At Yongji Gudu Ferry, the steamship eased toward the shore, its paddle wheels slowing with a low, obedient hiss. Steam drifted lazily from the chimney, black smoke thinning as the engine wound down—like a beast that had finally decided to behave.
Before the gangplank was even fully secured—
Thud!
Bai Gongzi practically launched himself off the deck.
His feet hit the ground, momentum betrayed him, and he stumbled forward, barely avoiding an undignified face-first greeting with the dock. Years of living hunched over drafting tables and furnaces had done terrible things to his balance.
When it came to the Six Arts—archery, charioteering, and the like—anything involving muscles instead of brains, he had long since accepted that he would never catch up to his father.
And frankly?
He didn't care.
He spun around, stared at the steamship, and burst into laughter so loud it startled nearby seagulls.
"It's done! It's really done!"
"Hahahaha!"
"A successful maiden voyage!"
"Once again—we've replicated a celestial artifact using nothing but our own hands!"
People swarmed the dock, surrounding the iron vessel as if it were a living miracle. Fingers traced rivets. Eyes followed pipes and valves. Every hiss of cooling metal felt like history being written in real time.
Then Bai Gongzi felt it.
A pressure from above.
He looked up.
The Dao Xuan Tianzun descended from the sky, robes unmoving in the wind, presence calm and overwhelming. Beside him rolled the Saintess's carriage, stopping neatly at the dock.
When the Dao Xuan Tianzun touched down in front of him, Bai Gongzi instinctively straightened his back.
Li Daoxuan smiled.
"I've been in Henan lately, helping your father with disaster relief. You've done very well here at home."
Just that single sentence—
Bai Gongzi felt his chest swell inexplicably, as though he'd been knighted by heaven itself.
Li Daoxuan's expression turned serious.
"Remember this," he said. "Every invention must be recorded on paper. Do not fall into the foolish thinking of teaching only sons and not daughters."
"Knowledge must be passed down—layer by layer—to future generations. Only when they stand on the shoulders of those before them can progress truly accelerate."
Bai Gongzi bowed deeply.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun, rest assured. I will do exactly that."
Soon after, more figures disembarked.
Song Yingxing.
Wang Zheng.
One after another—the core minds of Gao Family Village.
A steamship's maiden voyage was no small matter. No scientist worth his salt would miss it. Along with them came graduate students, senior engineers, Li Da, Gao Yiyi—nearly the entire soul of Gao Family Village had crammed itself onto this experimental vessel.
Li Daoxuan watched them pile off the ship and couldn't help laughing. He shook his head.
"I say—are you all out of your minds?"
"You boarded an experimental vessel together?"
"If this thing had failed and capsized in the Yellow River, the scientific progress of Gao Family Village would've been wiped back to square one."
Silence.
Faces went pale.
"…Ah?"
"…We didn't think of that."
"That was… dangerously close."
Li Daoxuan sighed.
"From now on, experiments require safety standards. No more reckless heroics."
Everyone nodded vigorously, as if afraid the river might hear and take offense.
Just then, Song Yingxing stepped forward.
His brows were furrowed, his beard slightly disheveled—the look of a man who hadn't slept properly in days.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun," he said, bowing, "my research has encountered a frustrating impasse. I've exhausted every line of thought I know. I can only beg you for guidance."
Li Daoxuan raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? Speak."
Song Yingxing straightened.
"Previously, the Dao Xuan Tianzun gave me the guiding principle of standardization."
Li Daoxuan nodded. He remembered it clearly.
Unified measurements.
Division of labor.
Interchangeable parts.
Gao Family Village had already standardized the meter as a unit of length, forcing blacksmiths to craft parts so precise that components made by different hands could still fit together.
This alone had massively increased the production efficiency of flintlock rifles.
Song Yingxing continued,
"But in practice, problems arose. Parts forged by different blacksmiths—even when following the same standard—still contain microscopic differences. Too small for rulers to detect, but enough to cause poor fitting."
"These rifles wear down quickly and are easily damaged."
Li Daoxuan nodded.
"Go on."
"So I abandoned forging," Song Yingxing said, voice steady. "I turned to casting instead."
A faint smile appeared on Li Daoxuan's face.
"A very good direction."
Encouraged, Song Yingxing continued,
"I created identical molds for the rifle components. Molten iron was poured in, cooled, removed, polished. This allowed mass production of perfectly identical parts."
Li Daoxuan chuckled.
"And you're here because those parts are identical—but useless, yes?"
Song Yingxing flushed despite himself.
"As expected of the Dao Xuan Tianzun… you saw the issue instantly."
"The cast parts are extremely brittle. A flintlock assembled from them breaks after one or two shots."
"Of course," Li Daoxuan said calmly.
"Cast iron parts aren't forged or compressed. Their internal structure is loose, riddled with pores. Air bubbles form. Strength is insufficient."
Song Yingxing sighed deeply.
"With my current capabilities… I truly don't know where to begin fixing this."
Li Daoxuan laughed softly.
"Well now…"
He deliberately drew out the words.
In truth—
He didn't know either.
But this was no problem.
When he didn't know something, he simply looked it up.
All he needed was time.
"To solve this," Li Daoxuan said solemnly, "will require an entire chain of new research. Are you prepared for that?"
Song Yingxing's eyes lit up.
"I fear research least of all! The more, the better!"
"Excellent," Li Daoxuan said.
"Wait here. I will return to the Scripture Repository above and retrieve a Heavenly Book for you."
Song Yingxing nearly trembled with excitement.
"A Heavenly Book!"
"Indeed."
With a flash, the Dao Xuan Tianzun froze in place—statue-still.
Song Yingxing knew at once that the deity had ascended to the divine realm. His beard puffed proudly as he waited.
Meanwhile—
Li Daoxuan was already back outside the box.
Back on the historical military forum.
Still anonymous.
He typed:
"Hypothetically—if you traveled back to the Ming Dynasty and needed to cast flintlock rifles, how would you solve the problem of insufficient strength in cast parts?"
Replies poured in.
Reply 1:
"Use vibranium."
Reply 2:
"Bury the first-floor poster alive. You're talking about density and porosity issues, right? Start with smelting furnace technology. Good molten iron naturally makes stronger castings."
Li Daoxuan replied humbly:
"And this smelting furnace technology…?"
Reply 3:
"Abraham Darby's coke smelting method. Coke enabled large blast furnaces. I'll give you the coke production process and data on the Coalbrookdale furnace. Sources: Harbin Institute of Technology library."
Reply 4:
"Casting iron is only transitional. You ultimately need steelmaking. I'll send Bessemer process materials too—but forget about doing that in Ming Dynasty tech. That's decades, maybe centuries, of groundwork."
Li Daoxuan leaned back.
"…Alright," he murmured.
"Let's start with coke."
Inside the box, a certain old craftsman was about to have his worldview shattered—again.