Shi Kefa brought with him a full contingent from the government-run Celestial Fertilizer Store—clerks, porters, record-keepers, and men whose sole qualification in life appeared to be the ability to carry heavy sacks without complaining too loudly.
Carts rolled in one after another.
Wooden wheels creaked.
Horses snorted.
Sacks thudded onto the ground with the kind of dull sound that suggested food for the land, not poetry.
The Celestial Fertilizer was unloaded piece by piece, carried into the shop, then stacked deep inside the rear warehouse. It wasn't a quiet operation by any standard. Dozens of carts came and went, clogging the street so thoroughly that even idle dogs had to reroute their afternoon naps.
Naturally, the surrounding residents were stirred.
Doors cracked open.
Windows lifted a finger's width.
Idle men suddenly remembered urgent business nearby.
Before long, a crowd gathered.
"Another shipment?" someone whispered, craning his neck.
"Master Shi brought in more Celestial Fertilizer," another confirmed, voice heavy with awe—and concern.
A third sighed, already exhausted on behalf of everyone involved.
"The Prince of Qin's residence will probably come seize it again in a few days, won't they?"
"Don't say that so loudly!"
"Oh dear… this again."
"What a mess. A real mess."
"A dogfight," an old man muttered, spitting to the side. "Two vicious dogs. No matter who wins, someone's getting fur stuck in their mouth."
"That's not fair," someone objected weakly. "Master Shi and Master Wu actually want the people to have fertilizer. They want crops to grow."
"Yes, yes," the old man replied, unimpressed. "Good intentions still get trampled when the dogs start biting."
While public opinion simmered like an unattended pot, Li Daoxuan strolled past the shopfront.
Left hand: a birdcage, the little creature inside hopping restlessly.
Right hand: a folding fan, snapping open and closed with leisurely indifference.
He looked less like someone in the middle of a political confrontation and more like a gentleman who had wandered out purely to admire how chaos was progressing.
"Flat Rabbit," Li Daoxuan said casually, not even turning his head.
"Zheng Gouzi."
The two stiffened at once.
"Yes!"
"Here!"
"I'll leave this place to you," Li Daoxuan said, tone light, as if he were asking them to water a plant.
Flat Rabbit and Zheng Gouzi bowed so deeply their foreheads nearly struck the ground.
Li Daoxuan laughed. "No need to look like you're about to be buried alive. I'm just going for a walk."
He lifted the birdcage slightly, as though saluting the scene, then ambled off.
The folding fan swayed.
The bird chirped.
Soon enough, Li Daoxuan disappeared into the winding streets and crooked alleys of Xi'an City.
Shaanxi had endured five years of drought.
Five years was long enough to grind optimism into dust.
Xi'an, on the surface, was still bustling. Shops opened. Streets stayed busy. Voices filled the air. But beneath that noise was a rot that no amount of shouting could cover.
Every alley told the same story.
Refugees hunched against walls.
Families pressed together under shop awnings.
Faces drawn tight, eyes dulled by hunger and cold.
These weren't locals. They were people who had run out of land, out of water, out of choices. They had come to the city believing somewhere must be better.
The city, unfortunately, had run out of better to give.
Summer had at least allowed them to sleep outdoors without dying immediately. Winter was less forgiving. Rain turned to sleet. Sleet to snow. Cold crept into bones and refused to leave.
Li Daoxuan slowed his steps.
He watched.
Silently.
Xi'an lay beyond the reach of his field of vision—over a hundred li too far. He couldn't simply reach down and pluck misery away like a weed.
He had extended a hand through the Celestial Fertilizer.
Whether that hand would be grasped—or bitten—was still unclear.
Li Daoxuan reached into his sleeve, pulled out a handful of broken silver, and set it gently on the ground near a huddled group of refugees.
No announcement.
No lecture.
No miracle.
Then he continued on, birdcage swaying, fan tapping against his palm.
Xi'an City, Northeast Sector.Xi'an City, Northeast Sector.
The Prince of Qin's Residence.
Known proudly as the "Foremost Princely Fief Under Heaven."
Walls within walls.
Moats guarding moats.
A city nested inside another city, like paranoia perfected through architecture.
Grand halls stood immaculate.
Gardens bloomed despite the drought.
