The sun had just risen above the horizon, casting a hazy golden light across the sleepy hills when Yang Xu opened the crooked wooden shutters of his humble main hall. The early morning wind carried the scent of dew-soaked earth and charcoal from the still-burning kilns in the back of the valley.
The chirping of birds outside didn't harmonize with the scene of construction inside the county—it clashed with it.
Yang Xu stood there, arms folded, his expression blank. He wasn't admiring the scenery.
He was watching two of his workers struggle to carry a wheelbarrow… with no wheel.
"Old Zhao," Yang Xu called without turning.
The butler, as dependable as ever, glided in from the shadows with hands folded behind his back.
"Yes, young master?"
"Who made that cart?"
"Ah… that would be Master Liu from the northern shed. He said it was an 'improvement' that didn't need a wheel."
Yang Xu exhaled, muttering under his breath. "He's improving us all back to the Stone Age."
This had become a daily ritual
Yang Xu's slow, sometimes painful awakening to just how advanced ancient people weren't. What they lacked in modern tools, they made up for in sheer confidence and deeply flawed logic.
But it wasn't all bad.
The county, unnamed on any map, unmarked on any official record, had slowly grown. What was once just a small valley where a lone traveler might have paused for water had now become a crude but living settlement.
Dirt roads had been smoothed. Basic timber buildings had risen. A few dozen families had been gathered over the past year and assigned plots. The well near the center no longer had a mossy rope and moldy bucket "it had a crank".
In this world, something as small as a crank handle made you look like the Sage of Heaven.
Yet as much as Yang Xu had achieved, he knew the pace had only just started picking up.
This morning, he was heading to the edge of the valley where a group of teenage boys this self-named "tech apprentices" were trying to complete his most recent invention. Something simple by modern standards. Something potentially revolutionary here.
A brick press.
The roads in the county were muddy death traps. Every time it rained, carts sank, people fell, and livestock cried. Yang Xu wanted cobbled paths at first, but after seeing how long it took to chisel one stone, he nearly cried himself. So bricks were the solution. Uniform, easy to make, scalable.
When he arrived, the boys were already covered in clay and soot, looking proud of their smoking, squeaky contraption.
"You didn't set the mold properly," Yang Xu said within five seconds.
One of the boys blinked. "Master Xu, it works, though!"
He kicked the side of the press. A wobbly rectangular clay block popped out, tilted like it had seen things no brick should ever see.
Yang Xu picked it up, tapped it once, and it crumbled.
"Ah."
"You're still proud?" he asked.
The boy grinned. "Very!"
Yang Xu couldn't help laughing. These weren't craftsmen or engineers. They were just energetic teens, given strange ideas by a strange man from a place no one could understand. Yet here they were, waking up before dawn, smearing their arms with mud, all to make bricks.
It made him… oddly sentimental.
Not that he showed it.
"Redo the mold," he said, walking away. "If the next one crumbles, I'm feeding you to Old Zhao's bedtime stories."
The laughter that erupted behind him told him the threat wasn't taken seriously. It never was. Old Zhao's stories were infamous. They had themes like "how to peel soybeans for three hours without rest" or "the rise and fall of shoe stitching."
---
Back at the hall, Old Zhao was already brewing a pot of herbal tea.
"Any word from the scouts?" Yang Xu asked casually.
"Not yet. The roads are still poor, and many of the villages nearby haven't heard of us. Some think we're bandits. Some think we're ghosts."
Yang Xu sat down with a tired groan. "Bandits would at least get mail."
He sipped the tea and stared at the map he'd drawn over the past few months. An inaccurate scribble to anyone else, but to him, it was a plan. Three rivers, two hills, and a valley marked with Xs and arrows. Roads planned. Warehouses marked.
"Young master," Old Zhao began after a pause, "some of the villagers have raised concerns… again."
"What now?"
"They say you're building things too fast. They're confused why you know so much. A few are starting to say you might be... well, not exactly a demon, but maybe the disciple of one."
Yang Xu smirked. "They think demons care about brick alignment?"
"Superstition runs deep here. Maybe you should slow down a bit? Blend in more."
Yang Xu leaned back in his chair. "Old Zhao."
"Yes?"
"I've already eaten roast rat with them last winter. I've worn their smelly linen. I've even lost a tug-of-war against a ten-year-old to look less suspicious."
Old Zhao nodded solemnly. "That child was very strong."
Yang Xu snorted. "He bit my ankle."
The butler refilled his cup. "Still, it might be good to hold back a little more. At least until the spring inspections pass."
Yang Xu narrowed his eyes. "You think someone will come?"
"They always do. Even hidden counties like ours aren't invisible forever."
That struck a chord.
Even if the place had no official name, no taxes yet collected, no visits from traveling merchants or inspectors, someone, someday, would come poking around. If not for land, then for resources. If not for resources, then for gossip.
He had time, but maybe not forever.
Yang Xu rose and walked to the window, watching his people carry lumber, haul bricks, argue over whether tofu could be cooked with dried fish (answer: please don't).
This world wasn't his, not originally. But it was starting to feel like home.
He wasn't going to let it fall to some greedy noble, some bored official, or some curious general with too much time and too many soldiers.
"No shortcuts," he murmured to himself. "Just clever roads."
---
Later that evening, Yang Xu visited the school hall.
If you could call it that. It was a large hut with low benches, a board covered in chicken-scratch diagrams, and one worn-out brush that had been chewed at the end by someone still unidentified.
He taught here himself. Every few days, he'd gather the children, and anyone curious enough, to talk about ideas.
Tonight's lesson: why water wheels make better flour than five grannies with wooden sticks.
A girl raised her hand. "But my granny says wheels are lazy!"
Yang Xu deadpanned. "Does your granny enjoy back pain?"
"She says it builds character!"
Yang Xu gave up.
Some wars were not meant to be won.
Still, he drew the diagram. Explained how force worked. How rivers could turn gears. How flour could be ground faster, finer, cleaner. Some kids blinked blankly. A few nodded. One boy was drawing something that vaguely resembled a water gun, and Yang Xu made a mental note to talk to him later.
At the end of class, he gave them each a task spot places where water ran fastest in the valley. Practical learning.
And as they left, chattering and muddy, he sat down with a small sigh of satisfaction.
Slow or not, this county was changing.
And he'd be damned if he let anyone mess it up.
(There will be only this update today, so i made it a bit lengthy compared to normal ones, I'm sorry for the issue as I will be out of town today and tomorrow, so I will only be able to update once today and once tomorrow but after that, I'll update 4 chapters per day to make up the loss.... ✌️ Peace)