Yuyang Commandery, outside the city, a ruined temple.

"Come, read with me."

"The Dao has no name, yet we force a name upon it: the Profound. Profound of the profound, the root of all things..."

In the ruined temple, a bloated man with his face covered stood before a damaged Buddha statue, shouting at a group of beggars sitting and lying in disarray below.

The beggars below had bright eyes; while reciting the scriptures with the man, they kept their eyes fixed on the basket behind him.

Inside the basket were snowy white steamed buns, emitting an enticing aroma.

"Read it ten more times each today, and I will distribute the buns after you finish."

"Come, let us continue..."

The bloated man was named Zhou Ming, a servant of the Yongning Marquis Mansion in Yuyang Commandery.

Four days ago, Zhou Ming was a university student in the archaeology department, having run to the antique street after seeing videos of others getting rich overnight, hoping to use his professional knowledge to realize his own dream of sudden wealth.

As a result, just after entering the antique street, he was pushed in the rush and fell onto an antique stall.

When he woke up, he had already undergone Transmigration into the body of the Yongning Marquis Mansion servant, Zhou Ming.

The servant Zhou Ming was merely an attendant to the Empress Su Mingyue.

Because he was accompanying the Eldest Miss when a startled horse kicked him in the head, he died on the spot.

This led to Zhou Ming taking over his body.

After Zhou Ming woke up, a scripture of three thousand words appeared in his mind.

He could not understand the meaning of the scripture, but he naturally knew that as long as he taught it to others and they read it a hundred times, they could Cultivate their own magical power.

And after the Cultivator died, he would be able to inherit all of their cultivation, including their magical power and Divine Soul power.

After resting in the mansion for two days, his head hurt less, and Zhou Ming quietly slipped out of the mansion.

After buying some buns and clothes on the street and changing his appearance, he came to this ruined temple.

After reading once, Zhou Ming pushed the basket forward again.

The aroma of the white steamed buns mixed with the damp, musty smell of the temple, making the beggars below unconsciously swallow their saliva.

"Only nine times left." A lame old beggar rubbed his dirty hands, his voice trembling, "Master, will you keep your word?"

Zhou Ming smiled, pulled his face mask up, revealing only a pair of shifty eyes: "Why would I lie to you? Hurry up and read."

"The Dao has no name, yet we force a name upon it: the Profound. Profound of the profound, the root of all things..."

The beggars followed along, their voices uneven; some slurred their words, others dragged out their tones, but Zhou Ming did not care.

He did not need them to read well; he only needed them to read a hundred times.

As long as everyone read it a hundred times, the scripture would circulate within their bodies on its own, like planting a seed that would take root, sprout, and eventually bear the fruit of magical power.

And he was the one who would pick the fruit.

This was the fourth day since Zhou Ming's Transmigration, and the second day he had snuck out of the mansion.

Yesterday, he had bought twenty buns, two old sets of clothes, and a roll of coarse linen on the street, spending less than half a tael of silver in total.

Although the monthly allowance for a servant of the Yongning Marquis Mansion was not much, Zhou Ming had dug it out from the original owner's memory.

The original owner had grown up in the mansion and had saved up over a hundred taels of silver in private money, all hidden in the brick seams under his bed.

A small servant could actually save over a hundred taels, showing the wealth of the mansion, but now this silver belonged to him.

Coming to this ruined temple for the first time yesterday, he had only brought ten buns and tentatively taught five beggars.

Those five were skeptical, but after stumbling through the reading twenty times, they happily took their buns and ran off.

Today, Zhou Ming brought twenty more buns, and there were a few new faces among the beggars.

Including the five from yesterday, there were nine people in the temple at this moment.

While leading the reading, Zhou Ming secretly observed the state of each beggar.

In his mind, the three-thousand-word scripture was as clear as if it were carved into a stone slab.

More wonderfully, he could feel a vague connection, invisible threads extending from the people who were reciting, eventually converging at the center of his forehead.

The threads were very thin and faint, as thin as spider silk, feeling as if they would break with a light touch.

Zhou Ming knew that these "threads" were chains of Karma. Every time the other party read the scripture, the thread would become thicker and more solid.

Once they reached a hundred times, the chain of Karma would completely solidify, and the person would officially enter his sect; from then on, a portion of whatever they Cultivated would be shared with him.

