Fang Yuan crouched by the haystacks, borrowing the thin moonlight, brought the book that had fallen from the sky right up to the tip of his nose, and enunciated the words one by one.

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

After finishing those eight characters, he blinked his eyes and read it again.

After finishing reading the second time, he raised his head, glanced at the night sky with its bright moon and sparse stars, then glanced at the book in his hand, and suddenly grinned.

He did not think about who threw this book to him or what the purpose was; as long as it was thrown to Fang Yuan, then this thing was his.

As a third-class servant, apart from his cheap life, there was nothing else for others to covet.

Fang Yuan tucked the book into his chest, wiped the tear stains on his face with his sleeve, stood up and patted the hay off his buttocks, then slipped into the large dormitory of the horse stable.

The large dormitory was pitch black, with seven or eight third-class servants sleeping in a row, their snoring rising and falling, occasionally mixed with teeth grinding and sleep-talking.

Fang Yuan felt his way to his bunk by the window, pulled over the thin and hard quilt to cover his legs, but did not lie down.

Instead, he leaned against the wall, borrowing the pitiful moonlight filtering through the torn window paper, and opened the first page of the Dushi Sutra.

"Dao has no name, so we forced a name, calling it Profound. Profound of the profound, the root of all things..."

His lips moved, reading very, very softly, so softly that only he could hear.

There were rules in the large dormitory; whoever disturbed everyone's sleep would inevitably get a beating the next day.

Fang Yuan had endured many beatings, but he was never willing to implicate others, not even by chanting scriptures.

The scripture was very awkward to read. Although Fang Yuan was literate, these three thousand characters were too convoluted.

Where he couldn't read smoothly, he would stop, repeat that sentence several times until his tongue no longer stumbled, and then continue reading.

One page turned, then another page turned.

The moonlight moved from the hole in the window to the other side of the wall before Fang Yuan finished reading it for the first time.

He rubbed his sore eyes, exhaled, wrapped the quilt tighter around himself, and started reading from the beginning for the second time.

When he was halfway through, Wang Laosan in the neighboring bunk turned over, mumbled groggily: "Fang Yuan, what the hell are you muttering..."

Fang Yuan quickly closed his mouth, waiting for Wang Laosan's snoring to start up again before lowering his voice even further, until it was almost just a breathy sound.

After finishing the second reading, Fang Yuan discovered something strange.

Those sentences he had stumbled through the first time were surprisingly much smoother when read the second time.

The characters seemed to jump into his mouth on their own, one after another, as naturally as water flowing into a channel.

He found it strange and read it a third time. The third time was even smoother, so smooth that it felt like someone was leading him by the ear.

By the fifth reading, Fang Yuan fell asleep.

The book was still spread open on his knees, his fingers tucked between the pages, his head tilted against the wall, with a glistening trail of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.

He had a dream; in the dream, he was standing in an open space, surrounded by people, all sallow and emaciated, wearing rags.

He held a book and read it aloud to everyone; what he was reading was the Dushi Sutra.

Those people chanted along with him, and as they chanted, a ball of light emerged above each person's head, warm and glowing, illuminating the entire open space.

Fang Yuan grinned in his dream.

A clapper sound woke him up.

"Get up, get up!" The manager's voice came in from the courtyard, "What time the hell is it, and you're still lazing around!"

Fang Yuan jolted up, his first reaction was to look down; the book was still there, not lost.

He let out a sigh of relief, quickly stuffed the book into his inner clothing, and jumped off the bunk to put on his shoes.

There was no breakfast.

The Marquis's manor only provided two meals a day, the first one around noon.

Fang Yuan was used to being hungry, so he didn't think much of it. He followed the others to the well to fetch a basin of cold water to wash his face, and was then assigned the day's work: brushing horses.

Those horses of Empress Su Mingyue were all good horses—one black, two date-red—their coats sleek and shiny, but their tempers were fiercer than the last.

Fang Yuan carried the bucket and brush into the stable; the black horse snorted, looked at him sideways, and reluctantly let him approach.

Fang Yuan dipped the brush in water and brushed down along the horse's mane, starting to mutter again.

"Dao has no name, so we forced a name, calling it Profound. Profound of the profound, the root of all things..."

The voice was still so light, so light that it blended into the smell of hay in the stable and the sound of hooves hitting the ground, almost impossible to distinguish.

But the black horse seemed to be able to hear it; it was no longer restless, standing quietly, occasionally flicking its tail.

