with an air of casual curiosity that was anything but casual.
Liang Shixian, eager to comply, replied quickly: "Liu Guangsheng."
Li Daoxuan tapped the name into his diorama box, and within seconds, a detailed report on Liu Guangsheng's life flashed across the screen. Ah, thought Li Daoxuan with a smirk. A man of principle… who quit at the drop of a hat.
Liu Guangsheng had apparently up and abandoned his post—not due to any illness, mind you, but because the tax situation was so dire in Shaanxi that it was practically a death sentence. The man had left his office and his people to fend for themselves rather than go down with the ship. No wonder Li Daoxuan was grinning.
"Looks like this is my moment," he said aloud, more to himself than anyone else.
Turning to the magistrates, he smiled confidently. "Don't worry about a thing. I've got this handled."
The two magistrates blinked in confusion. "What do you mean? The court's breathing down our necks! We're running out of time!"
Li Daoxuan leaned back, as if he were giving them a crash course in diplomacy, Ming Dynasty style. "Listen, all you need to do is stall. When the governor asks why the taxes haven't been paid, tell him you have nothing. No money. No silver. Just... your lives."
"Wait... really?" asked Feng Jun, skeptically.
"Trust me. I promise this will work," Li Daoxuan replied with a knowing smile. "This is a Dao Xuan Tianzun's secret."
The two magistrates exchanged confused glances. They had no idea what Li Daoxuan was on about, but the tone in his voice was convincing—maybe too convincing. They nodded slowly. "Alright, then. We'll do as you say."
The rest of the day was spent writing up a bunch of very creative excuses. They listed everything from natural disasters to bandits, weaving a web of plausible (and totally vague) reasons. And of course, they made sure to add the most important part in their letter: "No taxes, just our lives."
After a quick delivery to Shaanxi's new governor, Liu Guangsheng, the two magistrates leaned back and rested easy. The "Dao Xuan Tianzun's secret" had been cast. Now, they just had to wait and see how the divine plan would unfold.
A few days later, the storm hit—though not the one they were expecting.
Governor Liu Guangsheng, apparently feeling the weight of his conscience, submitted his memorial to the imperial court. He explained that Shaanxi couldn't possibly collect the overdue taxes. His letter contained all the expected "objective" reasons—drought, bandits, disaster—but there was one small thing that caught Zhu Youjian's eye: "No taxes, just our lives."
Zhu Youjian, upon reading this, nearly choked on his morning tea. Did the governor just resign?
Before he could even vent his frustration, Liu Guangsheng's final words came: "I resign. Illness."
It wasn't just any resignation. This man—a provincial governor, mind you—had literally thrown in the towel. He didn't even try to play the "sick" card for long before fleeing the scene. Talk about dodging a bullet.
Zhu Youjian, meanwhile, was left fuming. Another one quits? What's this? A trend?
With a deep sigh, he accepted reality. "Fine, fine," he muttered. "I'll... endure it."
Shaanxi's taxes were postponed once again, and no one was more surprised than Liang Shixian and Feng Jun, who had just experienced the "Dao Xuan Tianzun's secret" in action. They couldn't quite grasp the full extent of it, but one thing was clear: The Dao Xuan Tianzun had a power that was beyond their understanding. The way events unfolded—so effortlessly, so smoothly—it was like watching the gears of fate turn.
They nodded in awe. Dao Xuan Tianzun really did know everything, past, present, and future.
Meanwhile, at the Gudu Ferry...
Things weren't nearly as peaceful at the newly constructed Gudu Ferry. Lao Nanfeng was overseeing the construction of the fortified camp, a massive military post designed to hold a few thousand people. For now, it housed only three hundred soldiers, three hundred infantry, and about a thousand civilians—plenty of room to spare.
But there was a problem—a tiny, tiny one.
Gao Chuwu, for all his courage, lacked one essential thing: a token. Without it, he couldn't get into the different zones of the ferry camp. So, what did he do? He asked his wife to carve him one.
And who better to make a token than his talented wife, Xing Honglang, who was now carving away like a pro. Ah, romance and bureaucracy, together at last.
Meanwhile, Lao Nanfeng was busy with a more pressing task. He was overseeing the construction of firing ports along the walls of the palisade. Why? Because—duh—what's a military fort without the proper armaments?
"Hey," Lao Nanfeng said to a laborer, "dig a hole here and make a cover for it."
The laborer blinked. "Why, General?"
Lao Nanfeng sighed, clearly dealing with someone who had missed the basics of military strategy. "These are firing ports, you fool. We'll cover them normally, but when the time comes, we open them up, pop out the muskets, and shoot."
The laborer, looking as though he'd been handed an epiphany, nodded. "Oh, I see."
Lao Nanfeng didn't have time for this—he just wanted to make sure his camp was ready for anything.
And so, while the drama of taxes and resignations unfolded in the political world, the quiet tension of preparing for possible conflict simmered at Gudu Ferry. Whether through Dao Xuan Tianzun's secrets or simple fortifications, everyone seemed to be preparing for the inevitable.