Yan'an Prefecture, Shaanxi.
Chen Qiyu, Governor of Yansui, was currently stationed in Yan'an Prefecture.
Strictly speaking, he hadn't been here long.
He had only taken office in the sixth month of Chongzhen's fifth year, meaning he had governed Yan'an for barely half a year.
And what a half year it had been.
He had inherited chaos.
Although the main body of the rebel armies had already crossed the Yellow River and stormed through Shanxi, several powerful rebel factions still lingered stubbornly within Shaanxi.
Among them, three names caused the most headaches:
Xue Hongqi.
Yizuo Cheng.
Yizi Wang.
In just six months, Chen Qiyu had battled shortages of silver, grain, and troops, all while trying to suppress three major rebel groups simultaneously.
Who wouldn't lose sleep over that?
It was enough to split one's skull.
The only small comfort was this—
Huanglong Mountain, once the most infamous bandit lair in Shaanxi, was no longer a den of thieves.
Thanks to the "combined efforts" of Shaanxi Governor Wang Shunxing, Supervising Censor Wu Shen, and Chengcheng County Magistrate Liang Shixian, Huanglong Mountain had been pacified.
At least one tumor had been cut away.
That evening, Chen Qiyu sat beneath lamplight, reviewing reports from various counties as he did every night.
Suddenly—
A subordinate rushed in, barely able to contain his excitement.
"Governor! Good news! A large grain transport convoy from Chengcheng County has successfully passed through Huanglong Mountain and arrived in Yan'an!"
At first, Chen Qiyu barely reacted.
A grain convoy?
So what?
But then—
two phrases slammed into his mind like thunder.
Large grain convoy.
Passed through Huanglong Mountain.
He looked up sharply.
"A large convoy means many carts and horses," Chen Qiyu said. "They should have come via the official road from Xi'an to Yan'an. Why would they go through Huanglong Mountain?"
He frowned.
"That place is treacherous terrain. Bandits only just left it. How could a large convoy pass safely?"
The subordinate grinned from ear to ear.
"Magistrate Liang Shixian of Chengcheng County built a road! A truly astonishing one! It's called the Huang–Yan Highway. It cuts straight through Huanglong Mountain and leads directly to the southwestern outskirts of Yan'an Prefecture."
Chen Qiyu lost his composure.
"What?!"
He stood abruptly.
"That's impossible. I remember clearly—there's a mountain in the southwest wilderness, Dadunliang Mountain, standing like a natural barrier. How did they cross that?"
The subordinate hesitated, his expression turning strange—like someone recounting a myth he himself barely believed.
"They… they drilled a hole through it."
"A hole?" Chen Qiyu repeated.
"Yes. A massive one. Straight through the heart of Dadunliang Mountain. The road passes directly through the mountain."
Clatter!
Chen Qiyu's writing brush fell from his hand.
"Nonsense!" he roared. "Outrageous nonsense! You dare fabricate such absurd lies?"
The subordinate dropped to one knee immediately.
"Your subordinate wouldn't dare! Governor, you can see it yourself from the outskirts of the city. Such a lie would be exposed in an instant—how could I risk my life speaking nonsense?"
Chen Qiyu froze.
That… was true.
He took a deep breath.
"Prepare the horses," he said grimly. "I'm going to see it myself."
More than two hours later, Chen Qiyu and a sizable retinue arrived at the foot of Dadunliang Mountain.
One wouldn't know without seeing it.
The world truly was absurd.
The towering, sheer Dadunliang Mountain now had a gigantic hole punched straight through its belly.
From within that hole—
a grey concrete road extended outward.
Above the tunnel entrance hung a plaque, perfectly level, bearing four large characters in dignified Song-style script:
Huangqiu Terrace Tunnel
Chen Qiyu stood frozen.
Mouth open.
Eyes wide.
Soul absent.
He looked so stunned that his jaw nearly dislocated.
Luckily—
he wasn't the type to drool uncontrollably.
Chen Qiyu staggered forward and peered into the tunnel.
It stretched more than three li—long, dark, and deep. The opposite exit was barely visible, just a faint speck of light.
"Light the torches!"
Torches flared to life.
The group entered cautiously.
Inside the tunnel, it was dark—but astonishingly neat.
The ground was smooth concrete.
The walls were rounded and reinforced with some unknown material.
No loose stones. No danger of collapse.
It felt unreal.
As if walking through a dream.
Eventually, they emerged from the southern exit.
Before them, Huanglong Mountain spread endlessly, majestic and continuous. The concrete road flowed out from beneath their feet, winding through the mountains like a path carved by the gods.
Chen Qiyu opened his mouth.
"This… this…"
Nothing came out.
His subordinates, however, were far more eloquent.
"Damn!"
"Luckily I'm uncultured—one 'damn' is enough to conquer the world!"
See?
The cultured Governor couldn't say a word.
At moments like this, the uncultured truly reigned supreme.
Chen Qiyu stood there, petrified.
Then—
a merchant caravan appeared in the distance, rumbling along the road.
That finally snapped him back to reality.
"Oh?" Chen Qiyu's eyes brightened. "Another caravan? What are they transporting this time?"
Books.
Carts full of books.
Gao Family Village comic books.
With the opening of the Huang–Yan Highway, Gao Family Village naturally began extending its influence into Yan'an Prefecture.
First came grain.
Then came culture.
Material and spiritual nourishment—both were essential.
The caravan halted when it reached the Governor's entourage.
A young man, no more than seventeen or eighteen, stepped forward from the rear. Dressed in merchant attire, he wore a confident smile.
"Governor," he said respectfully, "please speak freely. My surname is Gao, my given name Shan. I am responsible for this convoy."
Gao Shan.
Seventeen years old.
Son of Gao Laba, owner of a rice noodle shop, and one of the original forty-two youths of Gao Family Village.
Educated at the village school—
then dropped out halfway through middle school.
A complete academic slacker.
He tried inheriting his father's rice noodle business, but it didn't suit his half-baked intellectual temperament.
So he pivoted.
Culture.
Comic books.
Yan'an.
Though academically lazy, he was undeniably rich.
As a result, the Dao Xuan Tianzun embroidery on his chest was stitched with gold thread, gleaming shamelessly.
Chen Qiyu studied him carefully.
Well-mannered.
Clear-eyed.
No pedantic scholar's stink.
A promising young man.
He nodded slightly, inwardly impressed.
"You sell books?" Chen Qiyu asked. "Where do you come from?"