Chen Ergou followed Qi Cheng through the narrow passageways of the so-called cells—and what he saw almost made him forget he was supposed to be a prisoner.
Four n to a room, straw mats lined neatly on the floor. Each spot had not just one, but two full sets of cotton clothes folded beside it.
Cotton.
Not coarse hemp. Not patched-up rags. Cotton.
Chen Ergou froze mid-step, eyes wide. "What in Heaven's na—where'd you get these?"
Qi Cheng replied matter-of-factly, "The Tianzun gave them to us."
Chen Ergou blinked. "The… what now?"
Qi Cheng turned solemnly toward a portrait pasted on the wall and bowed deeply.
It was an image of Dao Xuan Tianzun, the Immortal Lord who punished evil and rewarded virtue. His likeness was printed by the Gao Family Village Bookshop and distributed across Chengcheng County—especially in "reform centers" like this one. Nearly every cell had one.
Qi Cheng's voice softened with reverence. "This is Dao Xuan Tianzun, the immortal who strikes down the wicked and blesses the good. Everything we eat, everything we wear—it all cos from his divine grace."
Chen Ergou was halfway through rolling his eyes when—
He froze.
He could've sworn the portrait's eyes had just… moved.
"Whoa!" he yelped, stumbling back. "Brother Qi Cheng, his eyes—his eyes moved!"
Qi Cheng didn't even flinch. "Blessings upon us. What's strange about that?" He smiled faintly, proud even. "When my sins were heavy, he never looked my way. But lately, I've worked hard—atoned, labored honestly—and now the Heavenly Lord glances at sotis. It ans he's seen my change."
Qi Cheng, of course, didn't know that Dao Xuan Tianzun had recently developed the 'Co-Sensing' ability—a miraculous feature that let his divine consciousness peer directly into their world.
Chen Ergou, heart still pounding, dared a second look. The painted eyes were still again. Maybe he'd imagined it. But from that mont on, he didn't dare take the portrait lightly.
One might not believe in gods or Buddhas… but one did not risk disrespecting them.
Then ca a clack-clack-clack-clack! echoing through the prison.
To Chen Ergou, that sound was the unmistakable rhythm of war drums—villages striking hollow bamboo to warn of bandit attacks. His instincts kicked in before his mind did.
"Enemy attack!" he shouted, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there—then rembered he was a prisoner.
Qi Cheng, on the other hand, grinned. "alti!"
"…What?"
"It's the lunch call. Co on, let's go eat."
Chen Ergou's stomach growled at the re ntion. He'd barely eaten since surrendering—just a few crumbs of dry ration along the mountain road. He wasn't above admitting he was starving.
"They… feed you here?" he asked skeptically.
"Of course," Qi Cheng said. "Otherwise, we'd all be dead already."
"Fair point."
Chen Ergou followed as streams of n poured from their cells—tens of thousands of prisoners moving in an orderly line toward the dining hall. He expected chaos. Instead, he found discipline. Even the roughest bandits queued neatly, hands behind their backs, silent but not sullen.
He and Qi Cheng made it to the front. Female workers—also prisoners—carried enormous wooden basins filled to the brim. Chen Ergou braced himself for watery gruel.
Then he saw what was inside.
White flour buns.
Soft. Plump. Steaming.
He froze like a statue.
In his world, only landlords' sons ate white flour. Commoners lived and died on coarse grains. And yet here, in a prison, the air was thick with the sll of freshly stead wheat.
Qi Cheng chuckled. "Looks like today's labor will need real strength. Heavy work ans good food."
A woman ladling buns confird, "That's right! You'll be laying railway tracks today. Lots of wood, lots of iron. Eat well, work hard."
Chen Ergou's brain stalled. Railway? He didn't even know what that word ant.
The woman waved at him impatiently. "What are you gawking for? Co get your buns!"
"These are… for ?"
She smirked. "You think we're pretending? You're one of the new ones, huh? Listen—if you're still hungry, take another. But don't waste it. If we catch you wasting food, you'll fast tomorrow."
Her tone carried the weary authority of soone who'd seen every kind of fool pass through. Chen Ergou felt his pride bristle—but hunger was a stronger master.
"Thank you, big sister," he said ekly, grabbing two. "Maybe… one more?"
She sighed but handed him another.
Three buns in hand, one already stuffed in his mouth, Chen Ergou felt his throat tighten with sothing dangerously close to tears.
"Eat quickly!"
The shout ca from the wall—Zhong Gaoliang, the warden himself, flanked by heavily ard guards. Security had doubled since the new arrivals ca. A thousand militia under Cheng Xu still lingered, ensuring the valley remained locked down tight.
Zhong Gaoliang's voice bood over the crowd. "Eat fast! When the incense stick burns out, every able man reports to the main gate. Today's work—railway construction. Heavy labor, but safer than battle. Dao Xuan Tianzun watches those who work hard. Slack off, and he'll see that too!"
The n laughed nervously, but none doubted it. Not after seeing what that portrait's eyes could do.
And so the prisoners of Chengcheng's valley prison—ten thousand forr bandits, killers, and rebels—ate their white buns under the watchful gaze of a god who was both warden and redeer.
Trivia :
The Great Famine of the Late Ming Dynasty
If you're wondering why Chen Ergou's rebellion and hunger hit so hard—well, it's because the 17th century Ming Empire was literally starving to death.
From the 1620s to 1640s, China was struck by one of the worst famines in its recorded history. Droughts scorched the north, locusts devoured crops, and sudden freezes killed what little remained.
The region of Shaanxi, where this story takes place, was especially cursed. Contemporary records describe years when "no rain fell for three sumrs, the rivers dried, and n ate bark and clay."
The numbers? Historians estimate that tens of millions perished—so sources say up to 20–30 million dead across North China during the collapse. Villages emptied overnight. Starving peasants turned to banditry not out of malice but sheer survival.
That's why rebel bands like Chen Ergou's existed in the first place. They weren't "villains" in the usual sense—they were the failed harvest made flesh.
The Ming court, bankrupt from wars and corruption, couldn't feed its own soldiers, let alone its people.
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