Chapter Text
The very first thing Shen Yuan did upon waking up in the body of the Old Palace Master was grab a blade and cut off that damn beard. Priorities. Then he stripped out of the gaudy golden robes (honestly, who dressed like this, a disco ball?) and blamed it all on a god bestowing him with sudden spiritual clarity.
(Everybody believed him. What the fuck.)
In the first few days, Shen Yuan noticed that the Palace Master’s body was aging even with the golden core, though thankfully not decrepit yet. His hair was streaked with grey instead of wholly white, his face lined with the beginnings of smile marks. Once that atrocious beard was gone, he almost looked like a respectable adult. Someone in his late adult life, maybe. Steady, responsible. An uncle type.
Shen Yuan was not a fool. First chance he got, he hiked to the Bailu Forest and ate a Blue Tiger Orchid Root. God only knows why Old Palace Master didn’t stop aging, but Shen Yuan had no intention of sitting around waiting for liver spots.
Wife #79, for example, was an old woman who literally stole the youth of her grandchild. Parody-level Mother Gothel nonsense. The only difference was that once the novelty of the plot ended, both Gothel and Rapunzel just… stayed with the prince? (Don’t question it, Great Master Airplane clearly didn’t.)
A few chapters later, Wife #81 discovered the elixir of eternal youth because of the Tiger Orchid Root; plot device conveniently wrapped and delivered. Perfect. Shen Yuan just needed to play half-mad scientist and replicate the formula. So yes, Shen Yuan knew how to stop aging. Easy peasy. He didn't even have to sacrifice virgins!
According to PIDW canon, the Old Palace Master was a soft grandpa figure (which, fine, heartwarming, ten points to the home team) but Shen Yuan was nineteen! Nineteen! He could not be a grandfather! It would be one thing to transmigrate as some forty-something uncle with refined gravitas. But seventy?! Seventy was way too hard to swallow.
He hadn’t signed up for back pain and early-bird discounts.
Honestly, Shen Yuan felt like Mulan with the sharp blade against the silver strands of his beard. He could practically hear the dramatic song swelling in the background and grinned to himself.
The long hair was a more difficult pill to swallow. Still, he has - had (had, past tense) a younger sister with a fashion obsession, so he knew how to care for long hair. He could braid, he could oil, he could even accessorize. He had survived meimei’s hair tutorials. He could survive this.
That only left the gaudy golden robes. Ugh. Shen Yuan knew Huan Hua Sect was a bitch and a half, but man. Who in their right mind made yellow the main color of the sect uniform? Yellow! Unless you were the Emperor, all that did was make everyone look like festival lanterns. Like he’d said before, he put on a whole theater production about having a “vision of heavenly clarity,” and the entire sect actually bowed to him.
(He may or may not have accidentally started a rumor that the Old Palace Master was about to ascend. That wasn’t here nor there. Details.)
So now, Shen Yuan was a “normal” person. Or as normal as the leader of the richest sect in the Jianghu could be. He ditched the blinding imperial yellow for softer shades; deep saffron layered with muted earth tones, the kind of colors that made him look dignified rather than like a harvest scarecrow. His robes had clean, flowing lines with just enough embroidery to whisper money without screaming nouveau riche. His hair, properly combed, fell loose with a modest crown braid, understated and scholarly.
And, most crucially, a fan. Shen Yuan had seen a folding fan in the Palace Master’s treasury and immediately fallen in love. Sleek, stylish, dramatic. He collected a small stack of them and made it a habit to match his fan to his robes. If anyone asked, he could blame the eccentricity on meimei’s influence.
(It wasn’t eccentricity. It was taste. He was fabulous.)
The third or fourth thing Shen Yuan did after waking up in an old body with back pains and the fake “maturity” of a monk was to figure out when exactly he’d landed in the timeline.
Judging by the circumstances, it was still early in PIDW - before Binghe. Yue Qingyuan hadn’t yet risen to the position of Cang Qiong’s Sect Leader; the seat was still occupied by Kaideng, a man rumored to be a strict, upright leader. Shen Yuan had even seen a letter from him, politely asking about the upcoming Immortal Alliance Conference.
Okay. Fine. Timeline established.
Next problem: baby Binghe.
PIDW never gave the readers the reason behind Binghe’s tragic backstory. Why would a mother who supposedly loved her child abandon him in a basket on the coldest night of the year, floating down a river? That was straight-up Disney villain behavior. Shen Yuan had asked himself this question again and again. What was he supposed to do - rewrite the plot? Kidnap Binghe as a baby? (…actually, no, bad idea, that would look really suspicious.)
Complication number two: he didn’t even remember the names of Binghe’s biological parents. They were basically NPCs in the novel. The washerwoman adoptive mother didn’t even get a real name Madam Luo, Luo-something, right? That’s what the fandom had settled on, at least. How the hell was he supposed to save a background character who was only ever described as “pitiful”?
But he did know one thing: Madam Luo lived in Huan Hua territory. The Luo River route? All under the jurisdiction of the richest sect in the Jianghu. Which meant, technically, it was his responsibility now.
So, the plan was simple. Abolish poverty in all Huan Hua territory. Create actual opportunities for social mobility. If people weren’t starving in riverside villages, then Madam Luo wouldn’t have to break her back scrubbing laundry for scraps, and baby Binghe wouldn’t get slapped with a tragic peasant backstory.
Easy.
(Okay, not actually easy, but listen - this was better than trying to fight narrative inevitability head-on.)
The problem was… what did Shen Yuan actually know about the ancient Chinese economy? Right. Only whatever the state-approved textbooks had crammed into his brain before the gaokao. Which meant: feudal hierarchy 101.
Peasants at the bottom, farming rice or wheat or whatever was local. Merchants were technically richer than peasants but still looked down on because Confucian values said “money bad, virtue good.” Scholars were above both because books = moral superiority. Officials, landlords, and nobles siphoned off taxes and labor, pretending it was all for “order and harmony.” And then, of course, cultivators at the very top, lording over everyone like semi-divine superheroes with swords.
So, basically: a pyramid scheme.
And now he was… what? Some seventy-year-old sect leader with all the wealth of the upper crust and none of the respect he personally wanted. He wasn’t about to build socialism in one sect (he might, that would be nice), but maybe he could nudge things a little. Like, instead of hoarding spirit stones for five-hundredth wife #whatever, he could fund roads, schools, maybe a grain distribution system?
