Zhou Ming went straight to the study, found a bound blank book, ground the ink, and sat at the desk to start writing.

On the cover of the blank book, he picked up his brush and wrote three large characters: Dushi Sutra.

This was the name he had decided upon after thinking about it the entire way back.

Although he did not know the true name of the scripture in his mind, judging by its nature—'when the Cultivator dies, all their cultivation returns to the one who passed on the scripture'—it was definitely not something proper.

To make others read it obediently, he had to wrap it in a layer of golden, gleaming packaging.

The two characters "Saving the World" sounded exactly like the Buddhist style of being compassionate and delivering all living beings from torment.

It was high-end, classy, and sophisticated; anyone who heard it would immediately lower their guard.

After finishing the cover, Zhou Ming turned to the first page and solemnly wrote eight more characters: "Read the book a hundred times, and the divine technique will naturally reveal itself."

This served as a reminder to the reader that the scripture must be read one hundred times to Cultivate magical power.

As for whether they believed it or not, that was beyond Zhou Ming's control.

Next, Zhou Ming copied the three-thousand-word scripture from his mind onto the pages, word by word.

When he reached the end, he pondered for a moment, then picked up his brush and added a sentence:

"Those who master the divine technique must pass it on to one hundred people, otherwise they will surely suffer the retribution of Karma."

This was pure nonsense. He didn't know if someone who successfully Cultivated would voluntarily pass on the scripture, but based on the principle of 'might as well take a shot regardless of the odds', writing it was better than not writing it.

If someone actually succeeded and, upon seeing this, was truly scared into spreading the scripture everywhere, wouldn't he just be earning gains while lying down?

After copying one book, Zhou Ming copied a second.

The study was very quiet. The other servants were either playing chess or hiding in small cubicles gambling to pass the time, so no one came to disturb him.

For the entire morning, Zhou Ming hunched over the desk, copied three books in one go, and tucked them into his robe.

At noon, Zhou Ming followed the crowd to wait in front of the gate of the main residence's backyard.

Empress Su Mingyue would return after finishing her lunch and would spend most of the afternoon in her own courtyard.

Sure enough, less than an hour later, the Young Miss came out surrounded by maidservants and matrons, walking straight toward Begonia Court without casting a glance to the side.

Zhou Ming and the others also returned to the outer courtyard.

The steward of Begonia Court gathered the servants together to assign the afternoon's tasks.

Zhou Ming was assigned to go out for procurement with the head maid, Dongmei.

This Dongmei was no ordinary maid.

She was one of the four most capable personal maids by Empress Su Mingyue's side.

Not only was she intelligent and efficient in her work, but her martial arts skills were also quite formidable.

Zhou Ming had seen with his own eyes her face off against a dozen ruffians all by herself.

Not only did she floor them all, but she didn't even break a sweat.

Going out with such a formidable character made Zhou Ming feel quite at ease.

Upon stepping out of the Marquis's residence gate, the bustling and lively atmosphere of the street rushed toward him.

This was the first time since his Transmigration that Zhou Ming had truly seen what this world looked like.

Yuyang Commandery was an important city in Youzhou, located at the intersection of four north-south and east-west trade routes. In the city alone, there were six main streets running east to west, and countless alleys running north to south.

The area where the Marquis's residence was located was a gathering place for the mansions of nobles and wealthy merchants. The roads were paved with smooth bluestone slabs, and rows of locust trees were planted on both sides. Compared to the merchant-crowded Yu'an Avenue in the north of the city, it was quite a bit quieter.

But once you turned onto Yu'an Avenue, it was an entirely different scene.

The street was wide enough for eight horses to walk side by side. Shops lined both sides—restaurants, cloth stores, banks, pharmacies, and bookstores—one after another, stretching as far as the eye could see.

The colorful banners hanging at the shop entrances fluttered in the wind—red, blue, yellow—embroidered with the names of the shops, as if competing to attract passersby.

