Li Daoxuan stared at his phone, rubbed his temples, and decided to embrace destiny:
if life gives you a miniature kingdom, you make content.
He boldly renamed his short-video account:
"Daily Life of the Tiny Kingdom — Tilt-Shift Edition."
Perfect. Now he could post anything he wanted.
Anyone suspicious?
He'd smile and say:
"Relax. It's tilt-shift. Unless you think I'm hiding an actual tiny kingdom in my house?"
Now, for the real challenge—finding something that would explode online faster than a monk stepping on a rake.
He sifted through his recordings.
Temple construction? Nice. Beautiful.
About as exciting as boiled cabbage.
No—if he wanted the Great Flood of Views, he needed:
Battle.
Steel flashing. Warriors shouting. Villains screaming for their mothers.
He located the footage of the Supreme Radiant King's attack on Gaojia Village.
Ah yes.
True cinematic chaos.
A few dramatic cuts.
A heroic filter.
Upload!
Caption:
"The hardworking villagers of the Tiny Kingdom were attacked by bandits.
Everyone took up arms to defend their home…"
He read it and sighed deeply.
His literary skills had clearly run away from home years ago and never returned.
"Good thing I didn't become a writer," he muttered. "I'd have starved before finishing Chapter One."
Meanwhile, in the far less digital real world…
Shansier and his little convoy marched along the mountain road.
No one talked.
The silence was thick enough to slice.
Everyone feared bandits.
Which, naturally, meant bandits appeared immediately.
Because fate is a comedian with perfect timing.
From both sides of the road came a sudden eruption of shouts.
Nearly a hundred rough men burst from the trees, waving weapons that looked stolen from a museum, a scrapyard, and perhaps a children's toy chest.
They surrounded the travelers and fixed greedy eyes on the bundles they carried.
The Third Madam clutched her pack protectively; inside were jars of "immortal medicine."
Bandits could take her life, her money, her dignity—but not her jars.
Gao Chuwu and Zheng Daniu drew their blades.
The young men followed suit, because when death stares you in the face, you at least want to look cool.
But they all knew there was no winning this.
Their weapons were basically decorative.
Shansier took a breath, puffed himself up, and unleashed the greatest weapon in his arsenal:
Bluffing.
"Hear me!" he shouted.
"I am Shansier, advisor to the county magistrate!
These people behind me are officials!
Touch us, and you commit rebellion—your whole clan will be wiped out!"
He said it with so much confidence a passing crow nodded respectfully.
The bandit leader, however, laughed like a man who had never once been impressed.
"We killed the magistrate. Why would we fear his nervous little advisor?"
Everyone froze.
That was… a lot to take in.
But Shansier's brain suddenly sparked.
"Killed the magistrate…? Wait.
You're men of Goodman Wang, aren't you?"
The bandit leader tossed his head proudly.
"That's right! We follow Goodman Wang! Everyone knows we chopped down Magistrate Zhang! And you think shouting 'I'm an advisor!' will scare me?"
Shansier seized the moment like a drowning man grabbing a floating turnip.
"That's wonderful! Goodman Wang is our old friend!
Brother, you mustn't hurt us. If he finds out you mistreated his friends, think how awkward the next family gathering will be."
The bandit leader squinted.
He had the look of someone trying very hard to think.
"Earlier you tried to claim ties with the magistrate.
Now you're claiming ties with my big brother.
You… smell like a liar."
Shansier smiled stiffly, sweat dripping down his back.
"Then kill me! Go on!
And when Goodman Wang returns and hangs your bones from a tree, don't come crying to me!"
It was an excellent bluff.
Bold.
Reckless.
Possibly suicidal.
But it worked.
The bandit leader hesitated.
And hesitation is contagious; the rest froze too.
A scout slipped away through the trees, running uphill.
The leader grumbled, "Goodman Wang would never be friends with a man shaped like a stuffed dumpling."
"Try me," Shansier snarled.
"Strike one of us, and see if you live to regret it."
Everyone shook—bandits, villagers, even the nearby trees.
Then—
A thunderous voice echoed from the hill:
"Put your blades down."
Heads snapped up.
A man strode down the slope with the confidence of a general and the moral flexibility of a bandit king:
Goodman Wang.
Behind him trotted the scout, panting like an exhausted rabbit.
Goodman Wang scanned the scene.
"To the left… Gaojia Village."
To the right… "Whitecat, pull your men back."
Apparently Whitecat was the bandit leader's name.
This raised questions—mostly about who named him and whether they needed glasses.
Whitecat nearly fainted from relief.
Thank the heavens he hadn't killed anyone.
The bandits dispersed, though their eyes lingered on the bundles like starving wolves eyeing a roast duck.
Goodman Wang glared, and the wolves instantly transformed into frightened chickens.
He cupped his fists toward Shansier and the others.
"Brothers of Gaojia Village. Shansier. Why are you out here during troubled times? With such heavy luggage?
Do you not value your own lives?"
Shansier glanced at his wife, who pretended not to notice.
He swallowed his complaints and bowed.
"We… have a mission in the county seat."
Goodman Wang frowned thoughtfully, then nodded firmly.
"Very well. I'll escort you partway.
And when you return, I'll be waiting to escort you home.
Gaojia Village has shown me great kindness—I won't let harm befall my benefactors."
Shansier's soul lit up like a lantern.
He knew the man was righteous, but this was extra righteous.
He cupped his fists deeply.
"Goodman Wang, a man like you being forced into banditry…
What can I say?
This world is simply… cursedly unfair."