Year Seven of Tianqi, 1627 A.D., Chengcheng County, Shaanxi.

Gao Chuwu led three youngsters from the Gao clan into the town gates.

All four were country bumpkins who’d never left their village. The thirty-li journey from Gaojia Village had been traveled by sweet-talking anyone they met on the road. Several wrong turns were corrected only by asking directions.

By the time they entered the town gates, the sun hung dead center in the sky.

Noon—the hottest hour. The sweltering outside heat hit 108 degrees. The four young men sweated profusely, hanging their heads low with exhaustion, their spirits frayed and bodies floating light.

“Chuwu brother, if we’re looking for the secretary, we should go to the county office, right? I’m terrified of the yamen!”

“I’ve heard the County Lord eats men without spitting out the bones.”

“Those bailiffs are the same—horrifying bone-munchers!”

The three young men showed fear in their eyes.

Gao Chuwu was scared too. A homebody whose longest journey hadn’t exceeded ten li, this was his first town visit. He’d already been intimidated by the “grand mansions with courtyards,” trembling all over.

He reached into a pouch tied to his belt, fingering the cracked bits of giant rice within. The Village Chief had stuffed five rice blocks into each man’s pack before they left—for emergencies.

Feeling them settled his nerves. “Why be afraid? The Great deity has our backs.”

At “Great deity,” the three regained their courage, rushing with renewed pride.

Using their sweet-talking tactics, they asked strangers for directions until local passersby guided them before the county office.

Right at the entrance, an unsettling scene greeted them. A clean-shaven, slightly plump middle-aged man in scholarly robes was wailing before the building: “County Lord! Please don’t cast me aside! Your humble servant has labored faithfully unto death—could you truly discard me like… [when the hare is dead, the hunting dog is cooked]?”

He drew out those last four words with exaggerated, foolish theatricality.

A bailiff by the entrance shook his head. “Third Scholar, stop this racket. His Lordship won’t change his mind. Keep yelling, and he’ll lock you up—is that what you want?”

Gao Chuwu’s eyes lit up. “Did you hear? They called him Third Scholar—must be that secretary Zhang Yaocai mentioned. Thirty-Two.”

The others gaped. “The secretary’s crying? Seems the County Lord fired him?”

Gao Chuwu shrugged. “Not our business. We just need to fetch him back. Watch him—when he ducks into an alleyway, we invite him.”

He pulled out a large wooden rod; he’d gathered it on the road.

Thirty-Two kept howling before the county office, but no luck. Magistrate Zhang Yaocai had grown sick of him—unmoved by cries, he’d sent two bailiffs to beat Thirty-Two into black-and-blue swelling.

Finally accepting the inevitable, Thirty-Two sighed bitterly. He shuffled away from the yamen down the street, then veered into a narrow lane—a shortcut toward home.

Yet only steps in, a young man wielding a heavy stick blocked his path. Thirty-Two jumped, twisting to flee backwards—but three more young men choked the opposite end.

Panic electrified him. Eyes darting, he instantly judged them all straw-legged peasants. Hands flew up defensively—”Don’t hit me! I stand on your side! Tax extortion was the County Lord’s doing—I counseled mercy! I have… [pleaded justice for the people]!”

Gao Chuwu gave a dim-witted grin. “Oh? You don’t say!”

Thirty-Two sputtered, “Truly! I got fired defending you! This very act is called… [sacrifice from head to heel]!”

Scratching his head, Gao Chuwu mumbled, “Can’t grasp half your talk… but you sound clever enough, no?”

“I am! I am a scholar!” Thirty-Two pleaded. “Treat educated men with respect—lower your club first! Civilian tongues—don’t you know… [arms down, horses scattered]?”

Gao Chuwu’s grin widened. “Clever’s what we need! Our invite’s for a scholar. Come take a stroll with us to Gaojia Village.”

“Eh? What backwater’s that? No—refused! Won’t—” Thirty-Two spluttered. “…you call this…[journey to the—]”

Thud! Wood cracked against skull. Thirty-Two dropped wordlessly. A villager sheathed his stick behind him. “Dunno why… something ’bout his last four words grated. Sounded annoying—pure babble.”

Gao Chuwu chuckled. “Ha! Was tempted myself.”

All four snickered. Two hoisted the unconscious Thirty-Two, whisking him fastest toward the town gate.

Mid-route, an official patrol emerged ahead. From afar they saw four peasants hauling a robe-clad “rich man”—who hung limply. Instantly, the authorities fixed their gaze.

Rich man kidnapped by poor men? Every detail screamed robbery

One official bellowed, “You four! What’s happening?”

Engaged in abduction, the villagers froze in terror—legs jelly, instincts screaming run.

Then it turned comical. The leader peered closer—recognizing Gao Chuwu instantly. He stammered, “Y-you from… Gaojia Village?”

Gao Chuwu squinted—then smiled in relief. “Yesterday’s official?”

Yep—it was the very officer who’d collected taxes at Gaojia Village yesterday… before Li Daoxuan plucked him airborne with two fingers.

That spectacle kept him sleepless all night, petrified divine punishment loomed. He hadn’t dared exit town since, rounding up colleagues for moral support.

Behind him skulked yesterday’s four blown-away bailiffs—similarly traumatized. Safety lay in numbers.

So encountering a Gaojia villager on their street paralyzed them.

Gods—did the Great deity send spies hunting loose talkers?

All five officials paled, green as gourds.

Equally terrified, Gao Chuwu rattled off excuses—”Our… uh… friend got dizzy from sun. Bringing him to wash face at the river!”

The five stammered back, “Go… ahead… by all means! Yesterday’s affair… our lips stay sealed!”

Eyes wide, both groups trembled violently, sidling past each other.

The moment backs turned, all nine souls bolted. Officials fleeing south, peasants vanishing northward—all kicking dust sky-high.