The air was filled with the fragrance of white flour from opened steamers, the herbal scent drifting from pharmacies, the jasmine fragrance spilling out from teahouses, and the enticing, crispy aroma from the fried cake stall at the street corner.

The crowd surged, shoulder to shoulder.

Zhou Ming followed behind Dongmei, his eyes barely able to take it all in.

In his previous life, he had visited ancient cities and replica streets, but those were lifeless scenery; how could they compare to the vividness before him?

He was watching, mesmerized, when he suddenly heard a few beggars crouching in a corner whispering to each other.

The words "dilapidated temple outside the city" were vaguely mentioned in their conversation.

Zhou Ming's heart skipped a beat; his pace slowed unconsciously as he pricked up his ears to listen carefully.

"It's true, I saw it with my own eyes!" an old beggar with a face full of sores whispered, speaking excitedly to the companions beside him.

"At that dilapidated Mountain God Temple outside the city, at night, there was a masked fat man sitting in front of the Buddha statue, lighting green, ghostly candle flames, teaching a bunch of beggars to recite scriptures."

"Reciting scriptures? A masked fat man teaching beggars to recite scriptures?" A young, one-armed beggar beside him sneered.

"Scabby Zhang, you must be starving out of your mind, spouting nonsense."

"Me, spouting nonsense? I was right there at the base of the broken wall inside the temple, I heard it clearly, and after reciting the scripture, he even gave us steamed buns to eat!"

The old beggar became anxious, his voice rising in pitch. "And that thing he was reciting, it sounded like something from the Dao, but also not quite."

"The Dao is nameless, forcibly named as Profound, Profound of the Profound, the root of all things... Listen to these words; is this something I could make up?"

Another beggar looked serious and leaned in, whispering:

"I've heard it too. For the past two days, Old Cripple and the others have been running to that dilapidated temple every day, acting all mysterious. When asked what they're doing, they won't say. Usually, they're starving like dogs, but these past two days, they haven't been complaining about hunger much."

"Isn't that so?" The old beggar lowered his voice, his eyes filled with a hint of fear.

"I suspect that masked fat man isn't human; he's likely a demon that came out of the mountains."

"When my old man was alive, he said that some demons specifically choose desolate, wild temples to stay in, using demonic arts to bewitch the poor, giving them food and drink first, and then... then they come to harvest their souls."

"Harvest their souls?" The young beggar swallowed hard, the mockery on his face disappearing.

"That's not all." The old beggar lowered his voice even further, and the surrounding beggars huddled their heads together.

"I saw with my own eyes, that demon rubbed his fingers together, and a ball of fire appeared out of thin air! It was green, ghostly, just floating there on his fingertips!"

Hearing this, Zhou Ming almost couldn't keep a straight face.

Good grief, he had spent half a tael of silver on buns, made up excuses, masked his face, and stuffed fabric to look fat. The "expert" image he had worked so hard to create had, in the blink of an eye, been twisted into a soul-harvesting demon.

Once this spread, who would still run to the dilapidated temple to recite scriptures and get buns?

Wouldn't his plan to spread the scripture be ruined?

What was he supposed to do now?

"Zhou Ming, what are you daydreaming about?" Dongmei's voice suddenly sounded from ahead.

Zhou Ming snapped back to reality and saw Dongmei standing a few steps away, hands on her hips, her Phoenix-like eyes slightly narrowed, a look of impatience on her face.

She was about seventeen or eighteen years old, with delicate and pretty features, but there was an inherent sharpness between her brows that made people dare not take her lightly.

"Sister Dongmei," Zhou Ming quickly walked a few steps to catch up, smiling.

"It's just my first time coming out for procurement with you, I was dazzled by everything. Please forgive me."

Dongmei looked him up and down, her expression remaining impassive, and she let out a cold snort: "Hmph... keep up!" She then turned and continued walking forward.

Zhou Ming followed behind, head lowered in thought. He couldn't go to the dilapidated temple for the time being; his understanding of this world was still too shallow.

If he were really caught and mistaken for a demon, even if he didn't die, he would be skinned alive.