This ti, Li Daoxuan did not print on an entire A5 sheet. He printed the image of the Supre Treasure version of Sun Wukong in one corner of the A5 paper, then cut out that corner with scissors.
It beca a tiny picture only three centiters long and two centiters wide.
It couldn’t be made smaller, or the details on the picture would beco unclear.
Next, he gently placed this little picture into the scenic box, setting it before Gao Yiye and the two sculptors.
This sudden appearance of paper out of thin air startled the two sculptors. It was the first ti they had witnessed the “Deity manifesting” since arriving at Gaojia Village. They imdiately dropped to their knees, knocking their heads on the ground several tis with loud thuds.
After Gao Yiye instructed them to rise, they took a closer look. They recognized it imdiately: “This is… Sun Wukong, the Victorious Fighting Buddha.”
As professionals in sculpting, they were familiar with far more deities than anyone in Gaojia Village. Gao Yiye couldn’t identify the figure at a single glance.
“The Deity bids you craft this Buddha statue. It must be identical to this painting. Oh, and avoid using clay. Use wood.”
“Make it as large as the painting? Twenty feet tall?” The two sculptors were horrified.
In their understanding, a twenty-foot Buddha statue already qualified as a colossal figure. Moreover, how thick a tree would be needed for a wooden statue that size? Could such massive trees even be found nearby?
Gao Yiye shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. Make it rely the height of a person.”
The two sculptors replied, “That’s much simpler. With our craftsmanship, we can complete an ordinary person-sized statue in just a few days. However, making it identical to the painting will require intricate work, extending the process for a few more days to carve the details.”
Gao Yiye tilted her head as if listening to a voice from above, putting on a serious expression. “It needs to be painted.”
At these words, the sculptors stiffened awkwardly. “We don’t have colorful paints. Such things are prohibitively expensive.”
Gao Yiye responded, “This is a minor matter. Go find the wood first. When the wooden form is completed and needs painting, return to again.”
The two sculptors hurried off in search of wood.
Li Daoxuan stood up from beside the scenic box. “Another trip outside it is.”
Across the east gate of his residential complex stood a Hongxing ikailong furniture market. He vaguely recalled it sold various paints. Following his mory, it took him ten minutes to locate the paint store tucked in a corner.
He bought mini cans of paint costing fifteen yuan each, one small can per color. The paints were surprisingly heavy; purchasing every color made the load excessive. With great effort, he hauled them ho and placed the clusters of pots and tins beside the scenic box.
Having stepped outside and returned, he found the village abuzz. Inside the blacksmith’s shop, several blacksmiths were gathered around Li Da, guided by him, loudly striking chunks of iron.
Newcors and Old Villagers jointly carried stones and timber in a lively bustle to prepare for temple construction. Thirty-two stood with hands clasped behind his back, weaving through the crowd, directing villagers here and there in urgent waves.
Life surged tangibly; shouts and cries crisscrossed ceaselessly.
Li Daoxuan wore a tender, matronly smile as he observed the scene, like witnessing the growth of a beloved child.
By sunset, outsiders arrived at the village outskirts…
Li Daoxuan’s gaze shifted beyond the village walls. Tsk, quite the crowd.
A seemingly imposing general led them, mounted on a tall horse, clad in armor and helt. Behind him trailed over a hundred soldiers draped in cloth armor, clustered raucously as they approached Gaojia Village.
Officials were coming.
Li Daoxuan needed no brain power to guess why they were near here. He furrowed his brow. Knocking them all out with a few slaps would be easy, but… completely unnecessary!
He bowed toward the scenic box. “Gao Yiye, go fetch Thirty-Two. I’ll teach him how to bluff these officials away.”
…
The leading soldier was nad Cheng Xu, a ninth-ranked military officer of the Ming Dynasty, a patrol officer.
He was mounted on horseback, cursing Bai Shui Wang Er’s ancestors with fervor.
His insults paid rich tribute to millennia of Chinese traditions of respecting elders and cherishing the young. Examples included: “Screw your mother!” “Fuck your father!” “Cut up your whole family!” and “May your descendants lack assholes!”
His rage was understandable. After all, his duty as a patrol officer spanned catching bandits and maintaining law and order.
A few days earlier, he’d been relaxing at a theater with an opera troupe when news arrived: Wang Er rallied a few hundred peasants, stord the county seat, chopped the magistrate Zhang Yaocai to death, followed by the county clerk and the principal. They slaughtered a few wealthy landowners, raided official grain stores, and seized the official grain.
The catastrophe was abrupt. By the ti Cheng Xu received the news and rallied his troops to reach the county seat to suppress the revolt, it was too late.
Zhang Yaocai’s head swung left and right on the city gate like a morbid wind chi. The gang led by Bai Shui Wang Er had vanished like smoke, leaving only the utterly ravaged husk of Chengcheng County, several sections still oozing black tendrils of smoke from smoldering rooftops.
Any assessnt pointed squarely to Cheng Xu’s dereliction of duty. He could surely expect to be investigated and prosecuted in the aftermath.
He spent two days restoring order to the spiraling county town. Now, seizing Wang Er alive offered the sole chance of making ands to lessen his sentence.
Cheng Xu had just erged from Wangjia Village—now deserted as a ghost town, not a soul in sight. Unable to learn which direction Wang Er had fled, he simply road. Wandering near blindly, he drifted toward Gaojia Village.
His first glimpse halted him cold. Rubbing his eyes in disbelief, he barked out, “Fuck … am I hallucinating?”
His deputy inspector spoke quietly beside him. “Leader, you’re not mistaken. That absolutely is a walled city.”
Cheng Xu hissed through clenched teeth. “Could Wang Er have built himself a massive fortress in these mountains already?”
His heart raced. If Wang Er commanded such a city, his hundred-strong force was utterly pointless—capable of nothing. Storming fortifications was impossible. His hope of making ands by capturing Wang Er felt shattered.
“Catastrophe looms… if rebels wield such power, the court will surely have executed… seems the beckoning spirit of my late grandma beckons toward doom…”
“Oh, if it isn’t Commander Cheng!” The gates of Gaojia Village swung open. Out jogged a familiar figure—the magistrate’s steward, Thirty-Two. He waved at Cheng Xu as if hailing an old friend before rrily striding toward the officials. He halted before Cheng Xu’s horse. “What wind brings you to Gaojia Village? Such honored guests truly grace our humble gates.”
Normally, Thirty-Two’s pompous jargon made Cheng Xu itch to throttle him. Yet this ti, oddly, it sounded like sweet music. He dismounted. “Ah? Chief Steward Thirty-Two? This fortress appeared from nowhere—I feared that traitor Wang Er was already this strong! Truly scared half to death! But seeing you reassures greatly. Quickly now, explain this fortification.”
Thirty-Two adopted an exquisitely confused expression. “Fortress? What fortress?”
Cheng Xu pointed bluntly toward the massive front wall. “How isn’t this a fortress wall? How tall would these ramparts need to be otherwise?”
Thirty-Two turned toward the village entrance. He looked left. He looked right. Playing the blind fool, he turned back to Cheng Xu with elaborate confusion. “Fortress walls? I see nothing. Just a remote little village sheltering refugees. No walls, no fortresses anywhere. How could you conjure accusations with nothing real to accuse?”
With a screech, Cheng Xu half-drew his blade. “SHIT! Thirty-Two! You dare tell these lies with eyes wide open?! Are you playing gas with my fucking life?!”
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