Everyone stood obediently in place, necks craned upward, eyes fixed on the sky.
No one dared speak.
Thirty thousand refugees—old men with bent backs, women clutching children, hollow-eyed youths—waited silently. Even the ten thousand former bandits undergoing labor reform stood straighter than usual, fear pressing their shoulders down harder than any shackle ever had.
They were all waiting.
Waiting to see how Dao Xuan Tianzun would arrange their fates.
Just then, Gao Yiye stepped forward. She raised both hands high, her voice cutting through the air like a ceremonial blade.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun has arrived!"
The words had barely left her mouth when the sky itself responded.
The clouds tore apart.
Not drifted. Not parted politely.
They split like rotten silk ripped open by brute force.
From the gaping heavens descended two colossal golden hands, vast enough to blot out the sun. The air screamed as pressure crushed downward. Knees buckled across the crowd—some people fell flat without even realizing it.
One of the golden hands clutched an enormous slab of black iron.
The plate came down.
SCRRRRAAAAAAPE—
It gouged into the earth like a god dragging a blade across flesh. Soil and stone peeled away in waves as a straight, brutal road was carved clean through the terrain, cutting toward the mouth of a neighboring valley.
Before anyone could even process what they were seeing, the second hand slammed down into that valley.
BOOM—!!!
The sound wasn't loud.
It was absolute.
The ground collapsed inward as if the valley itself had been kneaded by an invisible giant. Trees vanished. Jagged slopes flattened. In a single heartbeat, a wild, uneven basin was pressed into a wide, habitable plain.
A valley—manufactured.
Gasps rippled through the crowd, then died as terror smothered them.
But Dao Xuan Tianzun was clearly unimpressed.
Perhaps thirty thousand people was more than that small valley could bear. People needed space. Housing. Workshops. Textile sheds. Dye vats. Roads.
So the golden hand shifted again.
Another valley.
Another merciless strike.
BANG—!
Flattened.
The iron plate descended once more, scraping and screaming as another road was gouged into existence.
Again.
And again.
The earth was treated like clay on a potter's wheel.
When the dust finally settled, three entire valleys had been forcibly reshaped and connected. Together with the original basin, four valleys now spread outward, linked by straight roads that converged at the center.
From above, the layout resembled a four-leaf clover.
A lucky shape.
An unlucky place.
Before anyone could entertain thoughts of escape—or even understand the sheer scale of what had happened—walls began to fall from the sky.
They were tall. Smooth. Painted in bright, almost cheerful colors.
One by one, the walls slammed into place, sealing off each valley with merciless precision. No gaps. No weak points. No climbing holds.
Within moments, the four valleys were completely enclosed.
A vast, sealed city had been born.
Someone whispered it without realizing.
"A… labor reform city…"
No one corrected them.
Because that was exactly what it was.
Every single soul present saw it.
The thirty thousand new arrivals.
The ten thousand reformed bandits.
Every militia member.
Every official.
This was power beyond heaven and earth.
This was authority made physical.
Those who had secretly measured distances, counted guards, and dreamed of running? Their courage evaporated on the spot.
Running?
Run where?
Finally, something else descended from the sky.
A fortress.
Brilliantly colored, imposing, and utterly alien to Ming architecture, it settled at the central intersection where the four roads met. Its foundations slammed into the earth, rising like a throne hammered into the world.
Gao Yiye climbed its steps and stood at the highest platform. Her voice carried effortlessly, sharp and clear.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun rewards good and punishes evil."
Every ear strained to listen.
"Those whose crimes were unforgivable have already been struck down by divine punishment. You do not see them here because they no longer exist."
A shiver ran through the crowd.
"The reason you are still alive—standing here, breathing—is because your sins have not yet warranted death."
She paused, letting the words sink in.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun is merciful. He has spared your lives. But mercy is not free."
Her gaze swept across the valleys.
"You will labor. You will work. You will repay your debts with sweat. When your term of reform ends, that day will be your rebirth."
Silence.
Then—
Lao Nanfeng stepped forward.
The former Guyuan rebel leader slammed his fist to his chest and shouted hoarsely, "We will turn over a new leaf! We will become new people!"
The reformed bandits followed instantly.
"Become new people!"
"Become new people!"
The chant rolled like thunder.
The refugees, shaken and frightened, felt something inside them finally settle. Fear remained—but order had been imposed. Boundaries drawn. Purpose assigned.
They followed the militia's instructions obediently.
Three groups.
Three valleys.
Settlement underway.
From the sky, rows upon rows of temporary plastic houses descended neatly, snapping into place like toys laid out by an unseen child. Permanent cement housing would come later. For now, survival was enough.
Shi Kefa watched it all.
Thirty thousand unruly lives.
Stabilized in less than a day.
Through fear, mercy, and overwhelming power.
His throat felt dry.
So this is governance…
By the time he turned around, Gao Yiye had already led the militia deep into the population, conducting grassroots work with frightening efficiency.
No one remained to speak with him.
Shi Kefa gathered his thousand men and began the long walk back, shoulders heavy, thoughts heavier.
Then someone shouted.
"Sir! Look ahead—the sky!"
Shi Kefa looked up.
Dao Xuan Tianzun was flying toward them.
Of course, Dao Xuan Tianzun himself wasn't flying.
This was Li Daoxuan, holding the silicone statue aloft with one hand. Without the Infinite Gauntlet, he had to improvise. Since no one could see the hand, all they saw was a god soaring freely through the air.
The figure descended and landed before Shi Kefa.
The invisible hand withdrew.
The statue's eyes shifted. Its expression subtly animated. Its mouth stretched into a stiff, uncanny smile.
"Shi Kefa," it said. "We meet again."
Shi Kefa dropped into a deep bow immediately. "This humble official greets Dao Xuan Tianzun!"
Li Daoxuan laughed softly. "So. What you've seen today—interesting?"
Shi Kefa sighed from the depths of his chest. "Dao Xuan Tianzun's blessings have shattered this official's understanding of the world. But… if your power is so boundless, why not bestow it upon all under heaven?"
Li Daoxuan snorted.
"Is this world yours—or mine?"
The question hit like a slap.
"If you humans can't even manage your own affairs, why should I clean up everything for you? I give when I wish. What I don't give—don't ask."
Shi Kefa froze.
Then bowed even lower. "This humble official overstepped."
Li Daoxuan's smile returned. "Still. I've already given you quite a lot."
Shi Kefa looked up, confused.
Li Daoxuan tapped the statue's forehead. "Right here."
Something stirred.
A faint itch. A subtle pressure.
Shi Kefa's eyes widened.
Memories clicked together. Observations aligned. Patterns emerged where chaos had been.
Understanding bloomed.
He bowed deeply once more. "This humble official understands."
"Good."
Li Daoxuan chuckled. "As I said before—you may report what you've seen to the imperial court. That's your duty as Jinyiwei. I won't stop you."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But think carefully. What should be reported… and what shouldn't. Otherwise, the court will invite trouble it cannot survive."
With that, Dao Xuan Tianzun shot skyward and vanished.
Shi Kefa bowed until his forehead nearly touched the ground.
When he rose, his heart felt unbearably heavy.
He thought long and hard.
Finally, he decided.
The matter of Dao Xuan Tianzun—not reported.
The court would only scream "White Lotus!" and send troops to die.
But the grain?
That could be reported.
He would purchase Celestial Fertilizer from Gao Family Village, present it as a local innovation, and push for nationwide replication.
More grain meant fewer disasters.
More grain meant stability.
More grain meant hope.
Shi Kefa clenched his fist.
I'm still young, he thought.
And I can do it.