Xing Honglang, true to her word, sent out a squadron of cavalry to escort the salt artisans safely back to their villages. Tie Niaofei, ever efficient, followed up with a little silver for persuasion. The guards stationed at the village gate soon discovered that bribery had an excellent sedative effect—they "fell asleep" that night and awoke to find nearly the entire salt village empty. Only two bewildered souls remained to tell the tale.
In the Ming Dynasty, salt artisans fleeing their posts was as common as rain in spring. Underpaid, overworked, and treated worse than stray dogs, they often vanished into the wilderness. The Salt Administration Office didn't even bat an eye; they simply filed the report—'X number of artisan households have absconded from Y village'—and called it a day.
By dawn, the escapees had reached the desolate banks of Xiao Lake. There, they rebuilt their thatched huts, cooked the grain Xing Honglang had sent, and began digging salt ponds like ants reclaiming their hill. Water from the lake was channeled in, the sun did its work, and soon white crystals gleamed like scattered silver coins.
Had Old Zhang Fei still been alive, it would have been suicide to settle in such open country. But Zhang Fei had already been dispatched to his next life courtesy of Gudu Ferry, and the remaining bandits had fled north to regroup with Bu Zhan Ni's main force. For the first time in years, the salt artisans could work in peace.
At dawn, Gudu Ferry awoke.
The elderly and the children stirred the cooking fires; women carried water and kneaded dough. The young and able-bodied men, however, sat along the riverbank doing precisely nothing.
"Another day without work," one of them muttered, stretching.
"I'm getting twitchy," grumbled another. "Feels like my hands forgot how to carry a crate."
"The big cargo ship left days ago," said a dockworker, scanning the misty horizon. "Should be due back soon. When it docks, we'll have work again."
The unemployed lived on the knife's edge between hope and hunger. In this world, a man without work didn't just lose money—he risked starving. That quiet fear clung to them like damp river fog.
Then a shout came from the distance.
"They're here! The ships are back!"
All heads turned north. Three cargo ships trailed behind a grand warship, their sails cutting the current like wings. The crowd erupted.
"Work's here again!" someone yelled.
"That's at least three days of carrying—nine catties of flour earned!" another cheered.
They pressed forward, waving their arms at the ships as though their excitement could pull them to shore faster.
When the vessels finally docked, the crowd froze in surprise. Standing at the bow of the warship was a frail-looking scholar in a rumpled robe, holding a satchel and declaiming poetry into the wind:
"Behold the crossing, where sand is sifted—
how many souls have crossed this mortal stream?"
On the dock, Gao Chuwu, Xing Honglang, Zao Ying, and Lao Nanfeng exchanged looks before bursting out laughing.
"Oh, heavens—Mr. Zhao? What brings you here?" Gao Chuwu called out.
Zhao Sheng—better known by his nickname, Dian Dengzi—lifted his chin proudly. "Dao Xuan Tianzun said I was a man of rare courage, so He has sent me on a mission to Shanxi—to oversee the construction of Gudu Ferry!"
Xing Honglang smiled. "That's true enough. This task needs someone bold. The other scholars in the village tremble at their own shadows."
"I didn't want to be courageous," Zhao Sheng sighed dramatically. "It was… thrust upon me."
A ladder thudded down the ship's side. Zhao Sheng began his descent, but by the time his shoes hit the dock, he was already wheezing.
"I… brought…" he panted, "Dao Xuan Tianzun's… hand-drawn… huff… Gudu Ferry… gasp… development plan…"
The leaders stared, half impressed, half alarmed.
"Sir," Xing Honglang said gently, "you shouldn't have made this trip yourself. You're in no shape to travel."
"It's fine, it's fine," Zhao Sheng said between breaths, rummaging in his robe. "I have medicine now… the doctor gave me this prescription—calls it Dingchuan Decoction. Take it long enough, and I'll be fit as a horse again!"
He held up the prescription triumphantly. The others leaned in to look.
"What in the world is this scribble?" Lao Nanfeng muttered.
"Looks like someone used a spider to write it," said Zao Ying.
"Forget the medicine," Xing Honglang said. "Show us the development plan."
They unrolled the document with reverence. It was a masterpiece—precise lines, elegant proportions, a divine order in every stroke.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun's own hand," Gao Chuwu murmured in awe. "Even the walls look blessed."
"The design includes cement houses," Gao observed, tracing a finger along the parchment. "But… we don't have cement in Shanxi."
Zhao Sheng brightened. "No problem! I brought a few of the Blue Hats with me. Dao Xuan Tianzun instructed that cement should be produced locally—it doesn't store or travel well. So wherever our reach extends, we build a cement workshop there."
Everyone nodded, suitably impressed.
Zhao Sheng frowned thoughtfully. "I just wonder if Gudu Ferry has enough hands for the job."
Xing Honglang grinned and gestured toward the dock, where hundreds of workers were already pressing forward eagerly. "Enough hands? Look at them! If you shout 'we're hiring,' half of them will faint from excitement. You'll have your workforce before you finish the sentence."
Zhao Sheng chuckled. "That makes things easy then. I'll go talk to them myself."
He tugged his robe and prepared to sprint off—only to be met with several horrified looks.
"Don't run!" Gao Chuwu barked. "You'll keel over!"
"But I'm in a hurry!" Zhao Sheng protested.
The group exchanged helpless sighs. Asthmatic and impatient—a combination truly blessed by the heavens.
Xing Honglang gave a subtle signal. Two Blue Hat technicians jumped down from the ship and, without hesitation, hoisted Zhao Sheng up—one by each arm.
"Hey! Hey! Put me down!" Zhao Sheng cried, flailing indignantly. "This is deeply undignified!"
The pair ignored him, carrying him toward the crowd like a ceremonial offering—or perhaps a particularly fussy noble being escorted to a picnic.
A moment later, cheers erupted among the workers.
"We've got work!" someone shouted.
"I'm signing up for the cement factory!"
"I know where there's clay—we'll dig it up!"
"Is it still three catties of flour a day?"
"What? Artisan wages for learning cement work? That's more than a porter! Count me in!"
Within hours, Gudu Ferry transformed into a whirlwind of industry—blueprints unfurled, shovels struck soil, and laughter mingled with the clamor of construction.
Later that afternoon, Zhao Sheng found Lao Nanfeng standing near the river, inspecting the new docks. He approached quietly and leaned close.
"The Heavenly—" He caught himself. "Dao Xuan Tianzun knows of your great achievements," he whispered. "He wishes to reward you. He said you seem quite fond of… the Flower World."
Lao Nanfeng's grin spread slowly. "After years on the frontier, I've learned to appreciate the pleasures of civilization."
Zhao Sheng beckoned. "Come with me. There's a special gift waiting in the warship's cabin—personally placed there by Dao Xuan Tianzun Himself."