Young Master Bai chuckled, a mysterious grin spreading across his face. “I didn’t look too closely; it was just a quick peek back then. But after glancing at just a tiny bit, it felt like the entire world shifted before my eyes. Everything I saw became utterly different. Heh heh heh! That book is the true divine scripture of the heavens, unraveling all the universe’s mysteries. If we master it, we’ll reign truly invincible across the lands.”

Third Miss’s eyes sparkled joyfully. “Then we must quickly finish Elementary Math and won’t need to peek anymore—we can gaze upon that divine book openly!”

Young Master Bai grinned broadly. “Just one last section to go. Keep up the fight!”

Witnessing the two youths’ fervent enthusiasm, Li Daoxuan felt pleased within. His thoughts drifted: Young Master Bai will likely be Gaijia Village’s pioneer in physics, making him destined as its first Physics Representative.

He’d soon need to impart physics to others as Heaven’s proxy instructor. Such burdens weighed heavily on a youth still growing. Teaching both physics and math risked exhausting him entirely.

Once Young Master Bai became Physics Representative, a Math Representative would need appointing. Li Daoxuan’s gaze lingered on Third Miss.

Twelve years old. A girl. Could she bear this responsibility?

Women of antiquity shunned the public eye. Even those willing faced scolding, shackled by social virtues. Forcing her into such duties as “teacher” might crush her spirit… yet if she accepted willingly, he’d deploy Heaven’s decree to bolster her. Let anyone who condemned her face unified village retribution, backed by divine mandate.

So be it.

His attention shifted from the book-well to village outskirts.

By the wheat fields, commotion stirred. Forty-two of Gaojia Village’s old residents crowded the fields’ edge. Even the aging chief—who’d long embraced leisure—now walked the fields once more.

Villagers watched as the Old Village Chief stretched a skeletal hand, stroked a wheat ear, and plucked one grain. Chewing it slowly, his face brightened. “It’s time—harvest begins now!”

With cane uplifted, he declared with booming laughter, “Three years! Three years have passed since grains flourished here! Tomorrow, we reap!”

“Tomorrow—harvest begins!” The Gaojia natives erupted in cheers. Soon, Zhengjia Village voices joined: “Our Zhengjia wheat’s ready too!”

By mid-fifth month of Chongzhen Year One, harvest came to both villages first blessed by Heaven’s rain-summoning Dragon King. Jubilation surged.

Villagers already planting sorghum clutched tightened fists: Today you celebrated; autumn’s triumph would be theirs.

Refugees, short-term laborers, and Qingjian County wanderers gazed enviously before lifting chins: Their hand-earned wages rivaled farm yields. Here—absent officials’ greed, under Heaven’s shield—industrious hands would forge better days.

At dawn’s first glow, Gaojia and Zhengjia folk charged wheat fields. Young, old, male, female—bodies bent, sickles flashing.

Gao Sanwa skipped class that morning, sickle in hand amid crops. Mr. Wang stormed the fields, discipline ruler brandished. “Gao Sanwa! Villain—return to class!”

Gao Sanwa screamed in fear, darting through wheat stalks taller than youth. “Master, spare the rod! I’m laboring for my kin! Delay harvest and rains could ruin crop—we’d lose the year’s food!”

Mr. Wang’s beard bristled in fury. “Fool! When last did rains fall? Without Heaven’s Dragon King, would you even have sown seeds? Rain fears? Let parents manage this. Back to class!”

He wheeled to Gao San Niang. “Three Mother, discipline your son! Reading and writing promise futures beyond soil-digging. Squander learning for farm toil—you doom him!”

Trembling under rebuke, San Niang seized her boy and flung him toward Master Wang. Rushing to Short-term Workers Village, she cried, “Hire help! Harvest urgently—wages are negotiable!”

Meanwhile, at militia headquarters, Cheng Xu’s roll call stalled. “Where’s the third idiot? Zheng Gouzi—new Zheng recruit—is missing too. Anyone know where either fled?”

Gao Chuwu raised his hand. “Instructor He, who are the three idiots?”

“Clearly our densest trio!” Ground Rabbit declared, chest thrust out. “Zheng Daniu and Gao Chuwu are locks—but the third? Someone dull-witted. Not myself, surely.”

Silent stares pierced him.

Just then, Zheng Daniu lumbered up, panting heavily.

His sight eased Cheng Xu’s scowl: “All idiots accounted for. Where’s Zheng Gouzi?”

Daniu saluted: “Report, Instructor! Zheng’s father hauled him back to Zhengjia Village at dawn for harvest! I argued for drill duty, delaying him here.”

Rage ignited. “Unauthorized absence from training? Desertion for farmwork? Does discipline mean nothing? Right turn—march! To Zhengjia Village—punish the fool!”

One hundred strong, the militia sprinted down the cement road, an iron serpent toward Zhengjia Village.

Sipping thin porridge, Li Daoxuan inwardly sighed: Zheng Gouzi’s sin dwarfed Gao Sanwa’s truancy. Militias—however informal—would become armies. Unreported desertion? A cardinal breach.

He’d watch Cheng Xu’s justice unfold.

His vision shifted with the convoy. Traversing six li of cement road meant little to trained bodies. In moments, they reached Zhengjia Village.

Instantly spotting Zheng Gouzi—sickle wildly arcing through grain as he aided parents.

Cheng Xu’s bellow tore across fields: “Zheng Gouzi! Criminal! What defense for desertion?”

The new recruit froze mid-motion. Turning, his face blanched. The sickle clattered to earth.