Fang Yuan had only been dazed for less than an hour when the sky turned completely bright.

The steward of the horse-raising yard was outside, beating the clapper and cursing, causing a commotion in the dormitory.

Fang Yuan rolled over and sat up. The first thing he did wasn't to put on his shoes, but to reach out and touch the "Dushi Sutra" in his chest.

The book was still there, pressing hard against his ribs, which made him feel at ease.

The work for the whole day remained the same: brushing horses, carrying fodder, and cleaning the stables.

To others, he looked no different from yesterday—still that thin, twig-like frame, still working silently with his head down.

But Fang Yuan knew that things were different.

When carrying a stack of fodder, even with over a hundred catties pressing down on him, his breathing didn't falter, and his feet remained steady, leaving an imprint with every step.

The steward passed by him and cursed as usual, but Fang Yuan didn't shrink his neck like before; he just listened quietly. Once the steward was far away, he went back to what he was doing.

He had already planned everything in his mind.

Who to find first? Zhuzi.

Zhuzi was a third-class servant just like him, doing odd jobs in the mule and horse shed behind the stables. He was two years younger and was often bullied.

Zhuzi was short and dull-witted; everyone called him "Stupid Zhuzi," but Fang Yuan never called him that.

Last month, Zhuzi was slapped twice by a second-class servant from the Kitchen, causing his nose to bleed. Fang Yuan had stepped in to break up the fight, only to get beaten up along with him, and the two of them sat behind the haystacks crying together.

At dusk, after finishing work, Fang Yuan cornered Zhuzi behind the mule and horse shed.

Zhuzi was squatting on the ground picking stones out of the bean dregs. Seeing Fang Yuan approach, he smiled honestly:

"Brother Fang Yuan."

Fang Yuan squatted down across from him. He looked around, and seeing no one else, he pulled the "Dushi Sutra" from his chest.

"Zhuzi, do you trust me?"

Fang Yuan placed the book on his knees and looked into Zhuzi's eyes.

Zhuzi glanced at the book, then at Fang Yuan, and nodded honestly: "I do."

"Good." Fang Yuan opened the book and pointed to the first line. "Follow me and recite this. Once you've recited it a hundred times, you will be just like me."

Zhuzi didn't understand what "just like you" meant, but he trusted Fang Yuan.

He took it and clumsily began to recite after him, his tongue tying in knots, stumbling over the words.

Fang Yuan wasn't in a hurry. He taught him word by word, and if he made a mistake, they started over, again and again.

By the time it was dark, Zhuzi had recited that page of scripture less than ten times.

Fang Yuan patted his shoulder: "Continue reciting tomorrow. Before you finish a hundred times, don't tell anyone else."

Zhuzi nodded vigorously and cherishedly tucked the "Dushi Sutra" into his own chest.

Fang Yuan didn't intend to pass it on only to Zhuzi.

The next morning, he sought out A-Gui from the woodshed, and on the third day, he roped in Gou Sheng who swept the courtyard.

His method was very clumsy: finding them one by one, telling them one by one.

He only sought out third-class servants who were bullied like him and were inconspicuous—honest people who didn't even dare to speak loudly.

He lent his copy of the "Dushi Sutra" to one to read for a night, then to another to copy a few passages. Whenever he was free, he would ask: How many times have you read it? Do you feel a warmth in your belly?

By the third day, Zhuzi ran over to find Fang Yuan, his face filled with shock and joy, stuttering:

"Bro... Brother Fang Yuan, my... my belly... it's hot!"

Fang Yuan grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard: "Is it really hot?"

"It's really hot!" Zhuzi's eyes were as bright as if they had been lit by lamps.

Fang Yuan grinned.

He was even happier than Zhuzi.

In just three to five days, two more solidified Causal Chains appeared beside Fang Yuan's own.

At night, Fang Yuan led Zhuzi and A-Gui to squat in the open space behind the horse-raising yard, continuing to chant the scriptures.

