Zhou Ming followed behind Dongmei, weaving through the crowds on Yu'an Main Street.

Dongmei was very efficient; she first rushed to the fabric shop to pick out ten bolts of high-quality Lake Silk, instructing the merchant to deliver them to Begonia Court in the Marquis's Mansion.

She then went to the cosmetic shop to restock a few boxes of the jasmine scented balm that Empress Su Mingyue was accustomed to using, followed by a detour to the pharmacy to get some medicinal herbs for nourishing Qi and blood.

Finally, she stopped in front of a dry goods store, haggled for a bit, and settled on a bag of bird's nest and two catties of white fungus.

This entire shopping trip took up a good half of the afternoon.

Zhou Ming followed behind, the items in his hands growing more numerous—bamboo baskets, paper parcels, and cloth bags piled up so high they almost blocked his vision.

As he kept track of the route in his mind, he didn't forget to ponder the matter of spreading the Dushi Sutra at the dilapidated temple; with the beggars spreading the word like this, that place was likely off-limits now, so he would have to find another way to spread the Dushi Sutra.

By the time Dongmei finished buying the last item, the horizon was already glowing with sunset clouds.

She led Zhou Ming to rest at a roadside tea stall, ordered two bowls of herbal tea, drank one herself, and pushed the other toward Zhou Ming.

This caught Zhou Ming a bit off guard, and he took it and gulped it down until it was completely empty.

This earned him a roll of the eyes from Dongmei, who exclaimed that Zhou Ming was like a cow chewing on peonies, having no appreciation for fine tea.

Zhou Ming secretly grumbled to himself, wondering what kind of good tea could be found at a tea stall like this? Being able to quench his thirst was already good enough.

After resting enough, the two started to head back, and by the time they returned to the outer courtyard of the Marquis's Mansion, it had turned completely dark.

From afar, one could see the lights of Begonia Court shining brightly, with maidservants moving back and forth in twos and threes tidying up, and the faint sounds of pots and pans being finished up in the Kitchen could be heard.

Empress Su Mingyue and the others had already finished dinner, and the courtyard had finally quieted down.

Zhou Ming handed over the purchased items to the storeroom one by one, signed the ledger, and was then called over by the steward to eat.

The servants' dinner was served uniformly: two coarse grain buns per person, plus a bowl of bland vegetable soup.

The buns were rock hard, enough to chip a tooth with one bite, and the vegetable soup had a few withered yellow leaves floating in it, with the saltiness so faint it was almost untasteable.

Yet even so, none of the servants sitting around the long table complained, and everyone devoured their food ravenously.

This was only because they were in the Marquis's Mansion.

If it were outside, many people would break their heads trying to get a bite of this every day, and even then, it wouldn't be guaranteed.

Zhou Ming thought to himself while gnawing on his bun.

After the meal, those who were supposed to stand night watch were called out one by one by the steward and led away, while the remaining servants dispersed to return to their rooms and rest.

Zhou Ming didn't have to stand night watch tonight, so he walked toward his living quarters alone.

Along the way, he kept his head down, his mind entirely occupied with how to spread the Dushi Sutra?

This matter was much trickier than he had originally thought.

He needed to let the scripture spread, yet he couldn't let others know that he was the one spreading it.

His predecessor was just a lowly second-class servant in the Marquis's Mansion; if one day he were ferreted out by someone following the trail,

and it was said that he was the one who spread the scripture, wouldn't he be tied up and subjected to severe torture, forced to reveal the origin of the scripture?

At that point, forget about inheriting cultivation; just being able to leave behind an intact corpse would be like smoke rising from his ancestral grave.

But the scripture had to be spread; this was his capital for establishing himself in this strange world.

Having thought about it for the entire afternoon, Zhou Ming still hadn't come up with a foolproof plan.

Just as he was walking back with his head down, a low sobbing sound suddenly came from the quiet alley.

The sound was very light and intermittent, as if it were being squeezed out from between clenched teeth.

Zhou Ming stopped, held his breath, and listened carefully; the crying was coming from the horse-keeping courtyard next door.

Zhou Ming tiptoed over and looked inside through a crack in the door.

The moonlight was thin, casting light onto the open ground in front of the stables, revealing a small, thin figure squatting beside a haystack, wiping away tears with his sleeve.

He recognized this person; it was the third-class servant Fang Yuan.

Fang Yuan was not like Zhou Ming.

Although Zhou Ming was also as thin as a hemp stalk, he was at least a second-class servant and had his own room.

Fang Yuan was a third-class servant who lived in the large communal dormitory in the horse-keeping courtyard, spending his days tending to those few horses belonging to Empress Su Mingyue.

But what made Zhou Ming remember Fang Yuan was not his status, but his pushover nature.

This kid had a naturally saintly heart and couldn't bear to see others suffer or endure hardship.

If he saw someone getting beaten on the street, he would go to break up the fight.

If someone was being scolded, he would also try to put in a good word for them.

If this were in modern society, it might not be a big deal, but this was a feudal society with strict rules.

The result of breaking up the fight was that he himself would end up beaten black and blue, and then he would hide in a place where no one was around to secretly cry.

After he finished crying, the next time he saw an injustice, he would charge right back in.

Right now, this kid was squatting by the haystack, snot and tears streaming down his face; he had likely been beaten again for standing up for someone.

Seeing that it was him crying, Zhou Ming lost interest in continuing to watch and had just taken two steps away when his feet seemed to be nailed to the ground by something.

A pair of shifty eyes began to roll around in the moonlight.

"Wait."

"Isn't this a ready-made heaven-sent person to spread the scripture?"

"With this kid's saintly heart, if he really managed to cultivate something out of it, could he hold back from telling others?"

"He would probably be dying to pull over every suffering person he sees!"

"By then, without needing to waste any effort, Fang Yuan himself would be able to spread the scripture all over the city."

Zhou Ming grinned, suddenly feeling that Heaven had not treated him poorly.

He tiptoed back two steps, aiming for a blind spot in Fang Yuan's line of sight within the courtyard.

He took out a copy of the Dushi Sutra that he had transcribed from his bosom, swung his arm, and the book traced an arc, landing with a thud, squarely on the haystack.

Fang Yuan was hiccuping from crying when, caught off guard by a book falling from the sky, he was startled, and his tears stopped instantly.

He blankly looked up at the sky, then down at the book, blinked, and picked it up.

The moonlight wasn't very bright, so Fang Yuan brought the book right up to his eyes, opened the first page, and his lips moved as he read aloud:

"...Read the book a hundred times, and the divine skill will appear on its own?"

He flipped through a few more pages, and his eyes gradually lit up.

Zhou Ming, peeking from behind the door crack, saw with his own eyes the face of Fang Yuan, still streaked with tears, slowly break into a smile.

That smile was sneaky, and he kept looking left and right, as if he had picked up some incredible treasure.

It worked.

Zhou Ming didn't dare stay any longer; he turned and scampered back to his room, closed the door, leaned against the door panel, and couldn't suppress the smile on his face no matter what.

He walked to the bed and sat down, his heart still thumping loudly. It wasn't from exhaustion, but from excitement.

This had opened up a new path for him.

As long as he kept transcribing the books and spreading them one by one, who could trace it back to him?

Throwing a book in a corner, stuffing one into a woodpile, or placing one under a table at a roadside tea house—who would know who left it there?

It wouldn't take long; as long as one or two people read the book a hundred times and cultivated magical power, this book would spread like wildfire.

By then, he wouldn't need to worry about it; naturally, people would pass it on to people, and books would pass on to books.