Shen Yuan could practically hear his high school economics teacher screaming in the background: “That’s not how any of this works!”
But hey. Compared to letting Binghe’s story run its course, trying to jump-start social mobility in feudal-xianxia-China was at least… something.
And if anyone questioned him, he’d just say it was all divine inspiration. Worked last time.
The problem was, Binghe’s entire tragic backstory boiled down to one thing: poverty. The biological parents, whoever they were, dropped the baby like hot coals. The adoptive mother, Madam Luo, broke her back over laundry just to afford scraps. The kid grew up with frostbite as his bedtime story. Poverty, poverty, poverty.
So if Shen Yuan wanted to change things, he had to fix that.
…Except what did he know about fixing poverty? His entire economic education came from history classes about feudal dynasties, with a side order of “modern China is great, kids, look how far we’ve come.” Yay!
Still, a man had to start somewhere.
Step one: Abolish starvation. Easy, right? Just… make sure everyone had enough rice and wheat. That meant granaries. He could order sect granaries built across Huan Hua territory, so even if harvests failed, people wouldn’t starve. The sect had more spirit stones than it knew what to do with, time to invest.
Step two: Raise the peasants’ status. Ancient China was basically: peasants at the bottom, merchants richer but despised, scholars lording over everyone, officials and landlords doing tax cosplay, and cultivators floating above it all like smug immortals-in-training. Which was fine for background extras, but Shen Yuan had one (1) precious protagonist baby to protect. That meant making it possible for peasants to rise.
How? Schools. Or something school-adjacent. He could build little academies in rural areas, teach literacy, maybe throw in some Confucian slogans so the older crowd wouldn’t riot. Boom: peasants’ kids could pass exams, become minor officials, and actually move up. Madam Luo’s family wouldn’t have to scrub clothes for generations.
Step three: Jobs. Shen Yuan vaguely remembered the phrase “infrastructure projects.” Roads, bridges, irrigation canals, stuff like that. It would give peasants work, improve trade, and stop villages from collapsing every time a flood hit. Was that how dynasties did it? Who knew. But hey, nobody was going to complain about being paid to dig ditches.
Step four: Cultivator responsibility. This was the big one. If cultivators were so high and mighty, maybe they should stop hoarding spiritual herbs for beauty elixirs and actually, you know, help the mortals. He could decree that every sect branch had to sponsor villages in their territory: protection, medicine, maybe free talismans during harsh winters.
Shen Yuan tapped his fan against his palm, feeling very clever.
Would any of this work? He had no idea. He wasn’t a statesman, he was a college kid cosplaying as a seventy-year-old sect leader. His entire economic plan was basically “what if feudalism, but less terrible.”
But compared to letting Binghe grow up frostbitten and half-starved? Shen Yuan would happily build granaries, schools, and canals until the day he really did look like a grandpa.
So… how to abolish hunger?
His brain immediately jumped to modern agriculture. Giant greenhouses with glass roofs gleaming in the sun. Combine harvesters rolling across endless golden fields, cutting wheat like a hot knife through butter. Fertilizers, irrigation systems, tractors, even drones spraying pesticides from above. Modern agropecuary industry could feed millions.
Shen Yuan groaned into his sleeves. “Yeah, sure, let me just whip up a John Deere tractor out of spirit iron. No problem. Totally doable.”
The technology gap was a canyon. Here, they had oxen and wooden plows. Farmers bent double under the sun, their biggest “innovation” being slightly better buckets. Fertilizer meant sweeping out pig pens and praying to Heaven for rain.
He imagined trying to explain to the elders of Huan Hua Sect: So, step one, invent electricity. Step two, invent diesel engines. Step three, cultivate ten thousand acres of land with crop rotation. Step four, profit.
They’d stare at him like he was demon-possessed.
But just because he couldn’t recreate the twenty-first century didn’t mean he couldn’t cheat a little. They had spirit plants, didn’t they? Magical herbs that grew in months instead of years, talismans to keep bugs away, water-arts cultivators who could summon rain on demand. If modern farmers could use chemicals, why couldn’t he order a few disciples to stand in a field and spam water techniques?
Shen Yuan sat up, fanning himself thoughtfully. “Alright, so maybe I can’t invent tractors. But what about - spiritualized irrigation systems? Fertilizer made from low-grade spirit herbs? Crop storage protected by talismans? If I throw enough money at this, some of it has to stick.”
The idea almost sounded reasonable. Almost.
Shen Yuan leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling beams. “Congratulations, Shen Yuan. You’ve officially downgraded yourself from transmigrator-protagonist to sect-leader-turned-amateur-farmer. At this rate, the next chapter title is going to be ‘The Scum Villain’s Self-Sufficient Agro Commune.’”
Still… he couldn’t help smiling a little. If it kept Binghe warm and fed, wasn’t that worth a little humiliation?
A few days later, Shen Yuan gathered his senior disciples and hallmasters, the clever ones, the ones with bright eyes and restless hands, who in another world might have been grad students or lab rats chained to an academic career track.
What he was about to do, in short, was invent the ancient-cultivation-world version of a scientific initiation scholarship.
He had been here a grand total of ten days. Ten. He didn’t know jack about the magical system, the principles of qi circulation, or why you could apparently shove a glowing stone into a gourd and call it “storage technology.” But Old Palace Master’s reputation was strong enough that nobody dared ask why he wasn’t personally training disciples. If he wanted to sit in on beginner classes and watch them practice breathing exercises, pretending to “test the teachers,” well - everyone just nodded solemnly and wrote it down as wisdom.
So! Time to exploit that respect.
He spread out his fan, pointed it like a general’s baton, and announced: “Brothers, sisters, hallmasters,” he began. “We are fortunate to lead the richest sect in the Jianghu. With this fortune comes responsibility. It is our duty to improve the lives of the people in our territory. To that end, I am establishing a program of research and cultivation. Each of you will take your talents and apply them to a specific project.”
A hush fell over the hall. Every eye was on him, every disciple leaning in. He did not raise his voice; he did not gesture wildly. Authority came simply from the steadiness in his posture and the clarity of his words.
Shen Yuan allowed himself a small, private smirk behind his fan. Internally, he was thinking: Yes, let them sweat. Let them figure out the qi logic. I’ll just point and collect the results.
