Tan Ruyi, half-submerged in the coarse mesh netting strung between two willow posts, blinked slowly. The warmth of the morning sun still caressed her cheek, but the dreamy hum of impending slumber had evaporated into a sudden, icy gust. The visitor's gaze, sharp as a blacksmith’s file, cut through the yard, bypassing Qiao Meilin and landing squarely on the red silk-wrapped seal clutched in Meilin’s fingers. Meilin, ever the opportunist, took a shaky step forward. “Esteemed cadre, I am Second-in-Command Qiao Meilin! The Head, Tan Ruyi, is… indisposed. I assure you, I am fully prepared to—” “Indisposed?” His eyebrows, as stiff and dark as freshly laid tarmac, arched. His eyes found the rope cot, swaying ever so gently in the breeze. Ruyi froze, caught in the act of not working. She considered pretending to be a discarded sack of grain, but the vibrant red of her tunic was too conspicuous. She sighed, a tiny puff of resignation. This was why ambition was a scam. It just led to more work. With a sluggish roll, Ruyi swung her calves over the woven cords, thudding into the dirt. Her bare feet met the dusty ground. “I am Tan Ruyi, Head of the New Progress Initiative,” she said, her voice raspy from sleep, but laced with an unearned gravitas. “And I regret to inform you, Comrade Jia, that our master schematic is currently… undergoing an essential assessment.” Jia’s stare remained flat. “An assessment? In a rope sling?” “Precisely,” Ruyi replied, straightening her tunic. “Deep thought requires deep relaxation. My methods are… unconventional, but effective. However,” she pushed off the ground, standing upright, “for the sake of expedience, I shall retrieve the document forthwith. Deputy Head Qiao Meilin, if you would be so kind as to… manage the crowd’s enthusiasm during my brief absence?” Meilin parted her lips in disbelief. The crowd, a mix of curious villagers and anxious commune members, was hardly enthusiastic. They were just staring. Ruyi, seizing the moment, spun on her heel and glided towards the dilapidated mansion that served as the headquarters. Its grand, crumbling façade hinted at a forgotten past, a place where paperwork went to die. “Wait!” Meilin shrieked, snapping out of her stupor. “The archives are a mess! You’ll never find anything!” Ruyi merely waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder. “Nonsense, Assistant Qiao. Order is merely chaos waiting for a guiding hand. Or, in this case, a guiding nap.” She slipped inside, the heavy oak door creaking shut behind her, plunging the corridor into a gloom that smelled of mildew and forgotten ambitions. Inside, the mansion was a labyrinth of dim corridors and disused rooms. Ruyi knew it mostly as a source of good napping spots. The “archives” were less a system and more a series of precarious stacks of yellowed scrolls, ledger books, and half-eaten rat nests. Dust motes danced in the sparse beams of light filtering through grimy windows. She certainly had no schematic. Her plan, if it could be called that, was to find a quiet corner, curl up, and hope Inspector Jia got bored and left. She pushed open a heavy, unlatched door, revealing a room crammed with forgotten furniture and more towering stacks of paper. Just as she spotted a particularly inviting looking armchair under a dusty sheet, the door slammed shut behind her with a sickening thud. The latch clicked loudly. A moment later, the distinct, malicious giggle of Qiao Meilin echoed from the other side. “Enjoy your essential assessment, Head Tan!” Meilin’s voice, though muffled, was triumphant. “Perhaps by the time you escape, the provincial visitor will have promoted *me*!” Ruyi cursed. Of course. Meilin would do anything to get ahead. Trapped. In the pitch black, the armchair no longer seemed inviting. She fumbled for the door handle, rattling it uselessly. It was bolted from the outside. Panic, a rare and unpleasant sensation for Ruyi, began to prickle. Not out of dread for Jia's wrath, but because this meant *effort*. She hated effort. Suddenly, a tremor ran through the stone walls. A low rumble, growing in intensity, vibrated through the floorboards. Ruyi instinctively ducked, shielding her head. The rumble climaxed in a deafening CRACK, followed by a shower of plaster and dust. A gaping hole, jagged and raw, appeared in the masonry opposite her. Through the swirling dust, a broad, familiar silhouette emerged. “Ruyi! My sleeping dragon!” Liang Bo’s voice, a joyous bellow, filled the room. He stood, chest heaving, a massive chunk of masonry clutched in one hand. “I heard Qiao lock you in! Don’t worry, my love, your Bo is here!” Ruyi stared at the hole, then at her husband’s earnest, sweat-streaked face. “You… you broke through the wall?” “It was the fastest route!” Liang Bo beamed, dropping the chunk of rubble. He peered into the darkness beyond the newly formed breach. “What’s in here? Feels like a draft.” He stepped through, Ruyi close behind him. His foot hit something hollow. A cascade of loose earth gave way, and they tumbled down a short, dusty incline, landing softly on what felt like a packed earth floor. A faint, ethereal light filtered in from a crack high above. As their eyes adjusted, Ruyi gasped. They were in a cellar, vast and cool, unlike anything she’d ever seen in Shibao. But it wasn’t the cellar itself that captured her attention. It was the stacks. Hundreds, no, thousands, of fired pavers. Not the crumbly, porous rectangles of the commune’s current batch, but smooth, immaculately formed blocks of deep crimson clay, each bearing an intricate dragon stamp. They looked fresh from a imperial kiln, yet the scent of ancient subterranean earth clung to them. True imperial relics, preserved intact. “My love,” Liang Bo whispered, awe in his voice, “these are magnificent! Stronger than anything we make!” Ruyi’s mind, usually dedicated to avoiding work, snapped into high gear. She picked up a slab. It felt cool, dense, almost silken to the touch. The visitor demanded ceramic blocks. Well, she had them in spades. And she hadn’t even lifted a finger to make them. “Bo,” she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Help me carry these. We have an inspection to pass.” Moments later, a procession of villagers watched in stunned silence as Liang Bo, Ding Dongqiang (who had joined in the rescue mission with the enthusiasm of a puppy), and even a few bewildered commune members emerged from the manor, not with drafting paper, but with armfuls of antique, flawlessly molded terracotta blocks. Ruyi, walking serenely ahead, carried a single red block like a ceremonial tribute. She approached Inspector Jia, who still stood stiffly, observing Meilin’s increasingly frantic attempts to explain Ruyi’s ‘incompetence’. Meilin spluttered to a halt as she saw the cargo. “Comrade Jia,” Ruyi announced, offering the rectangular slab. “I apologize for the delay. My private consultation was fruitful. You asked for tangible progress. Here is our initial batch, straight from our hidden reserve.” Inspector Jia took the clay slab, his fingers tracing its level face. His stern expression slowly transformed into one of utter astonishment. He tapped it, listened to the clear, ringing sound. He brought it closer, examining the faint dragon seal. His mouth opened slightly. “This… this is exquisite! The structural integrity, the uniformity, the firing! This is beyond anything I’ve seen from a new initiative! How… how did you achieve such immaculate craft?” Ruyi smiled, a tiny, enigmatic curve of her lips. “Through deep thought, Inspector. And, of course, the glorious labor of the Shibao comrades. Our methods are revolutionary.” Inspector Jia, eyes fixed on the dragon mark, ran his palm over another unit. “Revolutionary indeed! This is an unprecedented success! Such quality demands greater ambition! I am doubling your quota, Head Tan! You will now produce 10,000 masonry blocks by month’s end! And when you succeed, you will personally travel to the capital to deliver a speech on your innovative methods!”

The Blueprint Bluff