Just as Henan was quietly sharpening its knives for Zuo Liangyu, two wandering princes finally returned home.
After months of roaming through Sichuan, Zhu Cunji and Zhu Yujian arrived back at the gates of Xi'an.
The moment his boots touched familiar stone, Zhu Cunji did not sigh in nostalgia, nor did he admire the city walls.
He demanded ink.
Then he wrote.
The letter was addressed to the Prince of Rui of Hanzhong, Zhu Changhao.
There was no polite preamble. No respectful cousinly phrasing. No gentle courtly restraint.
"Zhu Changhao, you shameless fellow! That Hanzhong station on your West Han Railway is an embarrassment. Renovate it properly! It's nothing but a broken thatched shed selling tickets. Utterly disgraceful. Don't think I can't see it just because I'm not in Hanzhong. My eyes are wide open!"
He slapped the brush down with satisfaction.
Only then did he turn toward Zhu Yujian and grin.
"Official business done. Now I can properly show you Xi'an. This is the Dao Xuan Tianzun Liberated Zone. You've only seen the surface."
The last time Zhu Yujian passed through, he had been rushing. Hanzhong. Sichuan. Strategy. Movement. Urgency.
This time, there was leisure.
And after what he had witnessed in Sichuan, he was no longer the naïve prince who viewed everything connected to Dao Xuan Tianzun with suspicion and disbelief. He had seen railways move grain like flowing water. He had seen cannons roar. He had seen soldiers supplied without starving peasants.
His eyes were open now.
"Where do we begin?" Zhu Yujian asked.
Zhu Cunji's eyes sparkled. "Food, drink, and entertainment!"
Zhu Yujian closed his eyes briefly.
Of course.
Going with this frivolous heir would result in wine houses and opera troupes. He decided instead to wander alone.
He donned his wandering swordsman attire once more. Straw hat. Loose robe. The identity of Zhu Piaoling.
The moment he stepped onto the bustling streets of Xi'an, someone shouted:
"Hey! Isn't that Hero Zhu Piaoling? You're back!"
Zhu Yujian froze.
Another voice chimed in. "Hero Zhu! I'm a road worker! Remember the West Han Railway? That eunuch embezzled my wages. You beat him until he cried for his mother. I got double compensation because of you!"
A third voice called out, "Hero Zhu! Have you eaten? Come, have a bowl!"
Warmth surged from every direction.
Zhu Yujian was genuinely stunned.
He had never imagined Zhu Cunji was so loved by the common people.
He approached the road worker who had spoken and asked casually, "You know the two princes who hired you to build the railway?"
"Of course," the man said cheerfully. "One's the Railway King, Zhu Cunji. The other's the big money-grabber, Zhu Changhao."
"Railway King?" Zhu Yujian repeated.
The man laughed. "Everyone in Xi'an knows it. His Highness says he'll build railways across the whole world. Even to Yizhou Island!"
"To an island?" Zhu Yujian raised a brow.
"How he plans to lay tracks across the sea, we don't know. And frankly, we don't care," the worker said with a shrug. "If he says he'll build it, maybe he will."
Zhu Yujian fell into thought.
Railways had moved troops swiftly to defend Hanzhong. They had carried supplies into Sichuan with speed no caravan could match. That kind of infrastructure was not a trivial toy. It was a legacy.
Ambition backed by practicality, he mused. That is no small thing.
"Hero Zhu," the worker chuckled, "since when do you talk about serious matters? Aren't you the one who roams for scenery and romance?"
Zhu Yujian answered dryly, "To admire scenery, one must travel by train."
The worker laughed heartily.
Yet it was not the laughter that struck Zhu Yujian most.
It was the confidence.
This was an ordinary laborer. His hands were rough. His clothes were plain. And yet when he spoke of princes, he did so without trembling, without lowering his voice, without that ingrained tone of inferiority Zhu Yujian had grown accustomed to in Nanyang.
There was no fearful reverence.
No worshipful distance.
Only familiarity.
Respect, perhaps. But not submission.
As if to say: I am a worker. I stand upright.
Zhu Yujian scanned the street.
Every passerby carried themselves the same way. Heads high. Shoulders straight. Eyes bright.
In that moment, he realized the most fundamental difference between the Dao Xuan Tianzun Liberated Zone and the outside world.
Here, people walked like human beings.
He had barely turned the next corner when he saw a woman carrying a worn cloth bag. Inside it, something slapped wetly.
A fish.
A sea fish.
It was still half alive, thrashing faintly. He recognized the type from Xiaolangdi pier. A grouper, transported by river-sea vessels from the coast.
Expensive.
He quickened his pace.
"Madam," he said politely.
She turned, looking at him curiously. She did not call him Hero Zhu. She did not recognize the disguise.
"Yes?"
"I couldn't help noticing the fish," he said. "That's a sea grouper, is it not? Transported from the coast. Quite costly."
She smiled proudly. "You have good eyes. Three taels of silver."
Zhu Yujian blinked.
Three taels.
That was not a small amount.
"Forgive me," he said carefully, "but you do not appear to be from a wealthy household. How can you afford such a purchase?"
She burst out laughing.
"What kind of talk is that? My husband is a skilled technician at the Western Steel Mill. Three taels and five qian a month. Plus bonuses. I work at the textile factory. Three taels a month."
She patted the bag.
"We just had a grandson. What's wrong with spending a month's wages to celebrate properly?"
Zhu Yujian calculated silently.
Seven taels and five qian monthly income.
A three-tael fish was extravagant, yes, but not ruinous.
He studied her clothes. Plain. Clean. Ordinary.
Nothing about her suggested wealth.
And yet this family could afford sea fish flown across rivers and canals.
"Are there many families like yours?" he asked.
"Of course," she said lightly. "Hundreds of women at the textile factory. And that's just one factory."
He pressed further. "With so many workers, producing so much cloth, can it all truly be sold? Cotton garments are expensive. If they don't sell, how can wages be paid? Is it all divine gold from Dao Xuan Tianzun?"
She laughed again, shaking her head.
"Everyone earns well. So everyone can buy. Cotton clothes sell out. The factory makes profit. We even contribute to the village treasury to support other regions."
Zhu Yujian stopped walking.
The logic was simple.
If incomes rise across the board, what was once luxury becomes normal consumption.
Production feeds wages. Wages feed consumption. Consumption sustains production.
Silver circulates.
Goods circulate.
Confidence circulates.
It was not divine gold raining from the sky.
It was a system.
And for the first time, Zhu Yujian understood something deeper than railways or artillery.
This place did not merely build machines.
It built people who believed they were worth something.
And that, perhaps, was far more dangerous than cannons.