…
Once the thought arose, it refused to settle.
Looking to real history for reference, Lin Tuo knew: without outside intervention, a unified dynasty could easily sink into long-term stagnation. Even if dynasties rose and fell, it was often just a matter of new rulers replacing old ones.
Society itself rarely underwent fundamental change.
At best, there might appear a few wise rulers, ushering in a brief period of prosperity lasting several decades—only to fall into decline again. The cycle repeated endlessly.
But if he gave it a gentle push at the right moment, could he accelerate the march of civilization?
"I could try… The problem is how. Given the state of the Chi Empire, bottom-up awakening from the common folk is too difficult. That isn't something outside force can impose.
By contrast, top-down reform has far greater feasibility…"
"So then—how do I bestow knowledge upon the Chi Empire?" Lin Tuo sank deep into thought.
Knowledge wasn't a tangible object. It couldn't simply be "granted." It had to be taught, transmitted, explained. And in that process, it required two-way communication—mere proclamations weren't enough.
In real antiquity, an ordinary person trying to make their voice reach the throne was nearly impossible. Lin Tuo, however, faced no such barrier.
If he wished, he could shout within the Sand Table, and every living being in that world would hear him.
But that wouldn't achieve the effect he wanted.
Such "divine manifestation" would make refined communication impossible—clumsy and awkward at best.
And more importantly, he couldn't be certain of the consequences. Would his words be dismissed as forbidden knowledge, as mystic whispers of gods that the rulers would suppress?
Would the emperor, out of fear, refuse to act?
"No… I need something more approachable. Something that won't strain the limits of their understanding—yet still inspires reverence, compelling them to learn and grow on their own."
As dawn crept into the sky, Lin Tuo gradually formed an idea.
"But first—I should enter the world myself and see it with my own eyes."
Decision made, he summoned the virtual panel, navigated back to the main menu, and entered the Shop.
There, he found a new item that had appeared quietly once humanity was born within the Sand Table:
[Tongue of Babel: 100 points]
Description: A skill that grants rapid mastery of unknown languages.
Clearly, this feature was designed to help him communicate with the people of the Sand Table.
Only until now, he hadn't been able to afford it.
"Buy!"
Clutching his chest with a wince, he uttered the word. A moment later, he felt a hollow ache as his Ether points dropped sharply from 124 to 24.
[Purchase successful.]
Lin Tuo returned to Creation Mode and adjusted the Sand Table's timeflow to 1:1.
At once, the once-racing images froze, as if suspended in stillness.
Now, the Sand Table and reality ran in perfect sync.
Raising his right hand, he hesitated only briefly before lowering his palm over the greatest and most prosperous city of the continent—
The capital of the Chi Empire.
Lin Tuo intended for his clone to descend into this mortal empire, to see firsthand what this world had become.
…
At the same moment, far away in northwest Huaxia, within the Grand Wall that enclosed the former Tak Desert. Dawn was near, but the sky remained dark, stars glittering faintly.
Across the vast continent below, cities and towns were beginning to stir from slumber.
And then—
A vast, invisible hand descended silently from the heavens.
No one noticed.
This was the 561st year since the founding of the Chi Empire.
Just an ordinary night.
On an official road outside the imperial capital, a lone figure appeared out of nowhere. His attire was strange, unlike anything of this world.
…
…
North of the Tak Continent stretched endless mountains, and beyond them to the south, broad plains.
It was here that the Chi Empire had built its ruling city.
It was early spring. The cold was fading, the air warming, and within the capital, peach blossoms were in full bloom, breathtakingly beautiful.
The rising sun crept over the horizon, bathing the waking city in red-golden light.
At the South Gate—
The doors remained shut, but already a long line of travelers had gathered outside, waiting to enter.
"Keep sharp! Today is the Festival of Offerings. If anything happens, none of us will escape blame!"
The gate captain barked from atop the wall. His words struck like hail, snapping the drowsiness out of his soldiers.
"Yes, sir!"
Only after their crisp reply did the officer's stern face soften.
Though he held a commission, here in the imperial capital, he was still a minor official.
Serving under the Son of Heaven was like walking on thin ice—especially as a gate officer, where any mistake could mean disaster.
And today of all days…
He turned his gaze to the swelling dawn outside the walls, squinting to count wagons and carriages by habit.
More than three times the usual number.
No surprise—today was the annual Great Festival of the Gods.
Every spring, at the height of the peach blossoms, the Emperor would lead his court to the Western Gardens to conduct sacred rites. The tradition stretched back centuries, even before the empire's unification.
The festival had been performed countless times since.
The Western Gardens, a royal preserve, opened to commoners only on rare occasions—this festival being the grandest. With no restriction on attendance, it drew not just citizens of the capital, but throngs from faraway towns and provinces.
Some came to witness the ceremony, others simply to revel in the blossoms.
The crush of people made the guards' work daunting. After all, if even a single plotter slipped in…
The consequences would be dire.
It was already the last day of arrivals. Most visitors had come days earlier, and every inn in the city was packed.
The brothel alleys rang with song and dance, all night without pause.
The Peach River teemed with pleasure boats, lanterns glowing along the banks.
For travelers, it was proof of the capital's splendor. But to this captain, a lifelong native, it was nothing but tedious repetition.
The same sights, the same cycle, year after year. What novelty was there?
New courtesans? A new tune? Such "changes" were only surface deep.
As a soldier, he shouldn't indulge in such thoughts, but he couldn't help it.
To him, after five centuries, the Chi Empire's veneer of prosperity only masked its decay.
And it was no wonder. With no external enemies, even the strongest empire must inevitably age.
The present emperor was diligent, yes—a wise ruler by all accounts. Yet what difference could that make?
"This world… never changes," the captain thought bitterly. Just then, the bell tolled behind him.
He sniffed sharply, then shouted:
"Open the gates!"
The massive hinges groaned as the doors swung wide. The waiting crowd urged their carts forward, inch by inch into the city.
"What's in the cart?"
"Stop for inspection."
"Papers? Good, you may pass."
Determined to ensure nothing slipped through, the captain personally oversaw the checks.
"Next!" he barked, wiping sweat from his brow.
And then—before him stood a young man in a long robe, short-haired, his eyes bright, his expression calm and curious.
He had come on foot. His bearing was unlike the others—somehow scholarly, yet also edged with the vigor of a warrior. But he was too refined, too clean-cut to be a soldier.
"You're from Ming Prefecture?" The captain frowned, glancing at the document handed to him.
"Yes," the youth nodded with a smile.
The papers checked out—no photo, of course, but nothing amiss. The captain handed them back, hesitating. Then he asked:
"Your first time in the capital?"
"It is indeed."
"What's your business here?"
Unable to resist his curiosity, the captain pressed further.
The young man—Lin Tuo—met his gaze, lips curling into a faint smile. His answer was strange, almost cryptic:
"I have come… to see the mortal world."
(End of Chapter)