"Successful! We have pleased the gods!"
At that moment, Li Xiao and his followers felt a thrill of excitement. The voice of Lord God—Xia Chuan—echoed clearly in their minds, and their hearts leapt. The reason they had chosen to offer such abundant sacrifices, so many books, so many treasures, so much devotion, was now clear. They were rewarded with the favor of the gods.
The memory of their previous offering was still vivid. When they had sacrificed for the first time, they had received a wish in return. That wish had been used to punish Chen State, to wipe out their old enemy, expand Tang State's territory, multiply their population, and solidify their power. The results had been overwhelming, far beyond what any mortal could accomplish alone.
And now, after another massive sacrifice, they had received another divine opportunity.
"Lord King, what wish should we make this time?" a senior official asked, his voice trembling slightly with excitement and fear.
Li Xiao thought for a moment, then spoke with deliberate caution: "We must not be greedy. If our wish is too excessive, the gods may reject us. We must make a wish of equivalent value, a wish that will satisfy the divine. Nothing more, nothing less."
A minister immediately suggested, "Lord King, Tang is suffering from drought, famine, and the threat of crop failure. Why not ask the gods to bring rain, so that our fields will not fail?"
Li Xiao shook his head, frowning. "No… rain or flood—these are terrifying, yes, but they are not the real threat. The true danger is famine, the lack of food. It is the hunger that follows disasters, the scarcity of sustenance, that will kill or maim thousands, perhaps millions. Even if the gods give us rain, if the crops fail, if there is no food, the people will still suffer immensely. Food is the root. Food is the essence. Without it, Tang cannot survive."
The council murmured in agreement, heads nodding. It was true. No disaster is more terrifying than famine. Floods, droughts, storms, earthquakes—they all pale in comparison to the suffering of starving people. Even the strongest army, the wealthiest state, would crumble if its people had nothing to eat.
Li Xiao, his mind firm with resolve, then spoke aloud: "Lord God, please grant us food—food sufficient to withstand this drought, enough to sustain our people and ensure that Tang State does not perish."
...
In another world, in a realm far removed from time and space, Xia Chuan naturally heard the plea. The words of Li Xiao, the wishes of his devoted follower, reached his consciousness as clearly as if they had been whispered into his ear.
"Food?" Xia Chuan smiled faintly. "Such a trivial wish."
Trivial indeed, for someone like Xia Chuan. To grant this wish required little effort. In this miniature world, the humans—tiny, fragile, dependent—needed only a modest supply of sustenance to last for an unimaginable length of time. A bag of rice, a small harvest, would feed millions, perhaps for years.
Thinking of this, Xia Chuan did not hesitate. Reaching to his kitchen, he took out a bag of rice weighing fifty catties—fifty kilograms.
To the humans of Tang State, this single bag would be inconceivably massive. Enough to feed six hundred million people? Easily. Enough to sustain them during even the most severe drought? Certainly.
He paused, considering the method of delivery. Then, his hand touched the familiar bronze door that had accompanied him from world to world, a door not merely ornamental but immensely powerful. It could open portals, teleport objects, and even send beings across time and space. Anywhere he had been, or anywhere he knew, could be accessed instantly.
"By the bronze door," he murmured to himself. "It will deliver the rice directly to them."
Without further hesitation, Xia Chuan tossed the bag of rice into the bronze door. The portal shimmered, light rippling across its surface, and then closed behind the offering.
...
Back in Chang'an, Li Xiao and the other believers waited, trembling with anticipation. Their hearts pounded, and their minds were focused entirely on the miraculous intervention of the gods.
"I already know your wish," came the divine voice, cold yet supreme, merciless yet awe-inspiring. "It will be granted."
A chorus of joy erupted. The believers' voices rose in celebration, tears streaming, hands pressed together. The gods had heard. The gods had answered.
Boom!
In the next instant, a bronze gate appeared in the sky above Chang'an. Golden light radiated from it, piercing the heavens, filling the sky with an aura that seemed to stretch across all creation. A strange, incomprehensible, and yet deeply majestic energy poured from the portal. The air shimmered, and the believers fell to their knees, overwhelmed with awe and reverence.
"Wow…" they whispered. "The gods… they have come to us."
Then, the bronze gate opened. From within, rice poured forth—not trickling, not gently falling—but cascading from the sky like a torrential downpour. The grains were enormous, enormous beyond imagination, each one the size of a boulder to the miniature humans of Tang.
Fifty catties of rice, falling like meteors, scattering across the outskirts of the city. The sheer scale was incomprehensible. Every grain seemed to carry the weight of mountains, each one a potential catastrophe if it fell upon an unprepared mortal.
"Move! Dodge!" shouted a guard. "Don't be hit!"
"My… my God… rice… rice is falling from the sky!" exclaimed a farmer, eyes wide in disbelief.
"This is… a gift from the gods!" shouted another, joy and fear mingling in their voice.
The believers scrambled, some bowing in awe, others trying to avoid the massive grains striking the ground. To them, this was no ordinary rain. It was divine. Monumental. Terrifying. Every grain seemed alive, pulsing with energy, a gift from the supreme being who now watched over them.
Mathematically, fifty kilograms of rice contained roughly 1.25 million grains. To these miniature humans, each grain was as massive as a meteorite. One million, two hundred fifty thousand meteors, falling at once. The sound of their impact echoed like thunder across the suburbs of Chang'an. And yet, miraculously, no one was killed. The rice fell on open fields, on the outskirts, sparing the city itself from destruction.
It was, in the eyes of the believers, a miracle. A spectacle they would never forget. A testament to the power of the gods and the favor they had bestowed upon Tang State.
Li Xiao and the officials, watching the miraculous scene, could only stare in disbelief. They had prayed for food. They had asked for sustenance to survive a drought. And now, the gods had answered—not with mere grains, not with simple rations—but with a shower of divine providence, a celestial intervention that dwarfed even their wildest imaginations.
The famine would be prevented. The people would survive. And the Tang State, under the guidance of both prince and god, would thrive.
In the distance, Xia Chuan watched from his own world, a faint smile on his lips. It was a small wish, but one that would ripple through the lives of hundreds of millions. And it was only the beginning.
For the miniature humans, the rice grains were mountains. For Xia Chuan, the act was trivial. But the effect, the bond between believer and god, had grown stronger. Faith, power, and sustenance intertwined, and the world shifted just a little closer to his control.
The sky still shimmered with the golden light of the bronze gate, the rice still falling, and the believers still worshipping, screaming, and running in amazement. For them, it was a day of legend. A day that would be spoken of for generations. A day when the gods themselves had descended—through rice, through miracles, through faith.
And for Xia Chuan, it was a reminder: the miniature world was small, but the influence of a god… limitless.