Morning sunlight spilled through the windows of Li Daoxuan's villa as he scrolled through his contacts and dialed up Cai Xinzhi.
"Hey, Old Cai. I've got a new project for you."
A yawn crackled through the phone. "Another ship? Or are you finally moving on to rocket models?"
Li Daoxuan leaned back with a grin. "Neither. I need a full-articulation, life-size—well, life-like—replica of a human body. The kind that can move its limbs, open its mouth, roll its eyes… silicone skin preferred."
Silence.
"Hello? You there? Bad signal?"
Cai Xinzhi exhaled the kind of sigh only a man burdened with a friend's nonsense can manage.
"Brother… you need a girlfriend. Making dolls is not a long-term cure for loneliness."
"What?!" Li Daoxuan shot up from his chair. "What on earth are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking about your health," Cai Xinzhi said solemnly. "You keep telling yourself it's for the art, but next thing you know, you'll be giving her a name and arguing about dinner plans."
Three veins popped on Li Daoxuan's temple. "I'm building a functional miniature, not a concubine!"
"Oh, right, right," Cai Xinzhi said quickly. "No judgment here. We all have our hobbies. Which celebrity head do you want sculpted? Just please don't ask for our old high-school belle—she's got two kids now. That's crossing into moral bankruptcy, and even I have standards."
"STOP!"
Li Daoxuan's shout rattled the windowpanes. "It's my own face, you idiot!"
A sharp inhale on the other end.
"…Playing with yourself? Brother, that's—"
"Fifteen minutes," Li Daoxuan growled. "Call an ambulance."
One Day Later.
A box arrived. Inside lay a four-centimeter-tall silicone doll—his exact proportions, minus the dignity. The texture was uncannily close to human skin; you could almost feel pores. Beneath the soft surface, a metal micro-skeleton allowed every joint to move.
Cai Xinzhi had even given the tiny figure a vaguely human face… though "vague" was generous. The features were a blurred suggestion of humanity, somewhere between an ancient clay figurine and a deflated pastry.
No problem. Li Daoxuan popped the doll's head off, handed it to Gao Yiye, and said, "Find a proper sculptor. Carve me a face that doesn't look like a melted bun."
He also gave her a small cube of silicone—one cubic centimeter—and a new order:
"Use this as reference. I want a life-sized version built, too."
Both projects—mini and monumental—went into production side by side.
Spring Festival, Fourth Year of Chongzhen.
A new year dawned. Gao Family Village, once a trembling speck of forty-two souls, now thrummed with ten thousand residents. It wasn't a village anymore; it was a small city with ambition in its bricks.
Yet this year's Spring Festival was… quiet.
The laborers who'd come from neighboring towns to work had all packed up their wages, bought red paper and firecrackers, and chugged home on the village's miniature train to celebrate with family.
The surrounding villages blazed with color and noise—lanterns, drums, the works. Gao Family Village, at the center of it all, sat in peaceful emptiness.
Some people, however, stayed behind.
Song Yingxing, for one—the brilliant, slightly manic craftsman from Jiangxi. Returning home would mean months on the road through bandit-ridden territory. So he stayed, fiddling with gears in the Craftsman workshop.
He was halfway through repairing a steam-driven textile machine when he noticed a familiar silhouette.
"Hey, Young Master Bai? Why aren't you back at Bai Fortress for the New Year?"
Bai Gongzi turned, eyes shining. "Go home? When my steam miniature train is about to have its first test run? Not a chance."
Song Yingxing chuckled. "Ah, right. Priorities."
They both looked out the workshop window.
Outside stood two trains side by side—the divine, colorful electric model gifted by Dao Xuan Tianzun… and Bai Gongzi's new beast: a dark, stubby steam locomotive, ugly enough to frighten crows, but real—born of hammer, coal, and sweat.
No divine tricks. Just engineering.
Rails snaked less than a li into the fields, a humble start for a revolutionary toy.
"How long till it runs?" Song Yingxing asked.
"Five days, tops!" Bai Gongzi said proudly. He turned to a nearby blacksmith. "Cabin door ready by then?"
The blacksmith saluted. "Guaranteed!"
Song Yingxing blinked. "Wait… the door's not done yet?"
Bai Gongzi coughed. "We focused on the engine first. Priorities, you know? The smokestack's still… experimental, too. Right now the coal smoke kind of fills the cabin and—uh—everyone passes out."
Song Yingxing slowly lowered his head into his hands.
Five days, he says. I should've known.