He continued, softer now, more like a teacher than a commander: “Those who produce meaningful results will receive appropriate rewards: spirit stones, resources, freedom from duties that hinder your studies. Excellence must be recognized; effort must be guided. Let this be a trial of your intellect as well as your cultivation. I expect the Huan Hua Sect to become not only strong but wise.”
A few heads nodded subtly. The room was silent, but Shen Yuan could feel the gears turning in their minds. Mission accomplished.
Internally, he leaned back and thought, Point for me. If this works, Huan Hua will be the first sect in history to run like a research institute instead of a glorified noble household.
A hand shot up in the air. A young man with neat brunette hair and spectacles cleared his throat. “Shizun,” the youth said, voice careful but eager, “what should we research?”
How should I know?
Shen Yuan’s gaze swept over him slowly, calm, radiating the quiet authority that made even senior disciples straighten instinctively. “Anything that benefits the sect and the people of our territory; be it agriculture, talisman work, or resource management. ” he said, voice measured, precise. “I leave the specifics to your judgment, but your work must be meaningful. It must improve cultivation, increase productivity, or otherwise strengthen Huan Hua. Choose wisely.”
He folded his fan slowly, one hand resting lightly on the table. The hall was silent; even the whispers of curiosity seemed to hold their breath.
Shen Yuan pinched the bridge of his nose. Choose wisely? Sure, kid, as if you’ve ever had to figure out crop rotation or irrigation with magical weeds that scream when you prune them.
“Remember,” he added, keeping the same calm, commanding tone, “this is not idle experimentation. Results will be documented, tested, applied and replicable. Failure is not punished, but useless work wastes time and resources. You are scholars and cultivators alike; act as both. Document your experiments, share your discoveries, and contribute to the greater good of Huan Hua. Understand?”
The young man nodded vigorously, and a few others began to murmur assent. Shen Yuan allowed a small, approving nod in return.
Fan opening slowly in one hand, he surveyed the room like a general watching his troops ready for battle. Huan Hua is officially on the road to… modern-ish scientific experimentation.
And just like that, the crowd waned, scattering into small groups or wandering off to work alone. Some clustered eagerly, debating ideas, while others preferred solitary contemplation. But even in the quiet, the hall buzzed with energy. Animated, alive, curious.
A young girl settled herself beside him. Probably fifteen, Shen Yuan guessed, though she carried herself with the confidence of someone older. Her hair was a mass of dark curls, her skin warmer than his own, eyes hazel, thick eyebrows, and a sprinkling of freckles. Her face was cold, serious, not a hint of a smile, but it held a sharp intelligence that made him sit up a little straighter. She was tall, though not fully grown yet; he could imagine her growth spurt looming in a year or two.
“Shizun,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, “this Xiyan is confused.”
Shen Yuan turned to her slowly, calm and collected. Hehe, he was so good at this ‘mentor’ thing “Confused?” His tone was smooth, deliberate, like a master guiding a fledgling disciple, not a nineteen-year-old modern kid secretly panicking about how to feed everyone.
Of course. First question and it’s already existential. Perfect.
“Yes,” she said, her hazel eyes meeting his. “Ths Xiyan don’t understand why this research matters. What difference does it make if we improve irrigation, or test talismanized storage, or even cultivate new spirit herbs? These things don’t feel important.”
Shen Yuan folded his fan slowly, his voice gentle but firm. “Xiyan, importance is not always obvious at first glance. Research may seem small or abstract now, but its effects ripple outward. A better irrigation system saves harvests, which feeds villages. Stronger talismans protect the people. Knowledge applied wisely strengthens our territory, and in turn, benefits every person within it.”
Translation: if you fail, at least don’t starve anyone. And maybe invent something that doesn’t explode.
He glanced at her, letting the calm authority of a mature sect leader settle the moment. “Focus on how your work changes the lives around you. That is what gives research value. The rest… guidance, results, applications… will follow.”
Su Xiyan’s eyes flickered, not entirely convinced, but she nodded, absorbing the words. And if she still doesn’t get it, maybe I’ll have to throw in a qi-powered plow demonstration and call it heaven's will. Works every time. Shen Yuan allowed himself a tiny, satisfied smile behind the fan. At least she’s thinking about the bigger picture.
“Shizun,” the girl said again.
“Yes?”
Su Xiyan hesitated a few moments, then asked, “Should I… also research?”
Shen Yuan smiled, almost laughed at the innocence of it. “Do you want to?”
She pressed her lips together and folded her arms, looking down at the floor. “This Xiyan doesn’t feel she’s smart enough.”
“Child,” he said, his tone soft, patient, and full of quiet authority. Shen Yuan clicked his tongue, then tapped her gently on the head with his fan. “Every project begins with a question. You don’t need to start by knowing how. You only need to ask why.”
He leaned back slightly, letting the words sink in. And that, young lady, is the first rule of science in the book ‘How to do science 101 for dummies’. Start with the question, and the rest will follow.
It was simple, elegant, and perfectly aligned with his plan. If the brightest minds of Huan Hua could learn this, then perhaps the sect’s first research projects wouldn’t be complete chaos. And if they still mess up the experiments, at least they’ll know how to ask the right questions.
The first research session was officially underway. Shen Yuan sat at the head of the hall, fan folded neatly, observing as four groups and six solo disciples prepared to present their ideas. The energy in the room was high, a mixture of excitement, nerves, and the faint scent of incense. Su Xiyan stayed quietly beside him, choosing to watch for now rather than dive in herself.
Group One: Led by Li Hanwei, a sharp-eyed young man with silver hair, and his two juniors, Chen Mo and Guo Feng. Their project was “Talismanized Irrigation Systems.” They wanted to embed minor protective talismans into water channels so that crops would be shielded from pests, disease, or drought. Li Hanwei gestured enthusiastically, waving a scroll filled with diagrams of rivers, rice paddies, and glowing talismans.
Well, it’s ambitious… and probably going to short-circuit someone’s spiritual energy in week one, but credit for creativity.
Group Two: Composed of three girls, Mei Lian, Xue Ying, and Bai Ru, who proposed “Spirit Herb Fertilizers.” Their idea was to pulverize low-grade spirit herbs into a kind of magical compost to speed up crop growth. Bai Ru had already brought samples that emitted a faint green glow.
Shen Yuan leaned back, fan tapping lightly against his knee. Excellent, they are basically trying to make glow-in-the-dark compost. Functional or explosive? Let’s find out.
