Morning in the Box
By the time dawn arrived, the miniature world inside the diorama box was already awake.
Not politely awake—no—it was the kind of awake that came from too many people squeezed into too small a miracle.
A hundred new villagers had arrived the night before. They poured into Gaojia Village like fresh yeast tossed into warm dough, and the place immediately began to swell—noisy, restless, alive in ways hunger usually forbade.
They wandered through the village as if they'd stumbled into a foreign country by mistake.
Or a dream they weren't sure they were allowed to touch.
"Look at that round iron house! Heaven and earth—how does something like that even exist?"
"And this pond—this giant pond! The whole county's been dry for three years, and Gaojia Village just… has water?"
"Chicken jerky—ancestors above! That's an entire wall of air-dried chicken jerky!"
Their voices came in waves, each louder than the last, awe tangled with embarrassment. People stared, pointed, rubbed their eyes, then stared again—like they were afraid the village might vanish if they blinked too hard.
Outside the box, Li Daoxuan watched with a faint smirk.
He'd done it on purpose.
No divine announcements.
No heavenly instructions.
No comforting explanations.
He'd simply let them wake up inside a miracle and fend for themselves.
Sometimes, belief didn't need preaching. It just needed to be overwhelming.
By the time most of them were dizzy from shock and wonder, San Shier finally clapped his hands.
Smack.
The sound cut through the chatter.
Recruitment, Gaojia-Style
"The village urgently needs craftsmen," San Shier announced, face solemn enough to pass for authority. "Especially blacksmiths. Anyone with skill receives two extra taels of flour per day."
The reaction was immediate.
Three middle-aged men nearly leapt off the ground.
Their trade—dusty, undervalued, mocked by scholars—had just transformed into a guaranteed full stomach. They stomped in excitement, faces flushed, looking like men who'd just discovered their calluses were suddenly worth silver.
San Shier nodded approvingly. "Good. Do any of you have hammers or anvils at home?"
"Yes!"
"We do!"
"Still usable!"
"Then go fetch them. Quickly. From today onward, you work under Master Li. You do whatever Master Li tells you."
The three bowed so hard they nearly cracked their foreheads and ran off like goats released from a pen.
San Shier turned back to the crowd.
"As for the rest of you," he said casually, "your first task is to build a Temple of Dao Xuan Tianzun."
Outside the box—
Li Daoxuan almost choked on air.
A temple?
Of all things?
Housing was urgent.
Farmland was urgent.
Irrigation was urgent.
Tools were urgent.
A temple wasn't even in the top ten.
He was already leaning forward, about to tell Gao Yiye to intervene, when a memory surfaced—uninvited—from his most recent Civilization campaign.
New cities never started with granaries.
They started with temples.
Cultural buildings expanded borders.
Religious buildings generated cohesion.
And even if it was "just a game," the logic wasn't fiction—it was history wearing a skin.
Li Daoxuan paused.
A strange intuition stirred.
Don't interfere.
San Shier's methods were chaotic, but chaos—handled well—sometimes grew roots faster than reason.
He exhaled slowly.
Fine. Let's see where this madness goes.
More Craftsmen, Please
San Shier pressed on, emboldened.
"Anyone skilled in masonry or plasterwork—step forward! One extra tael of flour per day!"
Several men stepped out immediately, grinning so hard their cheeks ached.
"You'll handle the temple foundation—"
He stopped abruptly.
"Wait. One more thing. Does anyone here know how to carve statues?"
Two hands shot up so fast they nearly slapped their owners unconscious.
"This villain knows!"
"This villain also knows!"
They'd already learned the village's new rules:
Special skill = extra flour.
Extra flour = survival.
One man puffed up his chest. "I carved the one-zhang City God statue in the county seat!"
"And I carved the Guanyin outside the east gate!" the other added hastily.
San Shier beamed. "Excellent. Everyone else—move stone, cut wood, start the foundation. You two, come with me."
Designing the Deity
He brought the sculptors straight to Gao Yiye.
"Miss Gao," he said proudly, "I've brought master sculptors. Please describe the appearance of Dao Xuan Tianzun so they may carve his divine statue."
Gao Yiye froze.
"I… I need to think," she murmured, suddenly shy.
Outside the box, Li Daoxuan leaned closer and gently lifted the transparent cover.
His enormous face appeared faintly in the sky, half-hidden by drifting clouds.
Gao Yiye looked up.
Her ears warmed.
"The Heavenly—Dao Xuan Tianzun is… young," she said softly. "No beard. Gentle eyes. Handsome features."
The sculptors listened like scribes recording imperial edicts.
They fetched yellow clay from the ditch and rolled it into a ball.
"Eyes… a bit bigger."
"Raise the bridge of the nose slightly."
"The lips should curve upward—Tianzun is kind, not fierce."
"The ears… a little larger."
Two hours later, the head was complete.
Outside the box, Li Daoxuan examined it with a magnifying glass.
The resemblance was uncanny.
Also—
Improved.
Cough.
Gao Yiye's admiration had quietly edited reality by about thirty percent, elevating him from "modern young man" to "dignified celestial immortal."
Majesty: +320%.
Crafting the Body
The body came easily.
Cross-legged posture.
Daoist robe.
Whisk in the right hand.
Taiji and Bagua in the left.
They attached the head.
And thus—
The seated statue of Dao Xuan Tianzun was born.
Li Daoxuan inspected it from every angle.
Exquisite.
The detailing put professional model kits to shame. Even the eyelids, hair strands, and fingertips were carved with care that bordered on reverence.
Then—
"Huh?"
Li Daoxuan turned toward his shelf.
There sat a tiny plastic figurine.
Two centimeters tall.
Price tag: 288 yuan.
He looked at the figurine.
Then at the clay Dao Xuan Tianzun.
Then back again.
Something clicked.
If this plastic nonsense sells for 288…
Then how much would this sell for?
A thousand?
Ten thousand?
More?
A new idea detonated in his mind.
"Gao Yiye," he said aloud, already grinning, "tell the sculptors I'm extremely satisfied. I have more work for them."
He pulled up an image file and hit print.
An A5 sheet slid out.
On it—
The Supreme Treasure Edition Sun Wukong.
Li Daoxuan's smile widened.
Oh yes.
A very profitable idea had just been born.