Stone paths remained clean enough to shame temples.
Even in the chaos of the late Ming, the Prince of Qin's residence had proven remarkably good at one thing: surviving while everyone else bled.
In the rear garden, beneath carefully pruned trees, a corpulent man reclined with his head resting on a young woman's lap.
Fruit juice dripped down his fingers as he ate.
This was Zhu Cunji, heir to the Prince of Qin. Thirty-seven years old—and still an heir.
That single fact haunted him more than ghosts.
The former Prince of Qin, Zhu Yihuan, had died back in the forty-sixth year of Wanli. Now it was the winter of Chongzhen's fourth year.
More than a decade.
Still no formal investiture.
Still no title.
Still an heir.
Zhu Cunji believed—deeply, passionately—that the Emperor and the civil officials owed him.
The longer they delayed, the more convinced he became.
Such was human nature: once you decide the world owes you, everything you take feels justified.
"That position should've been mine long ago!" Zhu Cunji snarled, venting to his favored concubine. "The title, the lands, everything around Xi'an. All of it!"
He spat the words like poison.
"Those civil officials keep dragging their feet. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting."
He snorted. "We took a little Celestial Fertilizer, and suddenly they're crying to the Emperor, impeaching me?"
Just then, a servant rushed in.
"Report! Another shipment of Celestial Fertilizer has arrived."
Zhu Cunji paused mid-bite.
"Oh?" His eyes narrowed. "Another?"
The servant lowered his voice. "Your Highness… should we seize it again? The last time caused quite the uproar. The impeachment memorials haven't even reached the capital yet."
Zhu Cunji rolled his eyes.
"Of course we seize it."
He sneered. "If I don't make noise, how will they remember I exist?"
He believed firmly in one philosophy:
The louder you cry, the faster you're fed.
"If I don't stir trouble," he continued, "the Emperor might think I'm content being ignored. I need him seeing my name every day."
Shi Kefa.
Wu Shen.
"Perfect," Zhu Cunji said. "Both can write directly to the Emperor. Let them."
The servant hesitated. "This time, they didn't use local runners. They went to Chengcheng County and invited a gentry member to manage things."
"Oh?" Zhu Cunji raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"A descendant of the Tang imperial family. The Li clan. I heard the fertilizer comes from his family."
Zhu Cunji laughed, sharp and ugly.
"So what if he's Tang royalty?"
He slapped the concubine's thigh.
"I'm Ming royalty. This is the Great Ming, not his Great Tang."
The servant nodded eagerly. "Exactly, Your Highness."
"Take a few men," Zhu Cunji ordered. "Empty the store."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Zhu Cunji laughed again, pulling his concubine closer.
"Forget these annoyances. Let's enjoy ourselves."
The Celestial Fertilizer store reopened after hurried repairs.
Tables straightened.
Chairs replaced.
The signboard rehung.
Behind the counter stood Wang Tang, a logistics squad leader, dressed in a plain long gown.
He looked refined. Polite. Almost scholarly.
He looked absolutely nothing like someone who belonged there.
Flat Rabbit stared at him, then burst out laughing.
"Xiao Tang, you look like you wandered into the wrong life."
Wang Tang smiled calmly, refusing to defend himself.
Just then, Dao Xuan Tianzun—Test Subject 01—walked in, chuckling.
"The belief that merchants must look greedy is outdated," Li Daoxuan said lightly. "In the new era, merchants should appear dignified. Let vulgarity die where it belongs."
Flat Rabbit stuck out his tongue, wisely choosing not to mock Dao Xuan Tianzun.
Instead, he pointed at the empty shop.
"We've reopened, hung the sign, posted prices, even beat the gongs. Not a single customer."
Li Daoxuan smiled.
"Of course," he said. "As long as the Prince of Qin's residence hasn't made its move, no one will dare step inside."
He closed his fan with a snap.
"They're waiting. Watching. Waiting to see who bleeds first."
Flat Rabbit scoffed. "Cowards."
Li Daoxuan's gaze drifted toward the street.
"They're weak," he said quietly. "And weak people don't get the luxury of bravery."
Then, almost thoughtfully:
"But when those in power mistake fear for obedience…"
"…the reckoning always comes."
The shop remained empty.
But unseen eyes were everywhere.
They were watching.