Group Three: Headed by Zhou Qian, a lanky youth with a sharp jawline, and assisted by Han Shu and Ling Tao. Their focus: “Qi-Enhanced Grain Storage.” They wanted to use minor qi circulations to preserve harvested grain and prevent rot or insect infestations. Zhou Qian was making dramatic hand motions as if the Qi would obey his every command.
Group Four: A mix of younger disciples - Tang Yi, Feng Nuo, and Lin Yue - proposed a more mundane project: “Village Road and Irrigation Planning.” They had maps, measurements, and sketches of small canals. Practical. Safe. Possibly boring, but functional. Shen Yuan gave a subtle nod of approval. Sometimes the basics matter more than flashy experiments.
The six solo projects were just as varied:
Huo Jian, a fiery-tempered cultivator, wanted to test “Fire-Enhanced Kilns for Grain Drying.”
Liu Fang, meticulous and quiet, planned “Herb Growth Optimization via Soil Qi Infusion.”
Wen Bo, a tall, gangly youth, proposed “Mechanical Seed Dispersal via Minor Spirit Beasts.”
Zhang Rui, small but sharp, wanted to explore “Magical Pest Deterrent Arrays.”
Cai Ling, studious and precise, was working on “Water Purification Talismans for Village Wells.”
Qiao Yun, energetic and bold, aimed to “Analyze Feng Shui Influence on Crop Yields.”
Shen Yuan watched the presentations unfold. Hands waved, diagrams were unfurled, and ideas were argued over. Some were brilliant, some were impractical, and some made him internally groan.
Su Xiyan sat quietly beside him, eyes wide but thoughtful. She had not chosen a project yet, there was too much to observe, too many questions to form. For now, she simply took in the enthusiasm and the chaos, trying to understand why her Shizun seemed so pleased.
When everyone had finished presenting their ideas, Shen Yuan rose from his chair, folding his fan neatly. The hall fell silent, all eyes on him.
“Good job, everyone,” he said, his voice calm, steady, carrying the quiet weight of authority that made even senior disciples straighten instinctively. “You’ve all put forward some impressive concepts, and this master is pleased with your enthusiasm and creativity.” He paused, letting the words settle, then tapped the fan lightly against the floor and continued, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. “However, there is just one problem…”
A hush fell over the room.
“How are the mortals, those without qi, supposed to put any of this into practice?” His tone was gentle but firm. “Only one group considered this limitation, and yet it is fundamental. Without considering how ordinary people will actually use your systems, your research risks being… useless.”
Internally, Shen Yuan pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. Nobody thinks about the peasants. Brilliant, all of you. Magical glowing compost and talismanized irrigation… great, but what about the rice farmers who can’t feel qi to channel it? Maybe I should just hand them a stick and hope for the best.
He leaned back slightly, letting the gravity of his words sink in. “Research is not merely about theory. It must be applicable. Practical. Beneficial. Now that you asked ‘why’, you must now ask ‘how’ - even if the user does not possess the abilities of a cultivator.”
Translation: idiots, think about the people who actually have to survive this winter. If you don’t, I will personally make you test it on yourself first.
Huo Jian, arms crossed and cheeks flushed, stepped forward. “Shizun,” he said, voice a mixture of frustration and indignation, “how are we supposed to make our research practical for mortals if they don’t have qi? That’s… that’s impossible! The kilns, the talismans, the irrigation systems - they need qi to function!”
Shen Yuan turned to him slowly, folding his fan neatly in one hand. His expression remained calm, almost fatherly, as if addressing a student who had asked a difficult but not unreasonable question. “Disciple Huo,” he said evenly, “you are correct: most cultivators’ creations cannot function for those without qi. That is precisely why your project must account for this limitation. Creativity is only valuable when it is usable.”
Exactly what I just said, and yet someone had to dramatize it. Bravo, Huo Jian, for pointing out the obvious.
“Do not treat this as a complaint. Treat it as a challenge. You are scholars and cultivators alike. Your task is to devise a solution that is both effective and practical, even for ordinary people. That is the mark of a true researcher.”
Huo Jian gritted his teeth but nodded reluctantly, clearly recognizing the wisdom behind the words, even if he still felt frustrated.
Shen Yuan smiled faintly behind the fan. Good. Let them stew over it for a while. The ones who complain the most often come up with the best solutions… or at least provide great entertainment.
A few months passed. Shen Yuan observed quietly as the disciples presented their adapted plans. The initial chaos and fanciful ideas had been tempered by reality, honed by necessity, and nudged along by his subtle guidance.
Group One: Li Hanwei, Chen Mo, and Guo Feng had refined their “Talismanized Irrigation” project. Instead of relying solely on cultivators’ qi, they had designed a system where the talismans worked in passive resonance. Mortals could operate the channels manually, while the talismans amplified natural water flow rather than controlling it directly. Li Hanwei explained it with pride, and Shen Yuan gave a small nod.
Finally, a glow that doesn’t electrocute the farmers. Progress.
Group Two: Mei Lian, Xue Ying, and Bai Ru had reworked their “Spirit Herb Fertilizers.” They discovered that low-grade spirit herbs could be transformed into a simple nutrient-rich compost for mortals to use without any qi. The glowing effect was gone, but the crops grew faster and stronger.
Okay, now it’s edible and doesn’t explode. Improvement noted.
Group Three: Zhou Qian, Han Shu, and Ling Tao adjusted their “Qi-Enhanced Grain Storage.” They created a system of enchanted storage jars that only required a single minor qi channel from a cultivator once a week. Ordinary people could open, store, and retrieve grain safely.
Low maintenance, high utility. Someone get these kids a prize.
Group Four: Tang Yi, Feng Nuo, and Lin Yue had finally mapped out a practical “Village Road and Irrigation Plan.” Nothing magical remained, just careful measurements, sluices, and small bridges that mortals could build and maintain.
The boring ones did their homework. Sometimes that’s exactly what’s needed.
The six solo projects also adapted impressively:
Huo Jian’s “Fire-Enhanced Kilns” now had simple flue systems and manually operated bellows for mortals.
Liu Fang’s “Soil Qi Infusion” became a natural composting method supplemented by occasional cultivator qi bursts.
Wen Bo’s “Mechanical Seed Dispersal” used small spirit beasts as guides rather than full power sources.
Zhang Rui’s “Magical Pest Arrays” became talisman grids that worked passively, no qi required.
Cai Ling’s “Water Purification Talismans” were redesigned as simple filtering charms.
