Tang Chen, who had just been flattened, quickly bounced back to life. His resilience was far beyond what a typical soul master should possess no wonder he would one day become an Ultimate Douluo.
Though he'd called the Elephant Armored Sect out for "buying favor with the people," he had no intention of slandering them. When it came to disaster relief, he judged the act not the motives.
What he truly cared about were the displaced refugees caught in the famine. He had come to this region to uphold justice, strike down profiteering merchants, and punish bandits taking advantage of the chaos.
Rather than keeping an eye on the Elephant Armored Sect, he figured he might as well do something useful...
But...
Tang Chen soon found that ever since the disaster relief forces had arrived, there wasn't much for him to do anymore. There were no bandits running wild, no strong preying on the weak. The scorched land no longer looked like a disaster zone—but more like a construction site.
People in blue uniforms were walking around yelling in rough rural accents, recruiting workers. Three copper coins for a day's labor, paid daily, with free food and water on the first day.
Hearing the call, the refugees—whether they were fleeing, begging, or stealing—stopped what they were doing and followed the recruiters to the work site.
They knew it might be a trap. They could be caught and sold into slavery. But even so, they still followed. In desperation, even a starving man would rush into the jaws of death for a full belly.
At first, Tang Chen suspected the blue-clad men of ill intentions and followed the refugees to investigate. But when he reached the site, he found it filled with the strange aroma of hot food.
Under the supervision of soul masters and soldiers, the refugees were given small wooden tokens and could exchange them for meals. The first meal wasn't much—just enough to be half full—but judging by their satisfied expressions, Tang Chen couldn't bring himself to criticize the so-called stinginess of the blue-uniformed workers.
And what surprised him even more came after.
Using the symbols on their tokens, the more than one thousand refugees were quickly divided into ten teams. Each team had instructors who taught them how to work.
That day's task was to reclaim wasteland—a simple job for most of the refugees, who were farmers by trade. But what stunned Tang Chen was how, under the guidance of a dozen supervisors, over a thousand people moved like ants, reclaiming a vast, contiguous stretch of land. When seen from a height, the neatly joined plots formed a striking and harmonious sight.
After a day's labor, the refugees could use their tokens to collect their three copper coins.
Tang Chen did the math: the food they purchased was cheap, meaning they could actually save a bit of money each day.
That was the part he couldn't understand.
In his impression, disaster relief usually meant the government setting up gruel kitchens to hand out porridge. What he was seeing was completely different.
They were not only providing food—they were paying wages. Didn't that drive up the cost of relief?
"You've been watching all day, young man. Seen anything worth noting?" The leader of the blue-uniformed workers came over and clapped Tang Chen on the shoulder. He could tell Tang Chen was a soul master trying to do good, and he had a fondness for righteous youths like him.
"Not really," Tang Chen admitted. "Wouldn't it be cheaper if you just gave them porridge?"
The man in the blue overalls laughed. "That's a normal reaction. We didn't get it either when the Sage first organized us this way. But after hearing enough of his stories, it started to make sense."
"It's like moving money from your left hand to your right. We pay them, and they use that money to buy our food."
"But they still have leftover money, don't they?" Tang Chen asked, puzzled.
"Have you thought about who will benefit from the land they cultivate, the crops they grow, the roads they build, even the towns they help establish?" The man's tone softened—Tang Chen reminded him of his younger self.
Tang Chen blinked, suddenly struck by the realization. "You mean…"
"That's right. The money they save can go toward buying food, houses, even land in the towns they help build. And when you look at it that way, we don't lose a single coin—in fact, we profit."
"This kind of relief not only saves lives, it strengthens the region's prosperity. Why wouldn't we do it? And most importantly…" At this point, the man paused, lost in thought.
"What's the most important part?" Tang Chen asked, snapping him out of his reverie.
"The most important thing is that it gives these people dignity. They earn their food with their own hands. They can eat with peace of mind—not like beggars waiting for handouts. The Sage said, 'Labor creates wealth.' I believe that."
Tang Chen was deeply moved. He had been traveling for nearly a year, practicing righteousness along the way, yet not once had he seen something this profound. An old farmer had understood what he hadn't.
"You must come from a prestigious clan, right, kid? You're literate, aren't you?" The blue-uniformed man patted him again. "If you really want to help, go over to the administrative hall and take on a position. Even a temporary one managing a thousand people is better than standing around watching."
As the man turned to leave, Tang Chen quickly called out, "Uncle, all this you said—did the Sage really teach you all of it?"
"That's right. If I hadn't been recruited into the Sage's farming estate back then, I'd probably be no different from those poor folks now."
Tang Chen was even more shocked. If these words had come from a scholar, he wouldn't have thought twice. But coming so clearly from a former farmer—it hit hard.
What was most astonishing was that the man spoke so casually, not realizing that this very casualness made it all the more extraordinary.
In the end, Tang Chen went to the administrative hall. He personally led over a thousand people to farm, build roads, erect city walls, and construct homes…
Months of hard labor darkened his skin and hardened his hands with new calluses, different from the ones left by wielding a hammer. His once-neat outfit was replaced by the same blue work uniform.
But when he finally stood atop the stone wall he helped build—brick by brick, bucket by bucket—and looked out over the wide, straight roads and the endless farmland stretching to the horizon, he felt it had all been worth it.
After stepping down from his temporary position, he made a firm decision:
He would go to Heaven Dou City and meet the Sage who had made this miracle happen.
Yes, to everyone, this was a miracle. Ever since the disaster relief troops had arrived, the region had stabilized. There were barely any deaths from starvation. No epidemics broke out. And most unbelievably, three months later when the famine passed the lands north of Jialing Pass were even more prosperous than before.
There was nothing more deserving of the word miracle than this.