Zhou Ming lay flat on the wooden bed, hands pillowed behind his head, staring at the pitch-black rafters, the corners of his mouth curled high.

However, he still had to be careful.

He rolled over, pulled the remaining two copies of the Dushi Sutra from his bosom, and tucked them under his pillow.

These things were his greatest asset right now, worth even more than the hundred-odd taels of silver under his bed.

Once silver is spent, it is gone, but if the scriptures are spread out, they can make others work for him for a lifetime.

Tomorrow, he would find a way to copy a few more.

Once copied, he would find an opportunity to slip out of the manor and toss them wherever there were crowds—teahouses, restaurants, the City God Temple, or under the skybridge.

Just as he was daydreaming happily, Zhou Ming suddenly remembered something, and his brows furrowed again.

He really could not go to that dilapidated temple for the time being.

Those beggars had called him a demon, and if anyone heard them, they might report him to the authorities; Zhou Ming did not dare to gamble on that.

If he dared to show his face again and was caught red-handed, it would not just be a matter of being branded a demon.

Masked scripture transmission, luring the poor with steamed buns, and conjuring flames in public—in the eyes of the authorities, this was unequivocally spreading heretical doctrines; if he did not lose his head, he would at least be skinned alive.

Thinking of this, Zhou Ming made a secret resolution: for at least the next ten days to half a month, he would absolutely not go near that dilapidated temple.

As for those beggars who had already read the scripture many times, let them be.

If they could really read it a hundred times and cultivate something, would that not be exactly the effect he wanted?

If they forgot it halfway through, he would not have lost anything; it was just a matter of a few steamed buns anyway.

The night gradually deepened, the footsteps of the patrolling guards drifted in from outside the window, and the clapper struck three times—it was already the third watch.

The more Zhou Ming thought, the less he could sleep, so he simply rolled over and sat up, took out the two copies of the Dushi Sutra he had transcribed himself, and by the moonlight filtering through the window, began to check them carefully.

Although the handwriting on the pages was neat, it was hand-copied after all, and omissions were inevitable during transcription.

He had to ensure that every copy of the scripture he distributed was completely accurate; after all, whether others could cultivate magical power depended entirely on these three thousand characters, and not a single one could be wrong.

As he watched, Zhou Ming suddenly stood up abruptly.

"This won't do."

"Transmitting the scripture only to Fang Yuan makes the target too obvious."

Combining the experience of his past and present lives, Zhou Ming was all too clear about the modus operandi of these wealthy clans or aristocratic families.

These high-ranking households were extremely suspicious, and once any anomaly appeared on Fang Yuan's side.

The Marquis's Manor would launch an investigation, and once the people in the manor followed the clues and found out he was the one transmitting the scripture, given the nature of these aristocratic families, they would never just deal with Fang Yuan alone.

Nearby servants, everyone Fang Yuan had contact with in his daily life, would all be screened one by one.

They would rather kill a hundred innocent people than let one guilty person escape; this was the rule engraved in their bones.

As a mere second-class servant, being interrogated was inevitable, and the possibility of being discarded was also very high.

Zhou Ming paced back and forth in the room, his steps becoming faster and faster.

After pondering for a long time, he gritted his teeth.

He had to distribute the remaining two scripture books tonight.

If the Dushi Sutra appeared in one more place, there would be one more layer of fog for future investigations, and he would be one point safer.

Even if someone saw the trick to the scripture, they would just assume some expert was preaching around the city and would never suspect him, a lowly servant of the Marquis's Manor.

He had to take the risk.

Zhou Ming pushed open the door, poked half his head out to look left and right; the alley was pitch black, the night patrol had just passed not long ago, and there was at least another half an hour before the next shift.

Without further hesitation, Zhou Ming hunched over and slipped into the night, following the shadows along the base of the wall toward the direction of the manor exit.

The place where he lived was the servants' quarters on the outskirts of the Marquis's Manor, where security was already lax.