Qiao Yun’s “Feng Shui Crop Analysis” focused on placement and sunlight, rather than manipulating qi directly.
Su Xiyan watched from her seat beside Shen Yuan, still absorbing the lessons of observation. The transformations weren’t perfect, but the projects were now genuinely usable for mortals.
Shen Yuan leaned back, fan resting elegantly across his lap, voice calm as he addressed the hall. “Well done, everyone.” And that made everybody tear up, which was funny.
They’re finally thinking like actual scientists, not just flashy cultivators.
Eight months had passed. The sect’s hallways were quieter now, the frenzy of initial brainstorming replaced with the hum of practical work. The first prototypes were finally showing results. Fields grew steadily, crops survived storms, and some villages even reported slightly better yields than usual.
The hunger problem, at least in theory, was being addressed. Mortals had tools and guidance they could actually use. Shen Yuan observed from his seat, fan resting lightly against his chin, outwardly calm but mentally ticking off the next steps.
Well, we’ve managed to stop people from starving to death. Big win. But let’s not get cocky.
What remained? Plenty.
Distribution and logistics. The villages now had the tools, but how to get the resources - seeds, fertilizers, talismans - into every corner of Huan Hua territory? Roads, canals, and human networks had to function. And humans are notoriously lazy, forgetful, and dramatic.
Training and knowledge transfer. Giving people a magical tool wasn’t enough. Mortals had to know how to use it. One mistake with a talismanized irrigation channel, and you flooded a rice field. One misapplied compost batch, and a whole crop died.
Sustainability. It was one thing to use cultivators’ qi to kick-start systems, but to keep them running long-term, mortals had to be able to maintain everything themselves. Otherwise, the progress would vanish the moment a cultivator went on leave or worse, died.
Secondary problems. Hunger was being addressed, but poverty, disease, education, and general living conditions remained. Food alone could save lives, but it couldn’t guarantee opportunity or social mobility.
Cultural resistance. Many villagers were wary of strange talismans, spirit herbs, and new techniques. Convincing them that these “magical” solutions weren’t curses or cultish experiments was a task of diplomacy and subtle persuasion.
Shen Yuan folded his fan and exhaled slowly. He practiced this pose in the mirror, he looked very wise and calm.
So yes, we’ve solved hunger in theory. But there’s still a mountain of work before Huan Hua looks like anything close to a civilized society. And somehow, I have to make mortals and cultivators cooperate without anyone exploding. Fabulous.
He leaned back, eyes scanning the hall, quietly plotting the next stage: how to take all this theoretical success and turn it into practical, sustainable, territory-wide change.
Shen Yuan rose early that morning, fan in hand, surveying the training grounds that had been converted into a makeshift research-and-implementation center. The prototypes were already set up, ready to be tested in actual villages.
“Today, we begin real implementation,” he announced to the assembled disciples, his voice calm, steady. “The purpose is no longer theory. These systems must work in practice, for ordinary mortals, who do not possess cultivation abilities. Observation, guidance, and correction will be your tools.”
Do not fuck up!
Step One - Training the villagers: Shen Yuan split the disciples into teams, each assigned to a village in Huan Hua territory.
Li Hanwei’s group demonstrated the talismanized irrigation channels. Mortals were instructed to operate the sluices manually while the talismans subtly guided the water flow. Some villagers were skeptical, muttering about "heavenly gods” and “ghost water.” Li Hanwei’s calm explanations helped, but Shen Yuan had to intervene a few times, gently correcting the timing and showing that the talismans only amplified, not controlled, human effort.
Mei Lian and Bai Ru instructed farmers on the use of the spirit-herb fertilizer. Some children poked the glowing compost suspiciously with sticks; one old man tried to eat a handful before being scolded by his granddaughter. Exactly what was expected.
Zhou Qian’s group explained the storage jars. Mortals practiced opening, filling, and sealing them. One villager accidentally let a jar tilt, causing a minor rice spill. Zhou Qian looked panicked.
Tang Yi’s team led villagers in building and maintaining the small roads, canals, and bridges. Practical work, but physical labor caused several of the younger disciples to grunt and complain. Which was bad, but not rage fuel.
Step Two - Trial and error in the field: The first week was predictably messy.
A talisman in one irrigation channel overloaded and caused a small flood in a rice paddy. The disciples panicked, villagers yelled, and Shen Yuan calmly walked over and instructed how to reset the talisman’s resonance.
Fertilizer batches were unevenly applied; some plots grew too quickly, others barely at all.
Storage jars occasionally malfunctioned when mortals misaligned the minor qi nodes. Shen Yuan patiently demonstrated proper technique, then tapped one lightly with his fan: “Gentle, always gentle. You are not cracking a walnut.”
Bridges and canals collapsed under unexpected rain. They were not engineers, clearly.
Step Three - Motivation and morale: Shen Yuan walked from village to village, observing, correcting, and encouraging. He maintained a calm, mature presence at all times, letting the villagers and disciples feel guided rather than ordered. THe villagers now knew his face, his voice and his character.
Step Four - Scaling and iteration
After two months of field trials:
- Irrigation channels were now reliably operated by mortals.
- Fertilizer application was standardized, and yields increased visibly.
- Grain storage jars successfully preserved harvests for months.
- Villages had learned to maintain canals, roads, and bridges.
Shen Yuan convened all the disciples for a debrief. Calmly folding his fan, he addressed them: “Progress has been made. Yet remember: this is only the beginning. We have reduced hunger, yes, but sustainability, training, and human error remain. We will continue refining these systems until they function independently of cultivator intervention.”
And if anyone dies because they misunderstood the glowing compost, I’ll quietly remind them whose genius they’re benefiting from.
Beside him, Su Xiyan's eyes were bright. She was beginning to see the purpose behind the theory, the questions, and the guidance. Watching mortals struggle and gradually succeed, she started to understand why Shizun emphasized asking why before worrying about how.
Shen Yuan allowed himself a small smile behind the fan. Hunger is being solved, and now we teach people to fish or, in this case, irrigate, fertilize, and store rice without depending on cultivators. One small step for mortals, one giant leap for Binghe’s future.
With hunger being addressed, at least in theory and early practice, Shen Yuan turned his attention to the next pressing issue: education.
Mortals could now survive, but survival alone did not create opportunity. Villagers still struggled to read, write, or perform even basic calculations. Knowledge was hoarded by the rich, by local officials, and by the more capable cultivators. Without schools, the cycle of poverty would continue, and his efforts to improve living standards would stall.
