Five minutes later, Li Daoxuan dialed Cai Xinzhi.
"Old Cai," he said without preamble, "I need an urgent custom build. A large architectural model. Three to five days at most."
Cai Xinzhi chuckled lazily. "That urgent? What kind of madness are you commissioning now?"
"A 1:200 scale model of the Huaqing Palace Hot Spring Resort," Li Daoxuan replied. "No cheap plastic. I want high-end materials—grand, luxurious. Something that looks expensive at a glance. Something that radiates money."
"Pfft!"
Cai Xinzhi nearly spat blood.
"I thought you'd finally stopped tormenting me," he cursed. "Turns out I was the idiot. Take your perverted requirements and crawl far, far away!"
"You should learn to rise to the challenge," Li Daoxuan said mildly.
"No chance," Cai Xinzhi snapped back. "I loathe challenges. I retreat at the first sign of trouble."
"I'll pay extra."
"No."
"More."
"No."
"I'll give you a one-millimeter micro-sculpture of Guanyin Bodhisattva," Li Daoxuan said calmly. "You sell it yourself. Keep all the profits. No split."
There was a brief silence.
Then Cai Xinzhi's voice transformed as if struck by divine lightning.
"My greatest joy in life," he declared solemnly, "is overcoming difficulties. Easy jobs are beneath me. A 1:200 hot spring resort, you say? Five days. Only five days. Mission accomplished, guaranteed."
The call ended.
Moments later, Cai Xinzhi went into full emergency mode.
"XX Studio? Rush order, 1:200 garden landscape!"
"Hello, XXX Studio? Hotel structure, miniature scale—yes, today!"
"XXX Studio, I need pavilions, towers, lakeside covered bridges—don't ask, just build!"
Dozens of studios were activated simultaneously, each assigned a fragment of the whole. Cai Xinzhi himself paced back and forth like a general before battle, hands itching, mind already racing toward the final assembly.
That same night, on Xi'an's busiest street, The Stars Performing Arts Agency concluded a lavish concert.
The venue was packed to the rafters.
Nearly every figure of status in Xi'an was present—wealthy merchants, powerful officials, noble heirs. Even Wu Shen and Shi Kefa sat among the VIPs, laughing and chatting amid the sea of silk robes.
The final song ended.
Yet no one left.
Then the most popular female singer returned to the stage.
She began with an avalanche of pleasantries—gratitude, fate, destiny, endless thanks—until the audience's smiles stiffened. Abruptly, her tone sharpened.
"My employer, Master Li," she announced, "has secretly invested an astronomical sum to create an unprecedented luxury hot spring resort, designed to offer all of you the highest form of enjoyment."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"A hot spring resort?"
"What's that supposed to be?"
The singer smiled.
"A place for esteemed guests to travel, rest, and indulge. Rooms built like celestial grottoes. Hot springs fit for a royal concubine. Pre-Qingming Dragon Well tea. Meals prepared by the finest chefs of Xi'an. And performances by artists from our own agency."
To modern ears, it sounded like shameless marketing.
To Ming-era listeners, it sounded strange… but irresistibly alluring.
Still, none of that was the key point.
The key point was the price.
With a dramatic flourish, the singer revealed a printed image.
"This," she declared, "is the Royal Suite. One night costs one hundred taels of silver."
The crowd exploded.
"One hundred taels?!"
"That's daylight robbery!"
"Even officials couldn't afford that!"
Then Zhu Cunji, heir to the Prince of Qin, rose leisurely and smiled.
"Interesting," he said. "Isn't this tailor-made for someone like me?"
The crowd paused.
…That was true.
A Royal Suite was naturally meant for princes and nobles. How could commoners even think of it?
Yet among the wealthy merchants, a quieter thought emerged.
Once the Prince's heir stays there, they mused, I'll book two nights myself. Same room, same hot spring. That means I've lived like a prince too.
More images followed. Prices dropped.
Fifty taels.
Thirty.
Twenty.
Ten.
The common folk shook their heads. Ten taels for a single night wasn't impossible—but it hurt too much to justify.
Reluctance often masqueraded as inability.
Those who could afford it, however, were already making mental reservations.
Just like that, the hot spring resort ignited Xi'an's imagination.
The wealthy waited eagerly for its grand opening.
While rich mansions reeked of wine and meat,
frozen corpses lay scattered by the roadside.
As Xi'an drowned in song and pleasure, Chen Yuanbo led a group of middle school students and five hundred Gao Family Village militia to the banks of the Yellow River in Wenshui County.
The moment they disembarked, they saw bodies everywhere.
Some had already rotted away, white bones exposed beneath torn flesh.
Chen Yuanbo's face hardened. "As expected. These were common folk—fleeing the northern bandits, seeking refuge by the river. Then the West Camp Eight Great Kings landed here… and slaughtered them all."
The students fell silent.
Fortunately, they were not fragile scholars raised behind walls. Many had fled famine and war with their parents, had seen death long before reaching Gao Family Village.
Otherwise, this sight alone would have left them retching.
The militia began digging graves.
Bodies were buried.
Afterward, the group marched on.
From the riverbank to the county town was nearly twenty li. They walked for half a day.
Along the way: burned villages, abandoned fields, empty roads.
Not a soul.
Chen Yuanbo sighed. "I grew up in Gao Family Village. Worked in Puzhou. I never realized… how desolate the world beyond truly is."
The students felt the same heaviness.
The militia soldiers said nothing. They were uneducated, accustomed only to labor and battle, unsure how to save such a broken land.
So they placed their faith elsewhere.
In the young people.
In those who had studied the Heavenly Book.
A scout ran up. "Mr. Chen—the county town is ahead."
"Good." Chen Yuanbo straightened. "From now on, I am Wenshui County's magistrate, exceptionally appointed by the court. You are my household guards from Gao Family Village."
His eyes sharpened.
"Do not expose the ruse."