August 1st, 2023 — Shuangqing City.
Army Day.
On an ordinary day, Cai Xinzi's model shop was quieter than a monk taking a vow of silence.
Today, it looked like a logistics hub preparing for war.
Military models were flying off the shelves so fast that even the cash register sounded tired.
Liaoning-class aircraft carrier? Gone.
Chongqing warship? Gone.
Paratrooper figurines? Selling faster than real paratroopers could hit the ground.
If the PLA ever faced a supply shortage, they could probably requisition half of Cai Xinzi's inventory and call it emergency support.
Cai stood behind the counter humming to herself, fingers flicking through stacks of bills with the blissful expression of someone who had rediscovered faith—in money. Her eyebrows practically bloomed into fireworks.
She was just about to greet the next customer when the bell above the door jingled.
In walked an old friend.
Li Daoxuan.
And by friend, we mean the kind who borrows money, forgets to return it, and then reappears smiling like spring itself has personally forgiven him.
"Daoxuan?" Cai raised an eyebrow. "Why are you suddenly free today? Don't tell me you're here for the custom Hakka enclosure. I told you—ten more days."
Li Daoxuan smiled. Not a normal smile. The kind of smile people wear right before pitching something unreasonable.
"I'm not here to pick up goods," he said. "I'm here to supply you."
Cai's eyes narrowed.
"…You're going to scam me again, aren't you?"
"Scam you? Me?" Li clutched his chest dramatically. "I'm here to help you make money. Honestly, you treat your friends with shocking cruelty."
Then—like a street magician with no regard for consumer protection—he reached into his trouser pocket and placed something on the counter.
A tiny wooden figurine.
Barely one centimeter tall.
Cai glanced at it without much interest.
"A Sun Wukong Supreme Treasure edition?" she said lazily. "This small? Plastic? Five yuan, tops."
"Solid wood," Li Daoxuan replied.
That stopped her mid-sentence.
"…What?"
He leaned closer. "You might want a magnifying glass. For your… seasoned eyesight."
Cai shot him a murderous look, but curiosity hooked her like a fish. She waved a clerk over to manage customers, then bent down for a closer look.
One second.
Two seconds.
Her breath hitched.
This wasn't a model.
This was insanity.
Despite being barely a centimeter tall, every detail was intact—the facial expression, the layered armor, the texture of monkey hair carved so fine it looked like it might breathe if you stared too long. The staff was thinner than a toothpick, yet perfectly proportioned.
It wasn't craftsmanship.
It was obsession.
"This…" Cai whispered. "This is art."
"Confidential source," Li said casually.
Cai snapped her head up. "You didn't steal this, right? Don't drag me into whatever illegal nonsense you're brewing."
"How dare you," Li huffed. "Do I look like someone who steals?"
"Not only do you look like it," Cai said flatly, "you emanate it. But fine—you're not a thief. Just a jealous, slightly scheming bastard."
Li accepted this evaluation with dignity.
"Anyway," he said, "I want to sell these. I don't have the channels. You do."
Cai snorted. "We've known each other how many years? I'll list it for you."
"No," Li said. "You take commission. This is a long-term thing."
Cai blinked.
Long-term?
Ah.
She understood immediately.
Li had found a freak-level micro-carver. He handled production, Li handled connections, and she provided storefront legitimacy.
A perfect triangle of mild corruption.
Very Ming Dynasty. Very authentic.
"Fine," she said. "I'll test the waters. Don't blame me if it sells cheap."
"Sell boldly," Li replied. "Even if we lose, I won't blame you."
Cai used macro mode to photograph the figurine, added a reference shot with fingers for scale, and posted:
New rare micro-carved Supreme Treasure!
One centimeter tall!
Magnifying-glass-level craftsmanship!
Only one piece—first come, first served!
Friendship price: 8888 RMB
Li refreshed the page.
Gone.
Cai's phone buzzed.
"Bro, I swear to heaven—an old client insta-killed the listing. Transferred 8888 without even asking. He's already driving over. Damn it. I priced it too low. We're losing money together."
Li nearly hopped in place.
"Eight thousand is amazing!" he said. "I'm rich! Technically. Emotionally, at least."
"You have more?" Cai typed. "We can make this a thing."
"Need to carve more."
"Custom orders?"
"Of course."
"Good. Leave it to me."
She transferred 8000 yuan.
Li accepted it like a starving monk receiving alms.
After half a month of feeding tiny craftsmen inside a box, money was finally flowing back. Talent really was the most reliable investment.
The better his little villagers became, the wilder his ideas could grow.
Life, for once, felt cooperative.
He bought pork tenderloin on the way home, humming like a man who had just beaten capitalism at its own game.
Back in the box world, dusk had fallen. Cooking smoke curled lazily into the sky. Children gathered firewood. Pots clinked.
Li cut off a tiny slice of tenderloin and placed it gently at the center of the village.
The villagers gasped.
"Meat!"
"A whole slab of tenderloin!"
Li puffed his chest proudly.
"Yiye," he said, "announce it—tonight, everyone eats meat. Two taels per person. The two sculptors get extra. They carved the Buddha and saved the whole operation. Give them the rest."
And so, in the land of tiny craftsmen and rising ambition—
That night,
they feasted.