He tapped his fan on his chin and observed the gathered disciples. Ah, schools. Fantastic. Let’s see how fast we can convince peasants to sit still for more than five minutes without stabbing each other with pencils or whatever they use here.
“Education,” he said aloud, voice calm, commanding, and full of measured authority, “is no less important than food. Hunger can be solved for the body; ignorance must be solved for the mind. We will establish schools in every village of Huan Hua territory. These schools will teach reading, writing, basic mathematics, farming theory, and practical skills. They will be accessible to all, and their purpose is to empower mortals to understand and maintain the systems we have implemented.”
Translation: no more “why are we pouring compost into buckets that don’t fit” disasters. Mortals who can read are less likely to set a canal on fire.
Shen Yuan tapped the fan lightly on the desk. “This master is assigning each of you a village. You will oversee the construction of classrooms, recruit teachers - cultivators or educated mortals - and develop curricula suitable for both children and adults. Encourage creativity and practicality. Most importantly, ensure that these schools are sustainable.”
The disciples shifted nervously. Building schools, teaching, developing curricula, it was a lot. Some glanced at each other, clearly overwhelmed.
Yes, yes, don’t panic. It’s only a step toward turning an entire territory into a literate, semi-self-sufficient society. Totally manageable.
Su Xiyan watched from her usual on his side, fidgeting slightly. “Shizun,” she said, hesitantly, “won’t the villagers resist? Some of them barely trust us, and some don’t even care about education.”
Shen Yuan smiled, calm and composed. “Then we give them reason to care. Demonstrate the benefits. Show them how literacy and knowledge allow them to maintain irrigation channels, calculate crop yields, and avoid disasters. When mortals see practical value, they will learn. Compulsion is unnecessary.”
Or we bribe them with extra rice, spirit stones, or at least fewer chores. Incentives always work. Humans are surprisingly predictable.
He leaned back, fan resting across his lap, scanning the faces of the disciples. “Begin planning. Draft lesson schedules, classroom layouts, and teacher assignments. This is the next stage of Huan Hua’s transformation. Hunger was the first step. Knowledge will be the next.”
Step one: feed them. Step two: teach them to read. Small victories, Shen Yuan. Small victories.
The first schools of Huan Hua territory were not built in a day. Shen Yuan oversaw every detail from the sect hall projecting calm authority that kept both disciples and villagers on edge in a good way. No shouting. No dramatics. Just authority so quiet it made even the loudest disciple pause mid-complaint.
Teams of disciples were sent to different villages. Some measured plots of land and laid foundations for classrooms. Others scouted for potential teachers, including older cultivators who knew enough to read, write, and calculate, and mortals who had some rudimentary knowledge.
Yes, because nothing says “respect the sect leader” like being forced to haul bricks and teach multiplication to suspicious villagers.
Construction was a mix of order and chaos. Disciples argued over dimensions, villagers grumbled about labor, and one apprentice managed to collapse a wall before it was even half finished. I swear, if one more person drops a beam on their foot, I’m going to invent a “discipline talisman” that actually hurts them.
Once classrooms were usable, the next challenge began: teaching. Shen Yuan divided the students into age groups, mixing children and adults who wanted to learn. Lessons began with the basics: reading, writing, and numbers.
Some children stared blankly at the ink brush, drawing squiggles that were supposed to be characters. A few adults insisted they already knew everything and refused to sit. Others tried to sneak away to work in the fields, convinced that learning could wait until the harvest failed.
Shen Yuan walked among them with calm patience, correcting posture, guiding brush strokes, explaining strokes and pronunciation. His voice never rose, but carried the weight of someone who had lived and seen enough to know that yelling achieves nothing. Yes, yes, very productive. One adult just tried to write “mountain” as a stick figure. Wonderful.
Disciples assisted, and slowly, order emerged. Children who had never held brushes properly began forming characters. Adults learned to tally crops, calculate harvest estimates, and even follow simple irrigation schematics. A grandmother really wanted to learn how to write her grandson´s name. It would be her marriage present for him.
Mistakes were inevitable. A batch of ink spilled across the floor. A talisman used to protect a classroom wall accidentally triggered minor sparks. One overly ambitious villager tried to “improve” a calculation system by drawing additional characters, which made everyone more confused (and collapsed the whole thing).
Seven months into the program, villagers who had once doubted the purpose of the schools began to show interest. They saw practical results: better crop planning, fewer irrigation errors, and a small but noticeable increase in food security. Even the most skeptical elders grudgingly acknowledged the benefits. Su Xiyan sat beside Shen Yuan, his head disciple was like a duck into a pond. The girl’s hazel eyes were wide, thoughtful.
First hunger, now literacy. Next? Social mobility, sanitation, maybe a little sense of humor for the mortals. He could even be the new Madre Teresa de Calcutá.
With that in mind, Shen Yuan sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of the sect hall, a porcelain teacup balanced in one hand. Su Xiyan sat opposite him, legs folded neatly, her eyes flicking between the tea, the papers he had laid out, and the subtle movement of his fan.
They were talking quietly; sometimes reading, sometimes gossiping about recent events in the territory, other times discussing minor improvements to the schools and irrigation projects. The conversation was easy and carried the calm of a rare afternoon of peace.
That peace shattered when a white-faced disciple burst through the hall doors, trembling so violently that he could barely keep himself upright.
“Sh-Shizun!” he stammered, voice cracking. “Shen Qingqiu - Peak Lord Shen… has arrived… to speak with the sect leader!”
Su Xiyan’s eyes narrowed, a sharp glint of caution cutting across her freckled face. She set her teacup gently on the low table, the faint clink of porcelain punctuating the sudden tension.
Shen Yuan, still calm, set his own cup down with care, folding his fan slowly across his lap. His expression did not change, but his mind ticked through possibilities with quiet efficiency. Ah, The Scum Villain. Wonderful. Exactly who I wanted to see while we’re busy turning villages literate and well-fed. Perfect timing, truly.
He rose gracefully, the weight of authority in his movements smoothing over the disruption. “Bring him in,” he said, voice even and controlled. “We have tea prepared.”
Su Xiyan leaned slightly forward, silent but alert. Her body language was cautious, protective even, as if sensing the significance of Shen Qingqiu’s arrival. This was going to be… interesting. Let’s see what kind of trouble a perfect little cultivator can stir up while he sips his tea like a respectable old man.
