Zhou Ming placed the long sword flat across his knees, slowly closed his eyes, and extended his Divine Sense to envelop the long sword.

The moment his Divine Sense touched the blade, he clearly felt a faint, tenuous connection established between the long sword and himself.

It was as if a thread, extremely thin and tough, had connected his Sea of Consciousness to the sword.

Zhou Ming tried to push the long sword with his Divine Sense. The sword trembled slightly, slowly rising from his knees to hover in the air before him.

With a shift of his will, the long sword flew and spun around the room, obeying his every thought as if it were an extension of his own arm.

At times it stood vertically, at times it swept horizontally, and at times it wove between the Zhuzi seven or eight times at lightning speed, moving so fast that it left only a blurred black shadow.

Zhou Ming became more adept the more he played with it. Driven by his Divine Sense, the long sword would sometimes circle the roof beams.

Sometimes it would silently skim across the floor, and other times it would hang inverted, slowly moving across the ceiling.

The tip of the sword aimed at the curtain he had accidentally knocked askew earlier, then switched to the hilt to push it back into its original position.

It was a pity he did not know how to carve a Formation. If he could carve a Flight Formation and an Attack Formation onto the sword, the power of this Flying Sword would at least multiply several times over.

After playing in the room for nearly half an hour, he reluctantly recalled the long sword.

The long sword flew back into his hand without a sound. The blade vibrated slightly before settling down, a faint trace of warmth lingering on the dull, black edge.

Zhou Ming placed the sword flat on his knees and meticulously wiped it down with a clean cloth.

At this moment, the footsteps of the old storekeeper approached from outside the hall door.

The storekeeper stood at the doorway holding a thick stack of account books. After bowing, he handed over the gift list he had just organized.

Zhou Ming took the ledger and flipped through it page by page, which was densely packed with the names of the gift-givers, the names of the gifts, and their estimated values.

The original noble families of Yuyang Commandery, as well as those who had fled here from other places, had basically all sent people to deliver gifts.

Whether it was gold, silver, jewelry, jade, or calligraphy and paintings, every household had made their stance known according to their own strength.

But there were also a few families whose names did not appear from beginning to end.

Zhou Ming knew these families well. Although some of their descendants held nominal posts in the court, these people often gossiped about him behind his back.

They said he was of lowly birth, a lackey for the Young Miss, cruel by nature, and would sooner or later come to a bad end.

Zhou Ming did not hold any deep grudge against these people, but these families were occupying official positions in the new dynasty.

Yet they refused to contribute anything to the operation of the new dynasty; keeping such people was just a waste of food.

He leaned back in his chair to ponder for a while, then stood up and walked to the desk, spread out a sheet of mulberry paper, picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and began to write a letter to Empress Su Mingyue.

He wrote down the recent events in Yuyang Commandery in a concise manner.

He wrote about the new emperor's struggles, his calling a deer a horse, the Eldest Young Master becoming the Commandery Governor, and also detailed how he had collected the gifts.

At the end, he specifically listed the noble families that had not sent gifts, and then changed the tone of his writing.

He pointed out that he intended to make an example of these families, confiscating their assets to fill the military treasury and laying the foundation for future military expenses.

After finishing and putting down the brush, he sealed the letter and had it sent via falcon to the Qingzhou front line. After that, Zhou Ming did not step out of the Wuying Hall again.

He closed the hall doors and ordered the guards not to disturb him for anything.

Then, sitting cross-legged on the low couch, he began the research that had excited him the most since his Transmigration.

Spells.

It once made him toss and turn in his dormitory bunk until midnight, wishing he could transmigrate into the book and become an Immortal who could summon wind and rain.

Now he had truly transmigrated in, and the mana of the Nascent Soul Stage was churning in his Dantian, genuine and real.

Although the Flying Sword was a fake without a Formation, it could at least fly.

Next, he had to conjure up those Spells he had been coveting for so many years, one by one.

Zhou Ming first began to ponder the most basic Five Elements Spells.

The Fireball Technique was the most basic Spell in all cultivation novels, and the principle sounded the simplest.

Convert mana into flames, condense them into a ball, and fire it out.

Zhou Ming extended his right hand, opened his palm, mobilized the mana in his Dantian to flow along his Meridians to his palm, and then visualized a ball of flame condensing into shape above his palm in his mind.

Purple-gold Nascent Fire surged from his palm; at first, it was just a thin, small flame.

He wanted to roll it into a ball, but as soon as he constricted his mana, the flame not only failed to form a ball, but instead went out with a puff.

He did not believe it and tried again. This time, the flame formed a crooked oval, wobbled in the air twice, and dissipated.

He tried repeatedly over a dozen times and gradually grasped the trick.

Divine Sense should not just focus on the shape of the flame; instead, one should weave an invisible net around the flame, using mana to squeeze it evenly toward the center from all directions, while continuously injecting new mana to maintain the flame's temperature.

Once he mastered this trick, a round, purple-gold Fireball the size of a fist finally hovered steadily above his palm.

The Fireball rotated silently; the center was a blinding incandescent white, while the outer flame was a deep purple-gold, and the heat it emitted caused the surrounding air to distort slightly.

Zhou Ming stared at the Fireball and curled the corner of his mouth in satisfaction, then carefully retracted his mana. The Fireball silently contracted, shrank, and extinguished like a blooming flower.

Although it was a Fireball Technique made from Nascent Fire, it was still a Fireball.

With a little bit of experience from the Fireball Technique, Zhou Ming began to research other Spells.

The Fireball Technique, Water Dragon Spell, Earth Wall Spell, Wind Blade Spell, and Thorn Spell were all eventually cast by him in a rather crude manner.

Next were the perception and object-manipulation type Spells.

He already had a foundation; he had gained experience in Divine Sense exploration and Object Manipulation from the Flying Sword, so he quickly mastered the basics.

Then there was the casting method for the defensive Spell, Spirit Power Shield.

Zhou Ming succeeded on his first attempt; he released his Divine Sense and mana simultaneously, forming a nearly transparent purple-gold light membrane three feet around his body.

He used Object Manipulation to control an inkstone to smash down from above his head; the inkstone hit the shield and bounced off, and the light membrane flickered slightly before returning to normal.

The Dust-Aversion Technique involved attaching mana to the surface of clothing to form an extremely thin layer of protection; dust would automatically slide off when it landed on it, and if a cup of tea was spilled on it, the tea would slide down the robes, leaving the fabric as dry and new as ever.

The Lightning Curse required drawing upon the thunder Qi of heaven and earth, transforming it into an extremely fine purple-gold electric arc that crackled at his fingertips.

Zhou Ming did not dare to experiment inside the hall, so he just flicked a thread of lightning as thin as a hair from his finger, hitting an earthen wall and blasting out a small scorched mark.

Over the next few days, Zhou Ming was completely immersed in the frenzy of Spell research.

The doors of Wuying Hall remained tightly closed, and the guards only occasionally heard strange sounds coming from inside the hall.

Sometimes it was a low humming, sometimes a sharp whistling sound, sometimes the splashing of water, and sometimes a crackling sound like something rolling across roof tiles.