Li Daoxuan withdrew his co-sensing from the Dao Xuan Tianzun's Titanic Avatar just in time to hear the knock at his door.
Lunch had arrived.
Cumin-spiced, hand-torn ribs.
Civilization truly peaked at this moment.
He held a rib in his left hand, grease glistening like holy oil, while his right hand casually tapped the diorama box, switching viewpoints and surveying his ever-expanding "divine domain."
Mm. Tender. Smoky. Slightly salty.
His territory, meanwhile, was expanding at a similarly alarming rate.
Xing Honglang's Gudu Ferry continued selling grain and acquiring salt with the enthusiasm of a man who had discovered both capitalism and faith at the same time. The "grace of Dao Xuan Tianzun" spread outward like spilled ink—no, like spilled porridge—saving people wherever it reached.
Imperial Censor Wu Shen, on the other hand, was sweating bullets, frantically herding refugees toward Gao Family Village like a man desperately trying to empty the ocean with a spoon.
In recent days, the Salvation Index had shot up so fast it felt like it might pull a muscle.
Li Daoxuan's field of vision expanded again—another few dozen miles, just like that.
Baishui County was now almost entirely within sight. More than half of Dali County peeked in as well, and even Huanglong Mountain to the north had wandered into view, as if asking politely whether it could also be saved.
Seeing this, Li Daoxuan issued several consecutive divine edicts to San Shier:
Transport grain.
Distribute the Dao Xuan Tianzun's Demon-Slaying Chronicles.
Repeat. Relentlessly.
Thus began the quiet infiltration of Baishui and Dali Counties by faith, food, and extremely persuasive logistics.
Daoist Master Ma and Madam San set out in opposite directions—one to Baishui, one to Dali—each carrying scripture, conviction, and the unmistakable air of people about to be very busy for the rest of their lives.
The result?
Gao Family Village's so-called "civil administration" collapsed under the weight.
San Shier and Tan Liwen worked like spinning tops, dispatching supplies nonstop—to Yongji Gudu Ferry, Dragon Gate Ferry, Baishui County, Dali County—
Grain carts rolled day and night.
Porters moved until their shoulders went numb.
Stopping was not an option. Stopping meant famine. Famine meant chaos. Chaos meant paperwork. Nobody wanted paperwork.
Li Daoxuan gnawed thoughtfully on a rib, eyes sweeping over the endless transport teams filing out of Gao Family Village.
"…Huh."
He frowned.
"The number of porters is clearly less than before."
And he was right.
Gao Family Village's pool of pure manual labor was shrinking by the day.
People were upgrading.
Once someone learned a skill—blacksmithing, carpentry, casting—they looked at hauling sacks of grain the way scholars looked at digging latrines.
Hard pass.
This only worsened the strain on the logistics system.
The pressure was mounting.
Right on cue, a furious clamor erupted from the Craftsman Well.
Tiny figures waved their arms. Voices overlapped. Someone was definitely shouting.
Li Daoxuan sighed, flicked grease off his fingers, and shifted his focus.
The moment his perspective snapped into place, Li Da's voice came roaring out:
"Are you out of your minds?! Xu Dafu and I nearly died squeezing out the Chassepot breech-loading rifle, and now you've taken my blacksmiths away? How am I supposed to mass-produce firearms? Wishful thinking? Prayer?"
Xu Dafu stood beside him, nodding so hard it looked like his head might detach.
Young Master Bai slammed his sleeve against a workbench. "You think you're the only one suffering? I'm building locomotive engines! Engines! And railway tracks! Each one eats iron like a starving tiger. Where are my blacksmiths?"
Gao Yiyi pinched the bridge of her nose, looking one breath away from murder. "All of you, calm down! Calm. Down. I need blacksmiths too! Cannons don't forge themselves. Neither do sickles, hoes, iron pots, spearheads, arrowheads—what, do you want the common people to fight bandits with harsh language?"
Li Da pointed accusingly. "My rifles were personally decreed by Dao Xuan Tianzun in the seventh year of Tianqi! Mass production! Divine priority! Give me the blacksmiths!"
Young Master Bai snorted. "My locomotives are also a divine edict. Meant to cross the land and shake the earth. Figure it out yourselves."
Gao Yiyi exploded. "My cannon barrels were bestowed by Dao Xuan Tianzun Himself! If that's not a divine edict, what is?! Don't act like you're special!"
"The Tianzun is on my side!"
"He clearly favors me!"
"Mine was explained personally!"
"I heard it directly!"
Li Daoxuan watched in silence, rib halfway to his mouth.
…Wonderful.
They were fighting over divine favoritism like children arguing over who their father loved more—except the father was a Daoist god, and the argument involved industrial capacity.
At its core, though, the problem was simple.
Manpower.
Europe had run into this same wall centuries ago. Sparse population. Growing industry. Not enough hands.
And Europe had solved it the only way possible.
Efficiency.
Li Daoxuan's eyes sharpened.
Interchangeable parts.
Standardization.
Mass production.
He stopped chewing.
Without hesitation, he pulled up several modern articles explaining standardization and industrial workflows, converted them into classical Chinese with one click, printed them, and dropped the stack straight onto the rooftop of Gao Family Village School.
On the roof, Song Yingxing was already surrounded by half-understood machines and unsolved questions when a massive book descended from the heavens and landed with a thump.
His heart skipped.
A Heavenly Book!
No—
A Dao Xuan Tianzun Heavenly Book!
He scrambled onto it like a man afraid it might vanish if he blinked and flipped the first page.
"…Oh."
His eyes widened.
"Oh?!"
"If parts are standardized… molds created… separate forging… later assembly…"
His breathing quickened.
"So one blacksmith doesn't need to make an entire firearm… each person forges one part… assembly later…"
He nearly laughed.
"It can be done like this?!"
Song Yingxing threw his head back, overjoyed. "Incredible! Truly incredible! A Heavenly Book lives up to its name!"
Li Daoxuan watched from above, satisfied.
This would take time. Standardization sounded simple, but implementation would be brutal. Song Yingxing would need days—weeks—to even begin testing it.
But at least the path was clear.
Before that, however, there was another bottleneck.
Training.
The Craftsman Well still relied on old masters teaching apprentices, one by one, slowly and painfully.
That would not survive industrialization.
It was time for something new.
A vocational school.
And then—
Li Daoxuan froze.
"…Ah."
There was one more thing.
A military academy.
A familiar bald head flashed through his mind.
He twitched.
No. Absolutely not.
He forcibly shoved the image away and refocused.
Gao Family Village lacked anyone qualified to lead such an academy. Their commanders—Cheng Xu, Fang Wushang, Lao Nanfeng—were capable, but none had formal military education or large-scale command experience.
Teaching warfare required more than bravery.
It required lineage, theory, and blood-soaked experience.
"If only…" Li Daoxuan murmured, "…there were a man from a true military family. Someone steeped in treatises and war."
He sighed.
But where would such a person appear?
History, unfortunately, did not spawn heroes on demand.
Not even for gods.