Shen Qingqiu arrived like frost over a naked tree. Silent, slow, and deadly. His presence seemed to suck the warmth from the room, and even the faintest hint of comfort from the tea ceremony evaporated. The sharp lines of his pale face, framed by black hair, carried the chill of autumn wind, cutting through any pretense of ease.
“Old Palace Master,” he said, bowing deeply, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made the disciples in the hall (eavesdropping) straighten instinctively.
Shen Yuan inclined his head slightly, folding his fan neatly across his lap. “Head Disciple Shen,” he replied, voice measured and steady, calm as a still lake, though his mind was already cataloging the potential reasons for this visit. Su Xiyan, sitting nearby, stiffened.
The room was silent, the only sound was the faint rustle of Shen Yuan’s robes as he shifted slightly. Every disciple present in the corridor felt the weight of the moment. Two of Jianghu’s most formidable cultivators, each a master of observation and calculation, facing each other.
Well. Here we go. Let’s see what Shen Qingqiu wants. Hopefully it’s not a lecture on village irrigation or my terrible taste in tea.
He allowed a faint, polite smile to touch his lips, enough to signal respect without weakness. “I trust your journey was… pleasant,” he said, carefully neutral, letting the undercurrent of authority remind everyone in the hall outside who truly commanded attention.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes flicked briefly over the assembled disciples, lingering with a silent judgment before returning to Shen Yuan. No words were needed, the tension alone spoke volumes.
Shen Qingqiu’s voice cut through the quiet of the hall, cold and precise, each word deliberate, carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed. “This land was built upon a rigid hierarchy,” he began, gaze sharp. “Nobles, cultivators, artisans, merchants… and at the bottom, slaves. Slaves were bound to land, to households, to the whims of their masters. Their labor fed the wealth of the powerful, yet they had no agency. They could be punished, sold, or traded at will. Entire families could be broken apart simply because a lord demanded it. This was considered normal, just, and necessary to maintain order.”
Shen Yuan tilted his head slightly. He nodded occasionally, allowing Shen Qingqiu to continue, while internally his brain struggled to catch up.
Wait… slaves? Trading people like goods? Okay, I vaguely remember something about that in history class, but this is… much more brutal. Did they have slavery in PIDW? Why is he just listening about this now?
Shen Qingqiu’s gaze swept the room, piercing, almost cold enough to cut through stone. “The social structure ensured efficiency for the powerful, yes, but at the cost of the majority. Labor was not valued, intelligence was suppressed, and potential wasted. Even a capable cultivator could see the injustice, but the system preserved itself through fear, tradition, and law. This is the danger of ignoring the people beneath you: the stronger the hierarchy, the greater the suffering of those at the bottom.”
Shen Yuan allowed himself a faint, polite nod, a perfect picture of the Old Palace Master, but internally, he was frowning. So… Shen Qingqiu is giving me a lecture on human exploitation and social hierarchy. Right now. During my tea. Wonderful. Nothing like a brutal history lesson to make me question whether teaching villagers to read and grow rice is revolutionary or just… mildly subversive.
Su Xiyan sat tensely beside him, her teacup forgotten on the table, listening with a mix of fascination and apprehension.
Shen Yuan remained silent, letting the lecture run its course. He sighed and nodded, and let Shen Qingqiu’s lecture settle in the room. He maintained the calm, measured demeanor expected of a respected sect leader. His eyes were attentive, voice even, posture composed.
“Peak Lord Shen,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “your points about hierarchy and labor are… noted. The injustices of slavery are clear, and few would dispute that such a system causes suffering among the people who have no voice.” Clear? Oh, it’s more than clear. It’s horrific. Forced labor, sold families, no agency, beatings, starvation if the master feels like it; basically a medieval nightmare with extra steps. Absolutely fucked up. I mean, who in their right mind thought this was acceptable?
He folded his fan neatly, resting his hands atop it. “In this master´s perspective, treating humans as property is not only morally reprehensible, it is strategically disastrous. Talent is wasted, morale is destroyed, and innovation is stifled. A society cannot thrive if the majority is oppressed and helpless.”
Let’s be real, slavery is terrible. Horrible. Like, make-a-modern-19-year-old-teen-shout-at-the-page terrible. And somehow people considered this ‘normal.’ What the hell, ancient China?
He allowed a pause, letting the disciples and Shen Qingqiu absorb the words. “If we truly value stability and prosperity,” he continued, calm and authoritative, “we must design systems that empower rather than subjugate. Reward labor, educate the populace, and provide opportunity to those who would otherwise be trapped at the bottom. That is how a territory or a civilization endures.”
Sarcastic aside: Translation: slavery = bad. Treat people like humans, maybe they’ll grow rice better. Revolutionary, I know. Also, don’t get any ideas about burning me at the stake for saying this, Peak Lord Shen.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp but polite. “If fear, tradition, and law alone maintain order, then the system is brittle. True stability comes from consent, capability, and knowledge, things that the enslaved were denied.”
And that, my friends, is why I’m building schools, irrigation systems, and teaching mortals to think. Maybe eventually we’ll abolish centuries of pointless suffering. Maybe… He could make a difference in the plot. Maybe all that suffering could be forgotten. Maybe Binghe would be happy.
Shen Qingqiu clicked his tongue, a sharp, crisp sound that made even the disciples flinch. He was Head Disciple of the Qing Jin, someone whose skill and authority were renowned, and yet here was a thirty-something intruder slipping past his guards, his bureaucratic minions, and all the careful arrangements of Huan Hua territory. How the hell did this man even get here? he thought, icy fury rising in his chest.
He strode forward, each step measured, exuding authority that made the air itself feel colder. The door slammed shut behind him, and with a flick of his hand, a talisman sealed it with a soft muffled hum. No one could enter, no one could leave, and the room was suddenly isolated in an invisible bubble of containment. And then, he sat down in the lowered table. Back straight and eyes sharp.
Shen Qingqiu’s pale face remained unreadable, but his voice was sharp as he asked, “What do you plan to do with… the slaves? Since now you are such a good person and are close to the heavens.”
For a fraction of a second, Shen Yuan grimaced. He hadn’t even realized that was a thing in this world. Not a clue. This was the first time someone said a thing about this.