Fang Yuan discovered that the more he chanted the scriptures, the greater the warm feeling in his Dantian became, and his strength grew along with it.

The three of them huddled together, and the moonlight spilled down, stretching their thin shadows long and thin.

Zhou Ming had seen several completely solidified Causal Chains in the past two days.

Zhou Ming lay on his bed plank, legs crossed, staring at the increasingly dense Causality Web between his brows, feeling both excited and a little unnerved.

What was exciting was that Fang Yuan's efficiency was much higher than he had imagined.

What was unnerving was that things seemed to be fermenting a bit too quickly.

For the past two days, he had continued to copy scriptures during the day.

Empress Su Mingyue went to the main courtyard every morning, so he would slip into the study, suspend his wrist, dip his brush in ink, and transcribe the three-thousand-character scripture onto blank books stroke by stroke.

After two days, he had copied six more books, but he didn't dare to go out and distribute them again.

He had already taken the risk and thrown one to each of the high-walled mansions around the Marquis's estate a few days ago.

Throwing a second round wouldn't be very meaningful, and the risk would double. If someone lost one book, it was a coincidence; if they lost two, the nature of the matter would be different.

Besides, it wouldn't be long before those aristocratic families discovered the peculiarity themselves.

Even for the biggest piece of trash, as long as they weren't stupid, the fact that reciting something a hundred times could unleash the strength of the Skin Refining Realm was a heaven-shattering matter in the eyes of any power-holder of a high-ranking clan.

They couldn't help but be tempted, nor could they ignore it.

They would definitely find people to test it secretly. If they verified it was true, they would spare no effort to let their own direct descendants and private forces Cultivate it in secret.

Once it reached that point, if someone else went around throwing books, it would be equivalent to digging for food right under their noses. The risk was too great.

At night, Zhou Ming took the six copied "Dushi Sutra" books, walked out of the room, and crawled out of the dog hole.

Following the shadows along the base of the wall, he passed through the alley and arrived at an inconspicuous corner deep in the alley.

This was the end of a narrow alley, rarely passed by anyone. Several loose old blue bricks were laid under the wall, and moss grew in the gaps.

Zhou Ming squatted down, hooked the edge of one of the blue bricks, shook it hard, and pulled it out.

Under the brick, Zhou Ming had dug a hole large enough to fit a few books.

Zhou Ming wrapped the six "Dushi Sutra" books in oil paper, stuffed them into the brick hole, put the blue brick back in place, and dusted off his hands.

He stood up, looked left and right, found no problems, and then disappeared into another alley.

Zhou Ming turned back to his room, lay on the bed, hands behind his head, calculating the path forward.

He didn't intend to distribute these few scriptures outside for now.

Once the rest day arrived and the servants of the Marquis's estate had an excuse to go out, he would be able to leave the estate in a legitimate way.

A second-class servant like Zhou Ming had one day of rest every month.

At that time, he would dig the books out and take them to the busiest marketplace in the city.

He would place these books in the secret compartments under the benches in the most inconspicuous tea houses, by the dilapidated sheds where street performers rested, or backstage at opera troupes.

These places were a mix of all kinds of people. Whoever found them wouldn't think to trace their origin; they would only hide them secretly and study them in private.

People from aristocratic families would definitely hide the scriptures, lock them in secret chambers, and only let their own direct descendants Cultivate them.

The more people who knew, the less advantage they would have.

But there were no walls without cracks in the world. The aristocratic families could cover up the books, but they couldn't cover up those who were kicked out of the game, and even less could they cover up those humble commoners of the marketplace who never caught their eyes.

Zhou Ming rolled over, the corners of his mouth curling up.

The more widely the scripture was spread, the denser the Causality Web between his brows became.

In the entire Yuyang Commandery, as long as someone Cultivated magic power because of those three-thousand-character scriptures, it was equivalent to working for him.

What else was he afraid of? What he feared was that it wouldn't spread.