Fang Yuan chanted while brushing, brushing the date-red horses after finishing the black one, and switching to the other one after finishing the date-red horses.

By the time he chanted the scripture for the ninth time, he had just finished brushing all three horses until they were gleaming.

Old Liu, who also worked in the stable, passed by and saw Fang Yuan crouching by the manger, muttering away, acting all strange, and couldn't help but spit: "Fang Yuan, have you gone mad?"

Fang Yuan raised his head and chuckled: "Uncle Liu, I haven't gone mad; I'm chanting scriptures."

"Chanting scriptures?" Old Liu looked him up and down, "Since when did you start believing in Buddha?"

"It's not a Buddhist scripture." Fang Yuan shook his head cheekily, "It's good stuff. Uncle Liu, do you want to listen too?"

Old Liu waved his hand and walked away carrying fodder, muttering, "This kid is probably thinking of some trick again."

Fang Yuan wasn't annoyed, lowering his head to continue chanting. He had made up his mind; since the scripture said "Read the book a hundred times, and the divine skill will appear on its own," then he would honestly read it a hundred times.

Regardless of what kind of scripture it was or if it was real, even if he didn't practice anything out of it, at least he felt at ease when chanting, which was much better than thinking about those troublesome things.

After finishing brushing the horses, it was nearly noon. Fang Yuan collected two coarse grain pancakes and a bowl of pickled vegetable soup, crouching under the wall outside the stable, wolfing it down.

The pancakes were so coarse they scratched his throat, and the salty taste in the soup wasn't even enough to coat his tongue.

But he ate happily, chanting the scripture silently in his heart while chewing.

With his mouth occupied and unable to chant aloud, he closed his mouth and went through it in his mind, counting each pass.

After eating, it was back to work.

In the afternoon, he was assigned to carry fodder. A stack of fodder weighing over a hundred jin pressed down on his back, which was as thin as a hemp stalk, and his legs trembled.

Fang Yuan gritted his teeth, moving step by step, carrying it from the storehouse to the stable, and then from the stable to the mule and horse shed in the backyard.

With every step he took, he silently chanted a sentence of the scripture in his heart—chanting a sentence, taking a step, chanting another sentence, taking another step.

By the time he finished chanting the scripture, he hadn't even walked halfway back, so Fang Yuan started chanting from the beginning again.

The manager stood in the middle of the courtyard, shouting orders, scolding this one for being lazy and that one for dawdling. When he got to Fang Yuan, seeing him muttering, he reached out and slapped him on the back of his head: "What kind of spell are you chanting!"

Fang Yuan shrank his neck, not daring to make another sound.

Once the manager walked away, he started chanting in his belly again.

At the end of the workday in the evening, Fang Yuan dove back into the large dormitory, took the book out from his inner clothing, and continued reading hungrily.

Some of the third-class servants who lived with him came over to ask what he was reading, and Fang Yuan generously turned the book over for them to see.

A servant named Zhang Luzi came over and took a couple of looks, only recognizing the character " Of" from " Of乎者也," while the rest was like reading a heavenly book, so he rubbed his nose and left.

He was a servant newly bought by the Marquis's manor and didn't know many characters.

Another servant named Ma Liu knew a few more, stumbling along as he read a short passage, but after finishing, he said his head hurt and refused to read any more.

Fang Yuan didn't force him, just held the book and continued chanting himself.

That night, he slept for less than two hours.

The snoring in the large dormitory rose and fell; Fang Yuan was wrapped in his quilt, huddled in the corner, his lips moving, his pupils reflecting the moonlight and the ink characters, over and over again.

Later on, it was as if he wasn't reading the characters with his eyes anymore; they seemed to be drilling into his heart on their own.

Occasionally, for a moment or two, he could feel a tiny, subtle warmth in the area of his Dantian, like breathing a puff of hot Qi onto his palms in winter—light, fleeting, but definitely there.

When day broke, Fang Yuan counted the " just" characters he had scratched into the margins of the pages with his fingernails. He had already finished reading it exactly fifty times.

There were still fifty times left until a hundred.

Fang Yuan rubbed his bloodshot eyes, stuffed the book into his inner clothing, and jumped off the bunk to welcome the day's work.

He walked into the courtyard, the morning light shining on his face, which still held a hint of childishness. He took a deep breath, and the corners of his mouth couldn't help but curl upward.

He thought of the dream he had last night. In the dream, so many people were chanting along with him, and a ball of light was shining above each person's head.

He felt that dream wasn't fake. At least, it wouldn't be fake forever.