I was born into a fallen noble family in a fictional dynasty, and voluntarily chose the poorest fief. The court burst into laughter. "Even the rats there are so hungry they gnaw on rocks!"
I unfolded the map. The coal, iron, and natural salt mines were all clearly marked. The refugees watched in alarm as molten iron flowed past. I grinned and asked, "Who wants to learn how to make steel?"
The old craftsman denounced the waterwheel as sorcery, until it irrigated a thousand acres of drought-stricken fields. At the first harvest feast, everyone cheered and called me a divine envoy. I walked alone through the brightly lit brick kiln, thinking, "It's time to build a school for the children."
In the court hall, the gold-lacquered dragon pillars gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows
