As the sky darkened, Li Daoxuan returned from his parents’ house.

He had intended to grab the comic books and leave immediately, but his parents, hearing he was coming, had prepared a lavish feast—far superior to his usual takeout, easily thirty-two times better, nearly matching the grandeur of a New Year’s Eve dinner. He stayed for dinner. It was certainly enjoyable, but it ran late. By the time he returned home carrying a large bundle of Yang Family Generals comic books, the sun had already begun to sink below the western hills.

He quickly pulled out the comic books, carefully turned the pages, placed them in the scanner, scanned them, then used the printer to shrink and print tiny pages…

Of course, his so-called “tiny page” was still enormous to the little people and couldn’t be given to them directly. It needed to be reworked using the little people’s printing technology.

The scanner and printer whirred and clattered away.

Li Daoxuan casually shifted his perspective to observe the little people’s situation.

The mess in Zhengjia Village had been cleaned up. The He Yang bandits wouldn’t dare attack again anytime soon. Fang Wushang had withdrawn his troops to report the victory in a memorial. He likely wouldn’t pen a nonsense memorial like Cheng Xu had.

The militia returned to the village, each one beaming with joy.

Xing Honglang was also in excellent spirits. Forest heroes relish vengeance. Having killed Erchun today to avenge her people was a great joy. She had her subordinates bring over a jar of Wu Liang Ye they were selling as goods, and the salt smugglers shared it among themselves to drink.

The result was everyone collapsed, plastered; not a single one remained standing. The modern liquor was far too potent for them; it worked better than knock-out drugs.

It was at this moment that Gao Chuwu came knocking. He had wanted to speak with Xing Honglang but found the plastic mansion filled with drunks sprawled out every which way.

Gao Chuwu could only pick up the salt smugglers one by one and carefully tuck them into bed. The chill of early spring made it easy to fall sick. He didn’t dare move Xing Honglang, however. She was a girl; he didn’t dare touch her recklessly. So he left her alone in the middle of the great hall.

Meanwhile, Cheng Xu, victorious in battle, returned without much joy. He sat alone on the high watchtower corner, lifted his cloth mask, and drank a small jar of wine by himself. Perhaps he still felt some attachment to his former official rank as a ninth-grade military officer of the court.

Watching the varied states of his little people, Li Daoxuan couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself.

The sound of the printer behind him ceased. The first volume of Yang Family Generals was printed.

Li Daoxuan shifted his gaze to the watchtower.

Gao Yiye was weaving cloth under the lamp. Cotton threads crisscrossed and connected on her weaving machine, forming cotton cloth that slid out.

“Yiye!” Li Daoxuan called softly.

Gao Yiye let out an “Ah,” quickly stopped weaving, and jumped up. “Deity!”

Li Daoxuan smiled. “Find Thirty-Two. I wish to discuss something with him.”

Gao Yiye hurried into action. She dashed down the watchtower with pattering steps, reached the “discussion hall” of the Hakka roundhouse, and beside it was the “main well,” where Thirty-Two resided.

After knocking on his door and summoning him to the central courtyard, both stood ready to respectfully receive the Deity’s instructions.

Only then did Li Daoxuan pick up a sheet of paper and lower it down.

Thirty-Two peered closely. Descending from the heavens was a stiff sheet of paper larger than a person, emblazoned with a strange picture depicting a military man, though he couldn’t tell who it was.

Li Daoxuan offered no explanation. He lowered a second page, a third, a fourth…

After looking over several pages in succession, Thirty-Two finally understood. “Yang Family Generals! In pictures! Only pictures!”

Li Daoxuan responded, “After daybreak tomorrow, find the woodcarver. Have him carve printing blocks to reproduce this.”

Thirty-Two was momentarily puzzled, not quite grasping the Deity’s intent. But after thinking it over carefully, he understood. “The Deity wishes to tell stories to the illiterate with a book made entirely of pictures.”

“Correct,” Li Daoxuan affirmed. “Many people are too old now to attend Mr. Wang’s lessons. Yet they still need knowledge and education. A book filled only with pictures can educate them through entertainment, conveying essential lessons.”

Thirty-Two said, “The Deity is benevolent, caring even for the affairs of these common citizens.”

This was more than simply caring for them.

Li Daoxuan didn’t voice the deeper reason…

The common citizens of that time severely lacked concepts like “nation” or “people.” Many didn’t even understand what patriotism meant. This wasn’t unique to the Ming Dynasty; even into modern times, Mr. Lu Xun wrote the essay (“Diary of a Madman” / criticizing the numb common citizens) lamenting such numb fools.

Why were they numb?

Simply put, they lacked sufficient patriotic education!

When the Manchus’ iron cavalry fiercely invaded, how many were truly willing to sacrifice their lives for the nation? If not for the majority being numb and indifferent, how could the Manchus have ever seated themselves firmly on the Han people’s throne?

This Yang Family Generals comic book could serve as an excellent textbook for patriotic education, letting people see the stories of the loyal Yang family, shedding blood and sacrificing lives to protect the nation.

Thirty-Two bowed deeply towards the sky. “Thy servant respectfully complies with the Decree of the Deity.”

Watching the Deity in the sky gradually fade away, likely returning to the heavenly realm, Gao Yiye giggled softly. “This picture book is so fun! I was just completely absorbed in it.”

Thirty-Two thought, Oh? Has the Saint Lady never heard the story of the Yang Family Generals before? Right, Gaojia Village is remote. Few outsiders visit. The villagers’ experiences were limited. At best, they heard fragmented tales from the village elders. Hardly anyone has seen such a complete, bound story volume.

“It seems this book will be very popular,” he said. “Once it’s printed, we cannot give it to the villagers for free.” An idea sparked. “The Deity has bestowed too much food freely. Many villagers are slacking off now, not working. We should set a price and sell this book once printed. Use it to draw back some of the excess money from the villagers’ hands. We can pay the woodcarver with this money, giving him more motivation. When the villagers’ money is spent, they’ll also feel more inclined to work.”

Gao Yiye exclaimed, “Wow, Third Steward Thirty-Two, you are so bad!”

Thirty-Two replied, “How can this be bad? Freely distributing resources is intrinsically an irregular practice. The Deity gives grain freely because of the great drought – the villagers themselves cannot produce any grain. If we get accustomed to enjoying things for free, and deem anything we must pay for as ‘bad,’ then something has gone astray.”

Gao Yiye thought it over. “Ah! You’re right.”

Thirty-Two continued, “If the villagers were starving, I would absolutely never think of such less conventional methods. But right now, the villagers living within this fortress are getting rather lazy.”

“When the Deity gave them grain initially, He granted far too much at once. Many villagers still store ten gigantic grains of rice in their homes, enough to last years. Where is the incentive for them to work? Sooner or later, they’ll be looked down upon by the newcomers of Short-term Workers Village.”

Gao Yiye marveled, “Third Steward really talks sense.”