Of course, it was not shared; it was inherited.

The information transmitted by the scripture was very clear: as long as the Cultivator died, he could inherit all of their cultivation, including magical power and Divine Soul power.

Living, they Cultivated for him; dying, they were inherited by him.

This was Zhou Ming's Golden Finger.

But Zhou Ming knew clearly that this Golden Finger sounded fierce, but right now it was worth nothing.

The nine people sitting below were all the lowest beggars in Yuyang Commandery.

Even if they really read it a hundred times and really Cultivated magical power, and recited it every day from now on, it would take forever to accumulate any decent cultivation.

Relying on these sorry lot, he, Zhou Ming, would at best be a low-level Martial Artist in this lifetime.

Unless he could find more people with better Aptitude to read his scripture.

For the next hour, the sound of recitation echoed endlessly in the ruined temple.

It was not until the moon was in the center of the sky that they had barely finished the ten times for today.

Zhou Ming distributed eighteen of the twenty buns, put the remaining ones into his bundle, and said to everyone:

"Tomorrow night, I will still be in this temple. If you want to come, come; if you don't want to, I won't force you."

"I might as well tell you the truth: you have already memorized the scripture. After you go back, read it as much as you can. Once you reach a hundred times, there will be benefits."

Everyone responded, and they began to leave in twos and threes.

The lame old beggar looked back three times with every step he took as he left, wanting to say something but hesitating.

Zhou Ming called him over: "Do you have something to say?"

The lame old beggar rubbed his hands and said hesitantly: "Master, I... I want to ask, after reading it a hundred times, what are the benefits? I'm not greedy for your things, I just... I just want to..."

Zhou Ming was silent for a moment, then reached out and rubbed his thumb and middle finger together.

A tiny flame ignited out of thin air from his fingertips.

The lame old beggar's eyes widened, his mouth opening wide enough to fit a steamed bun.

"After reading it a hundred times, you will also be able to do this."

The lame old beggar knelt down with a thud and began to kowtow: "Great Immortal, spare my life! Great Immortal, spare my life! I will definitely finish reading it a hundred times, definitely finish it!"

Zhou Ming was a bit confused by his kowtowing; what was going on? Was he scared?

Seeing that Zhou Ming did not speak, the lame old beggar stood up abruptly and disappeared into the twilight, stumbling.

His speed was so fast that it didn't look like a lame old man at all.

The few beggars who hadn't left saw this scene and, as if they had seen a ghost, turned and ran.

Zhou Ming blew out the flame on his fingertip; this was actually a little trick he knew before his Transmigration.

It wasn't a Spell, but a magic trick; his fingers were coated with white phosphorus, and it would ignite when rubbed.

It was enough to fool honest people like the old beggar, but if he met someone who knew the ropes, they would see through it at a glance.

But that didn't matter; he wanted these beggars to believe that after reading this scripture, they could also become people like him.

Zhou Ming walked out of the ruined temple, untied his face mask, let out a long breath, and looked up at the sky.

The sky was gray, and a few stars were vaguely emerging.

He suddenly remembered something. In the original owner's shallow memory, there were no Cultivators in this world, but there were Martial Artists.

Zhou Ming had grown up in the Yongning Marquis Mansion, and the mansion had hired tutors for them, the servants born in the household, teaching them literacy and basic martial arts.

But according to the master who taught them martial arts, Martial Artists were divided into six realms: Skin Refining, Flesh Refining, Bone Forging, Tendon Changing, Blood Changing, and Meridian Opening.

Although the Yongning Marquis Mansion was only a Marquis's residence, it was said that the Marquis, Old Marquis Su Yongning, was a Tendon Changing realm Martial Artist.

Of course, in the days he had been working in the mansion, Zhou Ming hadn't had the chance to see it for himself.

But he was not in a hurry. Haste makes waste—this was the first lesson he learned at the antique street in his previous life, and also the last lesson.

Thinking of the antique street, Zhou Ming couldn't help but smile bitterly.

The archaeology major he spent four years learning in his previous life had been useless in the end, but he had Transmigrated after a single fall and even gotten a Golden Finger for free. Wasn't this much more exciting than finding a hidden treasure?