The moment Li Daoxuan's heaven-sent pork meteorite landed in the center of Gaojia Village, the entire population detonated into joy.
Villagers surged toward the meat like locusts discovering a rice field—
except this time, something miraculous happened.
They lined up.
Ever since Shansier arrived, the once free-range, chaos-certified Gaojia Village had begun developing the faint outline of order. Not quite the Ming dynasty's administrative apparatus—but at least people now queued voluntarily instead of wrestling over food like starving boars.
Progress is progress.
Gao Yiye stood at the front, acting as the holy "enforcer," maintaining discipline with a single, highly effective sentence:
"Tianzun is watching."
This worked far better than any dynasty's anti-corruption bureau ever had.
Shansier, now the village's de facto magistrate, presided over the distribution with a ledger in one hand and a wooden scale in the other.
"Gao Wuchu—step forward. Two taels. Next."
"Gao Laba—two taels."
"Wang Ergou—two taels. And don't pretend the slice shrank on the way to your bowl."
"Zhong Datou—finished."
"Zheng A'niu—take yours."
One by one, over a hundred villagers passed through, each receiving their portion. Only when the crowd had thinned did Shansier begin distributing to the management team—Gao Yiye, Gao Xiaowu, and several key figures.
In bureaucratic terms, this was called maintaining morale.
In villager terms: Of course the leaders get a bit more—they're exhausted.
Next came the two sculptors.
They'd been fidgeting the entire time, eyes glued to every slice of pork leaving the table. Heroes of the Buddha statue, reduced to spectators. The suspense was worse than hunger.
Finally, Gao Yiye beckoned.
"Come. The rest of the pork… is your reward."
The two froze.
The "rest of the pork" was still the size of two washbasins—dozens of catties at least.
Gao Chuwu, who had gained considerable confidence from cutting meat all day, raised the knife and split the tenderloin down the middle with a theatrical swing.
"Half for each."
"Th-this much? For us?!" the sculptors stammered. "Everyone else only got two taels!"
Gao Yiye spoke with the solemn gravity of a minister reading an imperial edict:
"Tianzun is very pleased with your Buddha statue. This is your special commendation."
They dropped to their knees instantly, kowtowing like they were trying to drill through the earth.
"Thank you! Thank you, Saintess! Thank you, Tianzun!"
Shansier added coldly, "From now on, work even harder. Serve Tianzun with loyalty, heart, and steady hands."
"Yes! Yes! We will carve for Tianzun until our fingers fall off!"
In the mortal world, artisans carved statues for wealthy patrons and received—at best—a bowl of millet or a handful of copper coins.
Never pork.
Never this much pork.
Their hearts swelled. Their bundles swelled. Their future bargaining power among jealous villagers swelled even more.
Of course… one problem remained.
Fresh pork lasts only two days.
Shansier tossed them two bags of salt.
"Go cure bacon."
Their joy reached transcendental levels.
They sprinted home screaming, "Mother! Eldest! Second! We're rich! The ancestors are smiling!"
Soon, smoke rose behind the village as pine branches burned. The entire population watched, necks stretched like gossiping geese.
When will it be my turn?
That was human nature.
When starving, you want a bite.
Once full, you want more than others.
Once you have more, you want status—and a moral explanation for why you deserve it.
Even in Heaven's miniature village, bureaucracy grows naturally.
Like mold on steamed buns.
Of course, there were exceptions.
Zheng Daniu of Zhengjia Village lay flat on the ground after his two-tael feast, rubbing his belly with philosophical satisfaction.
"Everyone's full, right? So why keep working? Why climb? Isn't it good to lie down?"
Yes—he was seconds away from inventing Ming-era lying-flat ideology.
Then he remembered.
Fat House Happy Water.
The divine cola.
"No… no lying flat," he muttered. "I want Heaven's reward. I want another drink!"
He sprang up, grabbed an axe, and sprinted into the forest like a man possessed.
Soon, a tree fell with a thunderous crack. Daniu hacked off a massive section—nearly two meters long—and rolled it back to the village.
"Saintess! Look! A perfect log! Good for carving, right? Tianzun will approve, right?!"
Gao Yiye glanced upward, listening for divine instruction.
After a moment, she smiled.
"Zheng Daniu—Tianzun praises your effort."
Daniu nearly ascended on the spot.
"And Tianzun is willing to reward you with—"
"M-my lady!" Daniu blurted out in panic. "This villain doesn't want meat! I just—just want one sip! One sip of Fat House Happy Water!"
Even Gao Yiye was startled.
Then she laughed.
"Tianzun agrees. Do you have a washbasin? Bring it."
Daniu sprinted home, returning with a tiny wooden basin—barely three millimeters across from Li Daoxuan's perspective.
He held it with trembling reverence.
A single drop of cola descended like a comet.
It overflowed instantly.
"It's too much! It's spilling! It's soaking into the ground! Heaven—it's leaking into the earth!"
Thirty-Two snapped, "It's YOUR basin that's tiny! Stop crying and get out!"
From the real world, Li Daoxuan quietly took notes and learned two important lessons:
First—there was a forest nearby. Useful for future projects, though visibility still didn't extend that far.
Second—villagers must bring their own containers for divine gifts.
It saved resources.
And prevented tragic cola-overflow incidents.
Efficiency. Order. Resource management.
Gaojia Village was becoming a miniature empire.
Not Ming-level, of course.
But well-run enough.
After all—
Lying flat is impossible.
Not when divine cola exists.