This time, Li Daoxuan did not print an entire A5 sheet.
He'd learned.
Big pictures were impressive, sure—but also wasteful. And waste, in the mortal world, was practically a sin second only to bad logistics.
So he printed the Supreme Treasure Edition Sun Wukong onto a tiny corner of the page.
Then he took scissors.
Snip.
Careful. Deliberate. Like a surgeon amputating excess paper.
What remained was a miniature image—barely three centimeters long, two centimeters wide. Any smaller and the Monkey King's golden circlet would blur into a yellow smear, his purple coat into an indecisive bruise, and those fierce eyebrows—the soul of the man—would vanish entirely.
Li Daoxuan nodded in satisfaction.
This, he decided, is optimal divine presentation.
He leaned over the diorama box and gently placed the tiny picture down, right in front of Gao Yiye and the two sculptors.
It descended silently.
No thunder.
No golden light.
Just… there.
And yet—
A Divine Appearance (Again)
The two sculptors saw it.
And promptly lost all remaining courage in their bodies.
They had witnessed the "Heavenly Apparition" once before. That experience alone had shortened their lifespans by at least a few years. This time, even though the image was smaller, the fear arrived right on schedule.
Both men froze.
Then dropped to their knees.
Then began knocking their heads against the ground with practiced efficiency.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Like they'd rehearsed this exact panic response.
"Enough!" Gao Yiye snapped, grabbing each by the collar and hauling them upright. "Look properly!"
Trembling, they dared to raise their eyes.
Recognition struck instantly.
"This—this is—!"
"The Great Sage Equal to Heaven!"
"The Victorious Fighting Buddha—Sun Wukong!"
As expected of craftsmen: they recognized gods faster than relatives.
Li Daoxuan, watching from above, nodded approvingly.
Good visual literacy.
A New Assignment
Gao Yiye relayed the voice from above, tone solemn:
"Dao Xuan Tianzun commands you to carve this deity exactly as shown."
The sculptors swallowed.
"And not from clay," Gao Yiye continued. "This one must be wood."
The two men emitted small, terrified squeaks.
"Wood?"
"How big…?"
"As big as the picture?"
"Two feet tall?!"
To them, a two-foot wooden statue already counted as ambitious. Finding a single block of wood thick enough in these mountains would be a quest worthy of its own deity.
Gao Yiye waved a hand. "No. Taller than a man. Human height is fine."
Relief flooded their faces.
"Oh! That's easy!"
"A life-sized wooden statue—just a few days' work!"
"The details will take longer, but that's craftsmanship!"
Then Gao Yiye calmly added:
"Dao Xuan Tianzun also says—it must be painted."
Their faces turned green.
"Painted?!"
"Madam—colored pigments are incredibly expensive!"
"That," Gao Yiye replied serenely, "is Dao Xuan Tianzun's concern."
She turned away. "Find the wood first. When the wooden embryo is finished, come to me."
That was enough.
The sculptors fled the scene as if chased by debt collectors.
The Quest for Paint
Li Daoxuan straightened up outside the box.
"Well," he said to himself, "time to go out again."
Across from his apartment complex stood Red Star Macalline Furniture City—an enormous maze of glossy sofas, wardrobes polished to suspicious reflectivity, and price tags that suggested emotional damage.
Somewhere inside was a tiny art supply shop.
Ten minutes later—after being silently judged by multiple sales associates—Li Daoxuan found it.
Mini paint cans.
Fifteen yuan each.
He bought every color.
Red. Gold. Purple. Black. White. Blue. Colors that had never existed in Ming dynasty vocabulary.
He staggered home, arms full, resembling a traveling merchant blessed by the god of impulsive spending.
Soon, the diorama box was ringed with paint bottles like offerings at an altar to DIY madness.
Gaojia Village in Motion
When he returned, Gaojia Village was already buzzing.
Blacksmiths hammered away under Master Li Da's supervision. To outsiders, it looked like forging iron. To Li Daoxuan, it looked suspiciously like table tennis—if table tennis involved sparks and potential death.
Villagers hauled stones and beams, laying foundations for what would soon become the Temple of Dao Xuan Tianzun.
San Shier strutted through the chaos with hands clasped behind his back, issuing instructions with the confidence of a man who absolutely did not know what he was doing—but believed that confidence itself was a skill.
Li Daoxuan watched.
Warmth spread through his chest.
They're growing up, he thought fondly.
He smiled the indulgent smile of an elderly mother.
Who was neither elderly.
Nor a mother.
Unexpected Visitors
By sunset, dust rose beyond the village.
Li Daoxuan's gaze sharpened.
Armor.
Horses.
More than a hundred soldiers.
"Well," he sighed, "here comes trouble."
He could flatten them with a flick.
But that would be inefficient.
He leaned over the box. "Gao Yiye. Go fetch San Shier. I'll teach him how to bluff officers properly."
General Cheng Xu
The leader was Cheng Xu—a ninth-rank Ming military officer, inspector of bandits, professional bearer of blame.
He was furious.
He cursed Wang Er—the so-called White Water King—with such enthusiasm that it bordered on artistic expression.
"May your ancestors crawl out of their graves to scold you!"
"May your next son be born without a backside!"
"May your whole clan be chopped into firewood!"
Only days ago, the county had fallen.
Wang Er had stormed the seat, beheaded Magistrate Zhang Yaocai, slaughtered officials, looted the granary, and murdered gentry.
By the time Cheng Xu arrived, Zhang's head was already hanging from the gate—swaying gently like a grotesque lantern.
Dereliction of duty.
If he didn't catch Wang Er soon, the court would flay him alive—politically, at least.
He followed the trail to Wangjia Village.
Empty.
Then wandered.
And found—
The "City"
A towering stone wall glinting in sunset light.
Cheng Xu blinked.
"…What."
His deputy whispered, "General… that's a city."
"A city?" Cheng Xu hissed. "Don't tell me Wang Er built a fortress!"
His heart sank.
If that bandit has walls, he thought, I'm already dead.
Then—
"Oh my! Isn't this General Cheng?"
San Shier approached, smiling like a fox greeting chickens.
"What an honor! What brings you to humble Gaojia Village?"
Normally, Cheng Xu wanted to punch him.
Right now, the familiar absurdity was oddly comforting.
He dismounted. "Third Master! Thank Heaven you're here! A city appeared out of nowhere—tell me what's going on!"
San Shier blinked. "A city?"
He turned dramatically, squinting like a man examining empty air.
"City wall? General, your imagination is… impressive. This is merely a refugee village."
"No walls."
"No city."
"Nothing grand."
Cheng Xu's eyelid twitched.
He drew half his saber.
"San Shier," he growled, "are you talking nonsense with your eyes open?"