Chaos swallowed the county seat of Chengcheng, but miles away, the people of Gaojia Village had troubles of a very different sort.
The problem was rope.
To match the towering Lego-like walls Li Daoxuan had casually built and placed into the miniature world, the villagers needed a gate—two zhang tall, two zhang wide. A gate that size required bundling whole trunks together. But the villagers' homemade grass ropes… simply weren't up to the task.
Grass rope was fine for tying table legs, farm tools, or a hoe handle. It was not fine for lashing together timber the thickness of a man's arm.
And the cracks quickly showed.
"Bad news! The rope on this side snapped again!"
"Village Chief, the rope you brought crumbles if you tug it once!"
"The stakes on the left—someone tie them down! They're coming loose!"
The villagers scrambled like headless chickens, ropes snapping faster than they could tie them.
Outside the box, Li Daoxuan watched the tiny figures work for more than an hour, only for the entire bundled row of logs to collapse when two strands failed. Watching them start over from scratch made even his modern patience ache.
What could he use to help them?
His eyes scanned the clutter of his apartment—and then froze on a dusty fishing-gear bag in the corner.
A lightbulb practically popped above his head.
Fishing line.
He remembered one in particular: 0.4-gauge monofilament, a proud 0.104 mm thick.
Inside the miniature world—scaled up two hundredfold—that became roughly two centimeters thick.
Still thinner than their grass rope.
But miles, galaxies stronger.
Li Daoxuan grinned. "Perfect."
"Gao Yiye! Gao Yiye!"
Down in the village, Gao Yiye—busy twisting straw with the others—heard the divine call. She immediately looked up, face bright with reverence. Her small features were delicate, her expression earnest.
"Heavenly Lord, what do you command?"
"Take this rope. Have everyone use it to bind the logs for the gate."
Li Daoxuan snipped off a length of the 0.4 line and let it descend slowly.
The villagers looked up to see the heavens lower a shimmering, transparent cord about as thick as a finger—like some oversized cooked glass noodle floating down.
They stared.
"What… what kind of rope is that?"
"The Heavenly Lord says we're to use it on the gate," Gao Yiye announced.
Silence. Doubt. Uneasy glances.
But no one dared question a god aloud.
Once the "noodle" touched the ground and they actually felt it, though, the mood changed instantly.
"This rope is—solid!"
"Stronger than anything we've ever made!"
"It's thin, but tougher than grass ropes twice my arm's width!"
"Bring a knife! Let's cut off a piece and test it!"
Several men tried sawing through it with their dull village knives. The fishing line barely noticed. They hacked and sawed until they were sweating like oxen before finally slicing off a section.
Its stubbornness only made them more excited—nothing says "strong rope" like almost losing a finger trying to cut it.
They lashed two logs together and had several men pull from opposite sides. No matter how hard they strained, the rope didn't give so much as a whimper.
"Truly strong!"
"A divine rope!"
"Could this be… the legendary Immortal-Binding Cord?"
Someone blurted it out without thinking.
Instant regret followed.
Faces went pale.
"We… we cut the Immortal-Binding Cord? We're doomed!"
Gao Yiye burst out laughing. "You fools! The Heavenly Lord said this isn't some divine restraining rope—it's merely his toy. He said we may use it freely. He has plenty more."
Upon hearing that, the villagers became even more reverent.
If even the gods' toys were this mighty… how terrifying must a real divine cord be?
Some were about to drop to their knees again.
Li Daoxuan sighed from above. "Stop kneeling all day. If you've got energy to kneel, use it to work!"
Gao Yiye mimicked the tone perfectly, shooing them back to labor with teasing scolds.
With the new rope, the work sped up dramatically. In no time, they had lashed an entire raft-like panel of logs together. When raised upright, it became a door plank two zhang tall and one zhang wide. Two such panels would form a sturdy double gate.
Just as they were admiring the progress, the lookout atop the wall shouted:
"Hey! Gao Chuwu's back! And he's brought outsiders with him!"
Villagers dropped their tools and rushed to the gate gap to watch.
Li Daoxuan shifted his perspective to the edge of the box.
Gao Chuwu charged in first, followed by a man in a servant's uniform, then a plump middle-aged woman clutching a frightened-looking girl of ten or so. A maid protected the girl at her side. Behind them came three young men from the village.
All eight were breathless, mud-splattered, and wide-eyed with panic.
When they left at dawn, Li Daoxuan hadn't yet placed the Lego wall—so from afar, Gao Chuwu and the others had seen a massive, multicolored fortress encircling their home. Naturally, they panicked.
Fortunately, the lookout recognized them.
"Chuwu! Over here! You're safe!"
Relief washed over Gao Chuwu. He broke into a sprint.
"What happened to the village? Why is there a giant strange wall?"
The lookout barked a laugh. "Strange? That's the Heavenly Lord's gift! Mind your tongue unless you want to go hungry tonight!"
Gao Chuwu's face turned ashen. He immediately shouted toward the sky:
"Heavenly Lord, forgive me! I'm an idiot—words fall out of my mouth like donkey farts! Please don't take offense!"
Li Daoxuan nearly choked laughing.
The group hurried through the unfinished gate. The four newcomers—three women and one man—looked around nervously, their eyes darting across the towering walls, the transparent rope, and the bustling villagers. They didn't dare ask questions yet, but confusion radiated from them like steam from hot buns.
Gao Chuwu spotted Gao Yiye and rushed over.
"Yiye! Tell the Heavenly Lord—those four are San Sier the steward's wife, daughter, servant, and maid. He's gone to fetch a blacksmith for the Heavenly Lord. Please ask the Lord to watch over his family."