Han City had never been this noisy.
Every street corner buzzed with discussion, not about grain prices or bandits, but about picture books—colorful, shamelessly vivid ones—clutched in the hands of men, women, and children alike.
Unlike the old storybooks that required imagination, these didn't bother asking readers to picture anything.
They simply showed it.
Tall houses rose neatly from the pages. Wide streets bustled with people. The Gao Family commercial district looked so lively it practically spilled off the paper. Even the food was illustrated in cruel detail—steaming buns, glossy braised meat, bowls piled obscenely high.
"This isn't fair," someone muttered. "Why draw it like this? Now I'm hungry and poor."
The books made one thing painfully clear: life in Gao Family Village was not some unreachable fantasy.
Work existed. Pay was clear. Rules were enforced.
And no one stole your wages.
"I kind of want to go see it," one man said hesitantly. "I mean… staying in Han City, I'm already useless. Going somewhere else, at least I might be a useful useless person."
"I'm definitely more capable than the idiot in Gao Piao," another scoffed. "That guy didn't know anything. I at least know how to count change."
"I make sesame flatbreads," a third chimed in eagerly. "If I opened a stall there, maybe I'd actually earn silver instead of apologies."
"And there's a god watching over them," someone added in a lowered voice. "Dao Xuan Tianzun."
"Gods?" a rough voice snorted. "I don't care if there are gods. If they pay me fairly and don't let anyone rob me, I'll worship the payroll."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
And the discussions didn't fade.
They multiplied.
Han City was already a husk. After Wang Zuogua's repeated assaults, the surrounding villages had been stripped bare. Refugees poured in, only to find nothing waiting for them but other refugees.
Once you'd already lost your home, the idea of going a little farther stopped feeling scary.
It started to feel… reasonable.
And just as that thought settled in—
The grain convoy from Heyang County arrived again.
Carts rolled in. Grain was unloaded. Familiar faces appeared.
Then a man dressed like a merchant stepped forward into the market square and raised his voice.
"My name is Tan Liwen," he announced. "From the Gao Family Village Management Committee."
The words Management Committee alone made people stand straighter.
"We are currently recruiting workers," Tan Liwen continued calmly. "The following positions are open: blacksmiths—unlimited. Carpenters—unlimited. Engravers—five. Lamp makers—two. Dyers—twenty. General laborers—unlimited."
The crowd stared.
Unlimited?
That wasn't recruitment.
That was a vacuum.
"I can do one of those!" someone shouted.
The realization spread like fire through dry grass.
People surged forward, shouting questions over one another.
"What's a blacksmith paid?!"
"I make lamps! How much do lamp makers earn?!"
"What about just carrying things?!"
The crowd vibrated with energy, pacing, shoving, craning necks—more anxious than a man waiting outside a delivery room for his first child.
Tan Liwen didn't answer a single question.
Instead, he calmly unfurled a massive sheet of paper and pasted it onto a nearby wall.
No one stopped him.
In later eras, officials would have arrested him on the spot for illegal posting. But in these times, walls were honest things. If you had something worth saying, you stuck it there.
The crowd surged closer.
Then they froze.
The paper wasn't text.
It was pictures.
A blacksmith hammering iron.
Three silver ingots beside him.
Understanding struck instantly.
"Three taels…"
Below it, a carpenter sawing wood.
Three silver ingots again.
Gasps followed.
At the bottom, a man hauling heavy loads—clearly a general laborer.
Beside him: three small piles of flour.
Three catties.
They scanned the page again and again.
Skilled work brought silver. No skills still brought food.
There was no trick.
No fine print.
Tan Liwen's voice rang out once more.
"Our grain carts will return to Gao Family Village once unloading is complete. Anyone who wishes to work there may travel with us."
That sentence shattered the final barrier.
For people who had never left home, the greatest fear wasn't distance—it was going alone.
But this?
This came with carts. With officials. With food.
"I'm going!"
"I'll go too!"
"Count me in!"
A wave surged forward.
Tan Liwen allowed himself a faint smile.
Dao Xuan Tianzun had been right.
Trying to convince people who knew nothing would have been impossible.
But Gao Piao had already done the work.
It showed them what life looked like.
So now, only a few words were needed.
Tianzun called this cultural invasion.
Tan Liwen finally understood.
Conquer the heart first. The feet would follow.
At dawn, the convoy departed.
Empty carts rolled south.
Behind them walked a sea of refugees, each carrying a small bundle containing everything they owned. Children stumbled along, dragged by hands that refused to let go.
They walked for hours.
Then days.
When they crossed into Heyang County, the difference hit them like a slap.
Green fields stretched endlessly. Crops stood tall. The land looked… confident.
Farmers sang as they worked.
By the roadside, old men sat chatting, smiling as they watched the massive procession pass.
Tan Liwen stopped and greeted them. "Elders, how are the crops this year?"
The old men laughed.
"Thanks to Gao Family Village," one said cheerfully. "You brought fertilizer—and Mr. Zhao! Last year's Celestial Fertilizer worked wonders. This year will be even better."
He puffed up proudly. "I memorized the mixing method perfectly!"
Another sighed. "But we haven't seen Mr. Zhao in a long time. How is he?"
Tan Liwen smiled. "He's gone to Shanxi. Helping people there."
The old men grew solemn.
"What a good man," one murmured. "Helping Heyang, then Shanxi. We hope heaven rewards him—and that his breathing gets better."
"Gulp! Gulp!"
At Gudu Ferry, Zhao Sheng grimaced as he swallowed a bowl of bitter medicinal soup.
"When you brew this," he whimpered, "couldn't you add a little more sugar?"
Perched on the attendant's shoulder, the tiny Puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun snorted.
"Excess sugar leads to weight gain. Weight gain worsens respiratory conditions. This Tianzun forbids it."
Zhao Sheng wailed. "Tianzun! I am deeply moved by your concern! But such boundless care is truly unbearable! Please—just one spoon!"
Tianzun ignored him entirely and flopped over, arms crossed.
Zhao Sheng stared at the soup.
Then at the puppet.
Then drank anyway—tears included.