Occasionally, if guards saw servants going out, as long as they were not sneaking out big bags of stolen goods, they would mostly turn a blind eye.

Zhou Ming, familiar with the route, crept to the dog hole, lay down, and crawled out using his hands and feet.

Once out of the manor, he became even more cautious.

There was a curfew at night in Yuyang Commandery, and patrolling soldiers passed by on the main street from time to time.

Zhou Ming did not dare to walk on the main road; sticking to the back walls of the low residential houses, he passed through several narrow alleys and arrived outside a tall mansion.

He did not know whose mansion this was; the gate tower was towering, the courtyard wall was a full ten feet high, it was pitch black inside, and occasionally a few dog barks could be heard.

Zhou Ming checked that no one was around, pulled the copy of the Dushi Sutra from his bosom, swung his arm, and the book flew over the courtyard wall, pages fluttering, before landing with a thud deep in the courtyard.

Zhou Ming did not care whether there was anyone inside or if they would find it; he turned and ran.

After running two streets and passing through a pitch-black alley, he arrived outside another mansion.

This mansion was even more imposing than the previous one, with two large red lanterns hanging at the entrance, their light making the stone lions in front look half-lit and half-dark.

Zhou Ming crept along the base of the wall to the side gate, and just as he took out the last copy of the Dushi Sutra from his bosom, ready to throw it in.

"Who's there!"

A loud shout suddenly came from inside the courtyard, followed by rapid footsteps and the clanging sound of swords being drawn.

Zhou Ming's scalp tingled, he swung his arm violently, the book flew out of his hand over the courtyard wall, and he turned and ran.

Behind him came the sound of the courtyard gate being banged open, torchlight flickered a few times, and the people chasing out cursed a few times, but ultimately did not really give chase.

Zhou Ming ran for two streets like his life depended on it, ducked behind a dilapidated City God Temple and squatted for the time it takes to burn half a stick of incense, and after confirming that no one was following him, he hunched over and crept back along the original route to the dog hole of the Marquis's Manor.

Crawling through the dog hole, slipping through the alley, and pushing open the door to his room, all done in one go.

Zhou Ming closed the door behind him and flopped onto the wooden bed with a thud.

Only then did he realize that the clothes on his back had been soaked with cold sweat, sticking to his body, wet and cold.

After catching his breath for a good while, Zhou Ming's breathing gradually calmed down.

Zhou Ming took off his outer garment, lay flat on the bed, closed his eyes, and focused his attention on his brow.

There, several Causal Chains were quietly suspended.

The threads of the few beggars had not changed at all; their thickness remained the same, and it even seemed that because he had not seen them reciting for half a day, they had faintly weakened a bit.

Zhou Ming frowned, then immediately relaxed; he could not worry about them at the dilapidated temple for now, so he would let fate take its course.

And the other one, newly added today, was gradually solidifying at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The thread, from its initial ethereal state, was slowly gaining some substance; although it was still pitifully thin, that sense of solidity was completely different from the others.

It was Fang Yuan's.

Zhou Ming suddenly became excited, rolled over, pillowed his hands behind his head, and stared at the pitch-black rafters, unable to sleep at all.

He knew that Fang Yuan must be taking advantage of the night to read the Dushi Sutra.

"This kid is really impatient, but I like it."

Just as he was staring intently at Fang Yuan's Causal Chain, suddenly, another faint, almost imperceptible thread silently appeared at his brow.

Zhou Ming was stunned and sat up abruptly.

Which one was this?

He carefully distinguished it for a while; this new Causal Chain was even fainter than Fang Yuan's had been initially, almost like a wisp of light smoke that could be blown away by the wind at any time.

But it was indeed existing, and faintly, it was still slowly solidifying.

Was it from one of those two mansions? Or somewhere else?

Zhou Ming's heart began to thump again.

In this quiet dead of night, sitting alone on the wooden bed, he suddenly grinned.

His risky venture just now, it seemed, had already shown results.