Gao Yiye held a thick stack of papers in both hands, reading them over and over again.
The pages were slightly wrinkled at the corners.
This stack of paper was, in theory, a speech personally written for her by Dao Xuan Tianzun.
Of course—
This so-called "personal writing" was, in reality, Dao Xuan Tianzun copying materials from the internet, pasting them together, and then carefully replacing a few key terms so they wouldn't sound too outrageous in a feudal setting.
Ahem.
Even though Gao Yiye had already memorized every word, she still felt uneasy.
Because today's broadcast was live.
Not recorded.
Not edited.
Not fixable.
And more importantly—
This wasn't just a trial broadcast within Gao Family Village.
It would be simultaneously broadcast to every single region under Dao Xuan Tianzun's direct control.
At this very moment—
Gao Family Village's commercial district.
Chengcheng County's City God Temple plaza.
Heyang County.
Qichuan Ferry.
Puzhou City.
Dragon Gate Ferry.
Sunji Town.
Huanglong Mountain Prison.
Han City.
Fenglingdu Ferry.
Dali County.
Baishui County.
Lintong Hot Spring Resort.
Every place where Dao Xuan Tianzun's hand could reach—
Large screens had already been erected in the central squares.
The people had been notified days in advance.
Now, massive crowds gathered before the screens, shoulder to shoulder, craning their necks in anticipation.
This wasn't their first time.
Over the past few days, these screens had already run several trial broadcasts.
And the content had been… chaotic.
One day, Gao Yiye catching thieves.
Another day, "Shi Kefa's First Legal Education Program", where Shi Kefa nervously forgot half his prepared lines.
Another day, a documentary showing Dao Xuan Tianzun excavating the Huangqiu Terrace Tunnel.
Yet another day, footage of daily life inside Huanglong Mountain Prison.
Disordered.
Unpredictable.
Strange.
But precisely because of that—
People were hooked.
By now, everyone had learned one simple rule:
After finishing work in the evening, go to the square and wait.
Those who came early got good spots.
Those who came late either stood at the back—or paid silver to squeeze forward.
Right on time.
The massive screen flickered.
Light bloomed across the plaza.
Gao Yiye appeared.
She smiled gently.
"Today," she began, "I want to talk to everyone about the Gao Family Village Militia."
Her tone was calm, steady, reassuring.
"In the past," she continued, "there was a saying among the common folk:
'A good man doesn't become a soldier, and good iron isn't used for nails.'"
As she spoke—
The image behind her changed.
Scenes of Ming soldiers flashed across the screen.
Burning villages.
Looting homes.
Dragging civilians away.
Killing innocents, then falsely claiming military merit.
The crowd erupted instantly.
"Bastards!"
"That's exactly how they are!"
"No better than bandits!"
Faces twisted with anger.
Before emotions could spiral out of control, Gao Yiye's voice cut back in.
"But," she said firmly,
"our Gao Family Village Militia is not like that."
The screen changed again.
Militia soldiers helping elderly villagers cross roads.
Distributing food during famine.
Rescuing people during floods.
Standing guard through bitter cold and blazing heat.
"These are disciplined soldiers," Gao Yiye said.
"Righteous soldiers.
The people's own sons and brothers."
Her voice grew stronger.
"Becoming a soldier is no longer a shame.
It is a glorious mission."
What followed—
Was an omission of countless sensitive words.
Words that, in another world, would have guaranteed instant censorship.
Instead, the message was delivered through images.
Clear.
Blunt.
Overwhelming.
The audience saw the militia's weapons—
Uniform flintlock rifles, capable of striking enemies from a hundred meters away.
They saw the food—
Every meal with meat.
Every bowl steaming and full.
They saw the housing—
Solid brick homes allocated to soldiers.
They saw the pay—
Militia soldiers lining up every month to receive five full taels of silver.
Five taels.
The crowd was stunned.
Minds reeled.
Old beliefs shattered like rotten wood.
"A good man doesn't become a soldier?"
To hell with that.
"So joining the militia is this good?"
"I always thought it was like being a military household."
"This… this is completely different!"
"Military households are bound for life! Generations trapped!"
"But militia service is voluntary!"
"You can even retire!"
"No forced inheritance!"
"Five taels of silver, food included, housing included—are you kidding me?"
"I'm a craftsman and can't even make three taels a month!"
"I'm signing up!"
Voices overlapped.
Excitement spread like wildfire.
At the same time—
In Puzhou City, outside the Stars Performing Arts Agency—
A massive advertisement had been pasted.
On the third day of the third lunar monthOn the third day of the third lunar month
The epic film Mu Guiying will meet you
No one paid it much attention.
The date was still far away.
Most people assumed Lao Nanfeng had simply invited a troupe to perform another stage play.
Watching plays was normal.
Nothing special.
No one realized—
That at this very moment, outside the diorama box, Li Daoxuan was sitting before his computer, editing footage.
Li Daoxuan rubbed his temples.
The timeline was a mess.
Camera angles awkward.
Cuts clumsy.
Performances exaggerated.
The action scenes?
A disaster.
The Twelve Widows of Tianbo Mansion swung their weapons like they were rehearsing opera, not fighting wars.
No weight.
No impact.
No brutality.
"This is trash…" Li Daoxuan muttered.
A complete shoddy production.
But—
He didn't have the skill to fix it.
"…Forget it," he sighed.
"It'll have to do."
Time passed.
The third day of the third lunar month arrived.
With no battles recently, Lao Nanfeng wasn't wearing armor.
Instead, he wore a dignified long gown, looking refined and scholarly.
He stood proudly at the entrance of his Grand Theater, hands behind his back, wearing a smug smile.
Qiu Qianfan, Prefect of Puzhou, approached with a laugh.
"Commander Nan," he said, "I heard there's a new play today. I came specifically to show support."
Lao Nanfeng grinned.
"Today's not a play," he corrected.
"It's called a movie."
"Movie?" Qiu Qianfan frowned.
"What kind of nonsense term is that?"
Lao Nanfeng explained casually,
"It's Mu Guiying's story, performed inside the Immortal Treasure Mirror."
Qiu Qianfan snorted.
"In the end, it's still just a play. People love inventing new names to fool others."
Lao Nanfeng laughed.
"Just go in and watch."
Qiu Qianfan shook his head and walked inside.
Soon, more guests arrived—
Wealthy households.
Salt merchants.
Regular patrons.
Everyone came to give Lao Nanfeng face.
Not a single one of them realized—
They were about to witness something that would shatter their understanding of entertainment forever.