Night settled over Gaojia Village, and the place slipped into what Li Daoxuan privately labeled screensaver mode.
Except now, thanks to his divine interference, the screensaver wasn't completely static.
Two villagers patrolled the crude earthen wall beneath dim oil lamps, circling back and forth like extremely underpaid NPCs whose AI routines hadn't been updated since launch.
Still, it was boring enough that even a conscientious god would look away.
Li Daoxuan did exactly that.
He shoved the computer aside, flopped onto his bed, and unlocked his phone with the righteous lethargy of a man who had spent all afternoon cosplaying omnipotence over a micro-civilization.
WeChat opened.
A message from Cai Xinzi popped up.
Cai Xinzi: Daoxuan, I talked with that client for hours. Finally closed the deal.
Li Daoxuan perked up.
Li Daoxuan: Yo? How much did that old moneybag cough up?
Cai Xinzi: Well… he says our "Supreme Treasure" carving is a masterpiece.
But—
The character Supreme Treasure is too childish for his market. Too "toy-like," apparently.
So he only bought it for 8,888 yuan… as a networking gift.
Li Daoxuan paused.
Ah yes. The classic merchant maneuver:
Praise the product.
Insult the theme.
Lowball the price.
Truly, whether ancient or modern, merchants all descend from the same ancestor.
Li Daoxuan: So if we change the theme, we can sell for real money?
Cai Xinzi: Exactly. Buddhist and Taoist statues are "serious art." Not toys.
Li laughed.
Li Daoxuan: I carved Supreme Treasure for fun. If they want gods and immortals, I can do gods and immortals. What's the price?
Cai Xinzi: No parody. Normal theme.
A one-centimeter statue with the same detail…
He'll pay 48,888 yuan.
Li Daoxuan nearly choked on air.
Li Daoxuan: That's enough to build twenty Hakka tulou!
Cai Xinzi: You little demon.
I build you a half-meter enclosure with two hundred rooms for two thousand yuan,
and you carve a one-centimeter doodad and someone throws fifty thousand at you.
I should hit you.
Li Daoxuan: Hahahahaha!
Then Cai dropped the bomb.
Cai Xinzi: He wants something smaller.
Li Daoxuan: …How small?
Cai Xinzi: Five millimeters.
Li Daoxuan: ...
Cai Xinzi: If it's too hard, it's fine.
He's offering 228,888 yuan.
Li Daoxuan sat up straight, like a cultivator sensing a heavenly opportunity.
Li Daoxuan: Why do you people keep underestimating me?
Ask him if five millimeters is too big.
I can do one.
Cai Xinzi: What the—?!
One millimeter?! That's smaller than a grain of rice!
Li Daoxuan: The master who carved Supreme Treasure is a literal micro-carving legend.
One millimeter is nothing.
Two minutes later—
Cai Xinzi: He agreed.
If the detail reaches even half of Supreme Treasure…
He'll pay 1,288,888 yuan.
Li Daoxuan's eyes gleamed.
Li Daoxuan: Deal.
Cai Xinzi: You two are insane. What does he even want carved?
Li Daoxuan: Yes, what?
Cai Xinzi: Supreme Laojun.
Li Daoxuan: A one-millimeter Taishang Laojun…
For what, exactly?
So Cai explained.
A bead carved hollow from sandalwood or jade.
Inside it, a miniature divine idol, sealed in special liquid, viewable through a tiny window.
A god-in-a-bead.
A portable shrine.
A snowglobe of faith.
Pilgrims paid for piety.
Businessmen sold piety—with markups higher than Ming salt taxes.
Li Daoxuan whistled.
Li Daoxuan: Damn. That's actually… impressive.
Cai Xinzi: Normal craftsmen can only put paintings inside.
But yours? A 3D statue. Suspended. Rotating.
Li pictured it instantly.
This wasn't just craftsmanship.
This was a religious-grade scam—
Ahem.
A cultural premium product.
Cai Xinzi: He'll sell each bead for at least 300 yuan. Probably more.
Li Daoxuan: Whatever he sells is his skill.
As long as I get my 1.15 million, the rest is your commission.
Cai sighed theatrically.
Cai Xinzi: Daoxuan…
You are truly righteous.
In ancient times you'd be like Chai Jin from Water Margin—throwing money at heroes whether they're useful or not.
Li Daoxuan smirked.
If only she knew.
He'd spent half a month pouring wealth into tiny villagers, and now half of Gaojia Village would probably die for him on command.
Being a "righteous philanthropist" was… honestly pretty fun.
Days Later — Gaojia Village's New "Elite Class"
Time flowed on—tick, tick, tick.
Another handful of days vanished.
In Gaojia Village, the hottest celebrities—after Gao Yiye and San Shier—were now the two sculptors.
Since delivering multiple statues for Dao Xuan Tianzun, they had received:
Two massive slabs of pork tenderloin.
Sacks of flour.
Rice.
Rapeseed oil.
And a snow-white lump of pork lard large enough to inspire envy.
In a drought year, this was worth more than gold, jade, or an emperor's empty promises.
They bartered supplies for daily necessities—and even hired villagers to help build roofed huts for their families.
Thus, the two sculptors became the first immigrants to own actual roofs.
A historic milestone in rural housing development.
Meanwhile… Zheng Daniu
Hardworking.
Dedicated.
Still broke.
Zheng Daniu—who chopped wood day and night like a wuxia character grinding EXP—never got rich.
Oh, he received rewards.
But every single time, he demanded only one thing:
Fat House Happy Water.
Sweet.
Fizzing.
Joyful.
And completely unexchangeable.
Villager consensus was unanimous:
"If it's free, sure.
If I have to trade grain?
I'd rather starve politely."
Zheng Daniu didn't care.
He drank a basin.
Sighed in bliss.
Chopped another tree.
Drank another basin.
An eternal loop of labor and sugar addiction.
The Temple of Dao Xuan Tianzun — Completed
And finally—
Amid laughter, bartering, bacon smoke, and the faint bubbling of illicit Happy Water—
The Temple of Dao Xuan Tianzun was completed.
A shrine built by starving villagers, reward-chasing sculptors,
and one cola-dependent lumberjack.
A triumph of architecture powered entirely by faith…
…and pork.