The first lesson had ended.
When Lin Tuo turned back into the academy and shut the gates behind him, the vast sea of students sprawled across the mountain finally pulled themselves out of their immersion—though only briefly.
No one dared waste time.
There were six hours left before the second lecture. Not too long, not too short. But once sleep was factored in, there was little else to spare.
They had to seize every moment.
Court scribes, forcing themselves awake, began sorting through stacks of papers filled with frantic notes. Each bundle was packed into chests and escorted down the mountain under guard.
Even the young king, exhausted from hours of intense study, finally left to rest. Only when he departed did the elderly ministers, their own strength long spent, allow themselves a collective sigh of relief.
"Rustle, rustle."
On Nanshan, students rose in waves, clutching their notes as they headed toward the county town or to the makeshift camps prepared in advance. The scene was grand, like a vast tide rolling down the slopes.
Some of the younger scholars, too tired to walk, simply lay where they were—sprawled across the mountainside or slumped over desks, drifting into heavy sleep.
Others, having just rotated in for the lecture, gathered in small groups, clutching fresh transcripts, excitedly debating the strange new knowledge they had just received.
That night, in Tao County, no one truly slept.
Meanwhile, Lin Tuo threw himself onto the bed inside the academy, feigning sleep—when in truth, he had switched his consciousness back to his real body.
Lishan Martial Hall.
"Glug, glug, glug."
He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge, downed it in one go, then wiped his mouth and laughed bitterly as he pressed at his throat.
"How come I didn't feel it while lecturing, but now my throat feels like sandpaper?"
Shaking his head, he stretched, checked his phone, and sighed.
The 1:1 time ratio meant the Sand Table's hours lined up with reality, but even so, it was already past midnight outside.
With no late-night food delivery options in the small town, he boiled some water, made instant noodles, and ate as he sat at his desk, drafting materials for the second lesson.
Yes—this would require careful preparation.
The next day, at noon.
Cloudy skies, with a soft breeze.
When Lin Tuo once again switched his consciousness into his avatar and rose from bed, he immediately heard the low hum of countless voices outside.
Creak. He pushed the door open and stepped out of the courtyard. As expected, the crowd on Nanshan had grown even larger overnight.
No doubt many more had arrived during the short six-hour break.
Fortunately, each lecture lasted long enough that students could rotate in and out—otherwise, Lin Tuo suspected many wouldn't even get the chance to sit down.
He straightened his robes, picked up a stick of chalk, and the murmuring voices instantly fell silent, ebbing away like a receding tide.
A breeze stirred the bamboo. Clouds shifted overhead.
"Master Lin, what will you teach today? You won't continue with science?" The young king, seated at the very front, raised his hand. His eyes glimmered with anticipation.
"For the second lecture, we will not discuss scientific theory," Lin Tuo replied calmly. "Today, we will speak of science's creations."
He gave a subtle nod, then turned to the massive blackboard. With deliberate strokes, he sketched a simple mind map:
Agriculture, Industry, Commerce, Education, Medicine…
He circled "Industry," drew a branch, and wrote: Steam Engine, Coal, Steel, Iron.
Turning back, he smiled.
"I told you—the second lecture will be broader, richer, more complex. Its core is something I call the Industrial Revolution."
He paused. "But before we discuss industry, we must first discuss agriculture. To be specific, our first question today is this: How can we increase grain yields?"
The audience blinked, stunned. Many had not expected such a practical subject.
If the first lecture on "science" had seemed lofty, almost abstract, this second one was firmly grounded in the soil beneath their feet.
The king and his ministers leaned forward. Their eyes gleamed, ears sharp. They instantly understood: today's lesson was true statecraft.
As promised, the second lecture sprawled across countless topics.
If the first had been about flinging open the gates of scientific thought, then the second was about handing them the tools to change their world.
Lin Tuo had combed through records of Earth's First Industrial Revolution, compared them against what he had observed of Chiguo's society, and prepared a carefully tailored curriculum.
He transplanted proven methods—agriculture, commerce, manufacturing—while adjusting them to local conditions, and deliberately restricted himself to entry-level technologies.
New farming tools. Fertilizer. Large-scale cultivation models. Improved steelmaking. Movable type printing.
Each was within reach of the current era.
And among them, agriculture came first. He knew well—without an agricultural transformation, there could be no industrial transformation.
Fortunately, since the Sand Table mirrored Earth's reality, many of its plants and animals were near-identical. This made "technology transfer" feasible.
As he spoke, the students' gazes shifted again.
The officials, in particular, trembled with excitement. They saw it more clearly than anyone: this was the power to reshape heaven and earth.
The young king whispered to himself: "The power to change the world…"
The lesson continued.
And continued.
Day turned to night, and under the radiance of his "divine light," the teaching did not cease.
One day passed. Then another.
Still, "Saint Lin" spoke without pause.
Students came and went in shifts. The ministers nearly collapsed. Yet Lin Tuo, sustained by his enhanced physique and fueled by coffee in the real world, pushed through without rest.
Finally, at dawn on the third day, he set down his chalk. The blackboard was covered, erased, and covered again countless times.
The students were wrecked, slumped over desks or carried away. Yet their eyes shone with awe and reverence.
Three days, two nights. No meals. No water. No notes. Only flawless recall.
In their eyes, Lin Tuo was no longer a teacher. He was a god.
He dusted off his hands, looked across the exhausted masses, and said lightly:
"That concludes the second lecture. If any record is incomplete, you may ask me about it later."
He paused, then added:
"Six hours from now, I will hold the third lecture—also the final lecture. Don't worry—it will be shorter. One or two hours at most, followed by time for questions."
Suppressing a yawn, he turned, returned to the academy, and let his consciousness slip back to his real body—where he collapsed into bed, fast asleep.
On the mountain, tens of thousands of students looked at each other in disbelief.
"The final lecture? Already?"
But surprise soon turned to anticipation.
After these two lessons, anyone who remained had already been conquered by him completely.
Their hearts burned with curiosity for what this "last lecture" would reveal.
Days of teaching passed. Fewer travelers arrived from afar, but none who had come were willing to leave.
The moment word spread that only one lesson remained, people flocked in droves.
So when Lin Tuo, rested and refreshed, opened the gates six hours later, he froze.
The mountainside was packed—so full that many had no seats and stood shoulder to shoulder.
Rough estimate: more than the last two lectures combined.
If he had switched back to his real body at that moment, he would have seen Tao County itself—empty.
An entire city abandoned.
This was what it meant for the streets to be deserted.
"What in the world…" Lin Tuo almost blurted aloud. But mindful of his role as "saint," he forced himself calm.
He walked down to the wall, thousands of eyes upon him.
"Master Lin, what will you teach today?" the young king asked reverently.
Lin Tuo inhaled, broke a piece of chalk in his fingers, and let it fall. He smiled faintly.
"Today is the final lecture. So I wish to speak of something light, not difficult—something entertaining, yet of utmost importance."
The king leaned forward. "And what is that?"
At that moment, all of Nanshan heard his words:
"Today, I shall speak of Chiguo's next three hundred years."
A hush.
Then—an uproar. The mountain shook with thunderous cries.
(End of Chapter)