But the first thing that came to his mind was, frankly, horrifyingly logical in a modern, angry-teen sense: “We will burn the slave traders.” Yeah, that’s probably not what the history books would consider diplomatic. But come on! Fuck that! If you sell people like cattle, you’re toast. “It is not acceptable for humans to be treated as property,” he continued, words carefully chosen, almost ceremonious. “Those who profit from the suffering of others will face justice. Absolute justice.”
Okay, okay, maybe not literal fireballs, but the sentiment is correct. I mean… Am I wrong?
Su Xiyan’s eyes widened slightly beside him, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. She was used to observing Shen Yuan’s calm surface, but even she felt the weight behind his words.
Shen Qingqiu’s laugh echoed softly through the sealed hall, low and sharp, like ice cracking underfoot. He picked up Shen Yuan’s teacup with a casual air and drank, ignoring the protests of the disciples who had never seen such disrespect.
“You don’t even know -” he began, voice cold but almost playful, before cutting himself off. His pale eyes flicked toward Shen Yuan. “Cang Qiong will stand behind you if you do that.”
Shen Yuan exhaled slowly, placing his own fan neatly on the table. His expression was composed, even indulgent. “You are not Head Disciple of Qiong Ding,” he said evenly, measured. “And your concern is noted, but misplaced.”
Wow. Drinking my tea while threatening subtle political consequences. Classic move. Chill, Shen Yuan, maintain the calm. You are a respected seventy-year-old sect leader, you can face this kid.
Shen Qingqiu snorted, leaning back slightly, eyes sharp as ever. “That useless Yue Qingyuan soon will be the Sect Leader,” he said, tone dripping with disdain, “and he agrees with me.”
Shen Yuan’s lips twitched faintly, the hint of a smile barely visible. Outwardly, he remained serene. “Is that so?” he replied calmly. “Interesting. This master´ll keep that in mind. Yet he suspects the world is rarely so simple. And what happens if the so-called ‘agreement’ turns out to be… less than absolute?”
Useless Yue Qingyuan, huh? Guess that makes me the annoying teenager with opinions. Perfect. Let’s see how this plays out without letting anyone explode.
Shen Qingqiu’s gaze flicked to Su Xiyan, then back to Shen Yuan, the tension in the room thick enough to slice. His voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet tension like a blade. “Why now?” he asked, pale eyes locked on Shen Yuan. “Why did you decide to make your moves now?”
Okay, spin this. Don’t panic. Keep the Old Palace Master face on. And don’t laugh at how absurd this is. Easy.
“Head Disciple Shen,” he began, voice measured, polite, carefully curated, “This master had little choice before. Sect Leader Kaideng… is too strict to act against. His oversight would have crushed any initiative, no matter how well-intentioned.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes calm, and continued. “This master was unsure how his actions would be perceived. The Qing generation is… promising. Their talents and loyalty give me confidence in guiding this territory forward.” Lie. Big, fat lie. I like some of them, sure, but mostly I just arrived at the scene.
“And…” Shen Yuan’s voice softened slightly, his expression thoughtful, dignified. “This master received a divine vision of the heavens, showing him the path to improvement and the necessity of change.” Lie. Absolutely, one-hundred-percent made-up vision. Heaven didn’t text me. But it sounds good, right? Adds gravitas. Nod solemnly, Old Palace Master, nod solemnly. Finally, he leaned forward, voice calm but genuine. “And… This master truly desires to see the Jianghu improve. To feed the people, educate them, and create lasting stability.” That is the part that is true. At least I can be honest about something. Yes, Shen Yuan, that part is real. The rest? Creative fiction. Convincing fiction. Hopefully Shen Qingqiu buys it.
Shen Qingqiu’s pale eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressed into a thin line, studying him. The hall was silent except for the faint rustle of Shen Yuan’s robes and the breaths of the people present.
After a few moments of tense silence, as if even the walls were holding their breath. Shen Qingqiu’s pale eyes, sharp and calculating, softened just slightly. He let out a slow, almost reluctant sigh, the sound drifting like ash on the wind.
“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” he murmured, his voice low, barely more than a whisper, yet carrying the weight of unspoken judgment.
Well, that’s… unexpected. A little approval buried under layers of frost. Nice. Take it and run, Old Palace Master.
Su Xiyan, sitting beside him, noticed the faint shift in Shen Qingqiu’s posture. She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing, sensing the almost imperceptible easing of the storm that had been brewing in the room.
Shen Yuan allowed a small, polite smile to grace his lips. “Head Disciple Shen,” he said softly, voice with power, “better late than never. The work is ongoing, and the path forward is clear.” Yes, yes, very poetic. Also, I am literally changing the lives of every mortal in Huan Hua. Bow if you must, Qingqiu. Bow if you must.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes flicked over him once more, unreadable, and then he leaned back slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing, if only a fraction. The room seemed to breathe again, though the cold edge in the air never fully vanished.
And just like he had arrived, Shen Qingqiu nodded once, sharp and fleeting, and left. His movements were so precise, so almost unreal, that it was as if he had been nothing more than an illusion. On the desk, a single letter remained, neatly placed as if to remind them of his visit, and then he was gone, supposedly returning home.
Su Xiyan’s voice broke the quiet, hesitant at first. “Shizun…” She paused, frowning, her fingers lingering over the edge of the desk.
Shen Yuan leaned back slightly, fan resting across his lap, eyes softening as he regarded her. “Sometimes,” he said gently, “this old man thinks you only know one world, Xiyan.”
The girl huffed, cheeks coloring slightly with irritation or frustration, perhaps both. “Cang Qiong agrees with you,” she said, voice quiet but firm.
“Oh.” Shen Yuan exhaled slowly, letting the sound linger. “I doubt they do,” he said lightly, a faint laugh escaping him. “But this master is building reputation… and wealth. And that is what matters in the end.”
Su Xiyan tilted her head, brows knitting together. “I don’t know… Shen Qianbei looked troubled.”
Shen Yuan’s smile was calm, indulgent, but his inner commentary betrayed a hint of amusement. Troubled, of course. People are never comfortable when someone’s actually trying to fix things instead of just maintaining the status quo. Classic.
He tapped his fan lightly against his knee. “Let him be troubled, Xiyan. Sometimes concern is the first step toward understanding. The important thing is that the work continues, and the people benefit. Everything else… is just noise.”
And the letter? Probably bureaucratic warnings or veiled threats. Fun. I’ll read it later. For now, tea, schools, and mortals figuring out how to lift buckets without dying.