Li Daoxuan coached her for a long while.
At first, Cai Xinzhi still carried the habitual softness of a traditional actress—measured steps, lowered gaze, restrained emotion. But under Li Daoxuan's relentless corrections, something gradually changed.
Her posture straightened.
Her eyes sharpened.
Her voice gained weight.
The fragile widow faded away, replaced bit by bit with the imposing aura of a woman who had commanded troops and stared down battlefields.
By the end, even the surrounding actresses instinctively adjusted their stances, as if afraid of being scolded by a real general.
Only then did Li Daoxuan finally nod.
"Good. Now we're filming Mu Guiying, not a grieving concubine."
At last, the shoot could proceed as planned.
Li Daoxuan kept the diorama box's view locked on the Stars Performing Arts Agency, ensuring uninterrupted filming. At the same time, he activated Co-sensing, his consciousness splitting cleanly in two.
In the next instant, his awareness shifted to Shi Jian's unit.
Morning light broke over the land.
Shi Jian's troops resumed their march, steadily advancing toward Yan'an County.
The reconnaissance hot air balloon used the previous day had already been retrieved. After refueling and inspection, it rose once more into the sky, its shadow drifting silently over hills and ravines.
From above, the terrain unfolded like a living map.
Li Daoxuan could switch perspectives at will—sky to ground, ground to sky. Within a dozen miles, enemy movements, road conditions, and ambush points were all laid bare.
After a brief scan confirmed there was no immediate danger, he switched back to the filming site.
The front lines were calm for now.
The actresses' progress, however, was… slow.
Li Daoxuan watched for a while, then suddenly smacked his forehead.
"Right. Almost forgot something important."
He muttered to himself,
"It's time to prepare the venue and equipment for showing movies."
Reaching under his bed, Li Daoxuan pulled out a box.
Inside were neatly stacked miniature tablet computers.
Each tablet was only about half the size of his palm.
Devices this small were no longer mass-produced; he had commissioned them specially in Huaqiangbei days earlier.
Despite their size, the screens were absurdly high-end—4K resolution, ultra-high DPI, sharp enough to make individual pores visible.
The reason was simple.
Once placed inside the diorama box, the screen would be magnified two hundred times. If the resolution weren't obscene to begin with, the image would blur into an unwatchable mess.
Li Daoxuan picked one up and estimated its scale inside the box.
"…Huh."
Within the diorama world, this tiny tablet would be equivalent to an enormous screen—large enough to rival a massive open-air cinema.
"Mm. Just right."
The best place to test such a strange object was Puzhou.
Puzhou had a huge "theater," funded by Lao Nanfeng and built by the skilled craftsmen of Gao Family Village, originally meant for concerts and performances.
At the center stood a wide stage, where actresses usually sang and danced.
Now, that stage had a new purpose.
Li Daoxuan carefully placed the tablet inside the diorama.
He positioned it beside the main stage, unfolded the stand, and adjusted its angle.
Perfect.
With this single placement, Lao Nanfeng's theater had gained a colossal screen—and with it, limitless possibilities.
Li Daoxuan opened the pre-installed app and pulled up a live feed from one of his cameras.
Instantly—
The screen lit up.
Cai Xinzhi, along with the other eleven actresses, appeared larger than life, performing the dramatic scene of the Twelve Widows of Tianbo Residence preparing to march to war.
Raw footage.
Unedited.
Projected directly into the heart of the theater.
Thankfully, the theater was empty. Otherwise, any unsuspecting passerby would have been scared out of their wits.
"Excellent," Li Daoxuan said with satisfaction.
"The test is a success."
He turned to the remaining tablets in the box, eyes gleaming.
"Let's put one in every city."
Then he added thoughtfully,
"Not just theaters. Theater screens will be for paid showings… but we'll also need public screens for propaganda."
Yes.
Li Daoxuan was preparing a full-scale propaganda campaign.
The old saying—'Good men don't become soldiers; good iron isn't used for nails'—had long poisoned the mindset of the people. It discouraged enlistment and weakened the foundation of security across Gao Family Village's expanding territory.
This way of thinking had to be broken.
And nothing reshaped minds faster than repeated, vivid imagery.
At Li Daoxuan's command, the Blue Hats and Yellow Hats in every city mobilized immediately.
In each city's Caishikou—historically the execution ground—a central plaza began to take shape.
Against the northern wall of every plaza, Li Daoxuan reached in and installed a massive tablet screen.
Considering wind and rain, he even thoughtfully added a transparent acrylic cover above each one.
Divine miracles… with waterproofing.
A few days later—
Thanks to Shi Jian's relentless advance, Yan'an County was successfully relieved.
With reconnaissance hot air balloons guiding their movements, terrain ceased to be a meaningful obstacle. Losing such a battle would have been more shocking than winning it.
The three bandit leaders—Xue Hongqi, Yizuo Cheng, and Yizi Wang—were all killed.
Their most vicious subordinates met the same fate.
More than seventeen thousand others were captured alive and handed over to Wu Shen for processing.
And therein lay the problem.
Wu Shen was now utterly broke.
His status had reverted from a heaven-sent "disaster relief angel" to an ordinary Censor-Inspector. With no funds, no supplies, and no manpower, how was he supposed to resettle seventeen thousand people?
There was only one destination left.
Huanglong Mountain Prison, Gao Family Village.
To properly fulfill his duties, Wu Shen decided to personally escort the captives. He invited along his close friend Shi Kefa, the Judicial Commissioner of Xi'an—and also a Jinyiwei hundred-household commander.
Together, they escorted the massive group toward Gao Family Village.
As they entered the village, Wu Shen suddenly exclaimed,
"Oh?"
He pointed toward the outer wall of Li Family Fortress.
"Brother Shi, look at that… strange, enormous mirror."
Shi Kefa followed his gaze and immediately stiffened.
"…Ah."
He swallowed.
"The Divine Mirror."
Wu Shen raised an eyebrow.
"Divine Mirror? What does it do?"
Shi Kefa's expression turned awkward.
Back then, he had sprinted across the Dragon Gate Yellow River Bridge like a panicked madman. The Divine Mirror had recorded everything—and worse, replayed it publicly.
Remembering it now made his scalp tingle.
"Lord Wu," he said quietly, "this Divine Mirror can record events from elsewhere… and replay them at any time."
He lowered his voice further.
"If you do something foolish, and it gets shown to the entire village…"
He clicked his tongue.
"Trust me. You don't want that experience."
Wu Shen snorted.
"Is it really that exaggerated? I don't believe it."
The moment the words left his mouth—
The Divine Mirror lit up.
A face appeared on the screen.
Gao Yiye.
Magnified to an enormous scale, she still looked as radiant as ever, a faint smile curving her lips.
As the mirror activated, villagers gathered at once.
"It's on! It's on!"
"We finally get to see the Divine Mirror again!"
"Look, it's the Saintess!"
Gao Yiye smiled warmly at the crowd outside the screen.
"Testing… testing…"
"Oh? Can everyone see me?"
"We can!" the crowd shouted back in unison.
"Haha, good," Gao Yiye laughed.
Then—
The villagers suddenly heard that same laughter coming from behind them.
They turned around in surprise.
There stood Gao Yiye herself, squeezed among the onlookers—though several guards discreetly formed a circle around her, leaving a clear space.
One Saintess on the screen.
One Saintess in the crowd.
Wu Shen stared.
His mouth slowly fell open.