Li Daoxuan stared into the miniature world inside the diorama box, slack-jawed and absorbed for another full day. Whenever hunger nudged him, he simply ordered takeout.
Just like that, evening crept in.
Outside his window, Shuangqing City glowed beneath the golden light of sunset. Strangely, the diorama box mirrored the same scene—the tiny sky inside it darkened into dusk, even though his apartment lights were bright and should have shone straight through the glass. Yet none of that light penetrated the box; its internal sky continued dimming naturally, as if obeying laws of its own.
The box held too many oddities. At this point, Li Daoxuan no longer bothered complaining about something as trivial as inconsistent lighting.
What worried him more was Gao Chuwu and the three young villagers who had set out for the county at dawn. It was nearly nightfall. What if something had happened to them?
The feeling was much like having a courtyard full of kittens—four mischievous ones had slipped out through a gap in the fence, and now the owner was left pacing the yard, wondering whether they'd make it home safely.
Just then, five tiny figures appeared at the edge of the diorama.
Li Daoxuan perked up.
"Finally! They made it back in one piece."
Indeed, Gao Chuwu's group had returned.
San Shier—the adviser they had knocked unconscious—had awakened midway and was now being marched forward by four fierce-looking villagers wielding big wooden clubs.
San Shier didn't dare resist. One glance told him that all four were honest-faced, thick-browed country lads—the sort who didn't obey reason and had a tendency to use sticks whenever logic failed. So he shut his mouth and meekly followed them.
For someone whose limbs were trained only at holding brushes, walking thirty-odd li without food was torment. By the time they reached Gaojia Village, San Shier was ready to collapse—and did so immediately.
"G-Gaojia Village… finally…" he wheezed. "Brave heroes, you dragged me all the way here. Surely now you can tell me what you want? This is what one calls 'the map ends and the dagger is revealed.'"
Gao Chuwu didn't answer.
"You three—watch him. I'm bringing Yiye."
He sprinted toward Gao Yiye's home, intending for her to convey a message to the Heavenly Lord.
But Li Daoxuan had already seen them arrive. No need for messengers. He projected his voice toward Gao Yiye's house:
"Yiye. Yiye…"
Gao Yiye had just finished dinner and was mending clothes by the fire. At the familiar divine voice, she jolted upright and leapt off her stool before dropping heavily to her knees.
"Heavenly Lord, what do you command?"
Li Daoxuan said, "Gao Chuwu brought back a man who seems somewhat educated. I want you to question him."
"I obey, Heavenly Lord."
"Hurry. Chuwu is about to reach your door."
She rose and opened the door precisely as Gao Chuwu lifted his hand to knock. His hand froze mid-air.
"Huh? Yiye? How did you know—"
"The Heavenly Lord said you returned," she replied calmly. "And that you brought back a learned man."
Gao Chuwu glanced reverently up at the sky.
Gao Yiye immediately ran toward the village entrance. By now, half the village already knew what was happening—Gaojia Village was small, and several households could see the newcomers right from their windows. A single shout had brought everyone outside.
All forty-two villagers—men, women, elders, and children—assembled before San Shier.
The sun was almost gone, stretching every shadow long across the village. The villagers stood silently in the golden dusk, all gazing at San Shier.
The sight was eerie enough to freeze one's soul.
San Shier felt a mountain of pressure descend. Terrified, he hurried to speak before they did:
"Don't misunderstand! Please! I did not force you to pay taxes! I swear to Heaven—I spoke up for you! I begged the Magistrate not to collect them, and he kicked me out of the yamen for it! Truly! I swear it's all true! If you want revenge, find the Magistrate, not me! This is called 'distinguishing gratitude and grievance!'"
The villagers parted, and Gao Yiye stepped forward to stand at the very front—squarely in the center.
Naturally, San Shier's eyes landed on her. He blinked, bewildered.
A girl? Shouldn't a village spokesman be an elderly headman with a beard down to his chest? What kind of village puts a young woman in charge?
Gao Yiye tilted her head slightly, listening to the voice only she could hear, then straightened.
"Who are you? What office do you hold? How much schooling have you had? And what experiences do you claim?"
San Shier revived instantly, as if someone had refilled his ego.
"I am surnamed San. Born on the second day of the tenth month, hence the name San Shier—Thirty-Two. Former adviser to the Magistrate of Chengcheng County in Shaanxi Province… former, as of this morning. I studied ten years in bitter cold, traveled across the great rivers north and south. This is what one calls 'a man of eight bushels of talent!'"
Li Daoxuan nearly spat out his drink.
The way this man's volume increased when he spoke an idiom, the pompous pose he struck—it was too ridiculous.
He couldn't help chuckling.
"Yiye, ask him what year and month it is."
She dutifully relayed the question.
San Shier blinked.
They don't know the date? Are they truly that isolated?
He found it odd, but he didn't dare refuse.
He straightened solemnly.
"It is the seventh year of the Tianqi reign, seventh month. This is… hm. Drat. I cannot summarize that in a four-character idiom."
He clutched his head in agony, as if being unable to use an idiom was a grievous personal tragedy.
The villagers stared.
Some snorted.
Some nearly burst into laughter.
But Li Daoxuan didn't laugh. He froze.
As someone who had spent years haunting history and military forums, "Tianqi Seven" was painfully familiar.
This was a real Ming dynasty year.
In this very year, Emperor Tianqi Zhu Youjiao died, and Emperor Chongzhen Zhu Youjian ascended the throne. The drought was severe, peasant uprisings were brewing, and the Ming dynasty was entering its final decade of struggle.
What the hell? The world inside the diorama… is it actually a real historical era?
No. Maybe it's just coincidence. Just the reign name… surely…
Li Daoxuan swallowed hard.
"Yiye," he said gravely, "ask him the emperor's name."
She asked.
At that, San Shier grew solemn.
"A lowly subject dares not speak His Majesty's sacred name. This is called 'honoring the sovereign and blessing the people.'"
Li Daoxuan inhaled.
Then said flatly—
"Beat him."