The Great Ming in the Box-Chapter 60: Leveraging Viral Fame
The series “Daily Life in the Tiny Kingdom” exploded in popularity overnight.
The clip depicting tiny figures in battle became an overnight sensation on TikTok.
It garnered hundreds of thousands of likes and over ten thousand comments.
Li Daoxuan leaned against his crate, scrolling through the comments with amusement.
“The tilt-shift photography here is damn incredible! Holy crap, this captures the Tiny Kingdom vibe perfectly!”
“Incredible props! That Lego brick city wall with little warriors standing atop it is pure comedy gold.”
“Seriously, how much did this scene cost? Building the wall and painting it like Lego must’ve cost tens of thousands?”
“It has to be CGI. Actually constructing a Lego-style wall would be absurdly expensive compared to digital effects.”
“Definitely CGI, but top-tier work. My eyes can’t spot any flaws—this isn’t cheap special effects.”
“Even if the walls are fake, those costumes and weapons—bows, rusty swords, hoes, pitchforks, pot lids—are all physical props. That’s serious money!”
“Right! There must be over a thousand bandit soldiers charging outside the city. Custom outfits for so many extras? Costumes alone would drain a budget!”
“Nah, maybe thirty or forty actors. Rest are digital copies.”
“Bullshit! Every face and outfit is unique. No way that’s digital manipulation!”
“Modern CGI can handle this easily. Think Marvel battle scenes—only the front row is real. Everything else is pixels.”
“I’m crying at those plastic catapults! How’d they even craft those? No way they built functional plastic siege engines!”
“Did actors actually get crushed? Looks terrifyingly real!”
“Don’t be stupid. Who kills extras for a video? It’s computer-generated!”
“Agreed. Just insanely realistic effects.”
“This CGI quality surpasses major films. Who blows a fortune on a one-minute viral clip?”
“Massive investment like this? Bet the creator’s prepping something big.”
“One hit won’t last. Countless TikTok flashes vanish without consistent quality. Fail to deliver? You’re toast.”
Laughter bubbled out of Li Daoxuan as he devoured thousands of such reactions, forgetting even to eat.
Though new to short-form content, he understood: sustained hits would lock in viewership. Then? Live-stream sales. His decent looks would help. Just needed to polish his pitch…
Time to practice before a mirror: “Fam, I’m slashing toy prices! Get your Tiny Kingdom wall bricks now—not ¥999, not ¥99, just ¥9.9 with free shipping…”
Escorting Thirty-Two’s group, Wang Er halted miles from Chengcheng county.
The settlement was now visible in the distance.
Wang Er could advance no further. As a known rebel, even with officials tolerating his pledge to “submit next spring,” appearing openly meant suicide.
“Third Lady, brothers from Gaojia Village—farewell here,” Wang Er clasped his fists. “Recall us at dawn tomorrow for your return escort.”
Thirty-Two reciprocated the gesture. “Our thanks, Brother Wang. Please distribute this silver to your men.”
He offered scattered pieces of silver.
Wang Er chuckled, shaking his head. “We’re hunted. Silver buys nothing now. Your kindness is gift enough.”
Fair point.
Thirty-Two nodded. “Dawn tomorrow, then.”
As they parted, Thirty-Two’s group hastened to the county walls.
Ming Dynasty counties typically held just over thirty constables under a seventh-rank County Magistrate. Garrison troops occupied forts miles away under ninth-rank inspectors like Cheng Xu—keeping civil and martial powers separate.
But Chengcheng’s gates now hosted soldiers.
Two armored men—sweating in cloth armor despite midday glare—scrutinized entrants with hostile intensity.
Thirty-Two’s entourage stood out: a dozen men laden with packs and blades. Soldiers swiftly shut the gates halfway.
“Halt! State your business!”
Thirty-Two raised his voice. “I am Thirty-Two, former aide to Ex-Magistrate Zhang Yaocai. These are my assistants.”
The guards froze at his name—their faces paling.
“T-T-Third Lady? Didn’t you… die… at Gaojia Village?”
Thirty-Two blinked. “Die? Since when?”
Then he recalled the day the Deity helped terrify Inspector Cheng Xu. These guards bore Cheng Xu’s insignia—likely among those who’d witnessed the “haunting.”
Indeed, these two had fled screaming that night, needing days to recover from nightmares.
Seeing Thirty-Two now, their bodies trembled.
Thirty-Two suppressed laughter, feigning sternness. “Accuse me in broad daylight? The ghost dwells not in me, but your guilty minds!”
The guards flinched. Sunlight indeed blazed overhead—unlikely hour for specters.
They squinted at him. “What… are you, Third Lady?”
Thirty-Two frowned, bewildered. “After Bai Shui Wang Er’s uprising, my wife and I fled. Hearing peace restored Chengcheng, we returned. Why? You’ve seen someone resembling me?”
The soldiers exchanged nervous glances. “That night… it must’ve been his ghost. This one… seems like flesh.”
Chapter 60: Leveraging Viral Fame
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