In the Ming Dynasty, I became invincible simply by extracting memories!

Shen Lian was awakened by the smoke from the kitchen when it was dawn.

It wasn't the foul, blood-stained air of the imperial prison, but wisps of smoke carrying the fresh scent of pine. He stared at the roof beam for a few moments before remembering where he was—a courtyard house, in the eastern part of the city, a secret hideout for the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

It wasn't a prison. It wasn't a haystack.

He sat up and walked to the window.

In the courtyard, Fang Xuejian was already squatting at the kitchen door. He was clutching a handful of sand, his trousers were covered in mud, and his hair was a mess. The cook stood beside him, carrying a wooden bucket, his expression one of being bothered by a brat but not daring to retaliate.

"Young Master Fang, what are you doing?" The cook's voice carried the caution typical of a member of the Imperial Guard—curiosity aside, survival was the top priority.

"Let's do an experiment!" Fang Xuejian said without even looking up, his tone as self-righteous as if he were in his own backyard. "Help me modify this furnace. The flue is too small, the temperature isn't rising. Also, do you have any clay? I need to make a crucible."

The cook glanced at Fang Xuejian, then at Shen Lian standing at the entrance of the main room, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he nodded.

"I'll go look for it."

He put down the wooden bucket, turned, and left. His steps were quick, as if he had finally found a reason to escape. Fang Xuejian squatted at the kitchen doorway, drawing diagrams on the muddy ground with his finger, muttering incantations like a spell: "Kiln structure, flue slope, air inlet cross-sectional area, temperature zones... First modify the kiln, then modify the formula. To do a good job, one must first have the right tools..."

Shen Lian leaned against the door frame and looked for a moment.

Fang Xuejian has finally developed a brain. He spent four months in prison, but instead of becoming stupid, he developed a methodology.

He ignored it, turned around and went back to his room, where he sat down at the table.

A stack of files lay on the table. They had been sent by Wei Liangbi, piled up to half a foot high, with the vermilion seal of the Northern Garrison Strategy stamped on the covers. The top file's cover read—"Yan Shifan Case: List of Confiscated Goods, May of the 40th Year of Jiajing."

Shen Lian opened the book and read it page by page.

The handwriting was very neat. It was standard official script, every stroke as if measured with a ruler. But the numbers were random. One million three hundred and seventy thousand taels of silver, thirty thousand taels of gold, eight hundred thousand taels of antiques and calligraphy, and two million taels of land and shops. Added together, it was nearly four million taels.

He continued flipping through the pages.

The second document was a "Summary of Yan's Party's Bribery Accounts in Zhejiang," only a few pages long, the numbers scattered like a torn ledger. But from the fragments extracted from Qian Dehou's memory, combined with the Ming Dynasty historical archives he had studied in his previous life, Shen Lian knew clearly—these numbers were just the tip of the iceberg. Beneath the surface lay an entire mountain.

He picked up his pen, dipped it in ink, and wrote the first line of text on the paper.

"Yan Shifan also had a hidden private vault on the banks of the Qinhuai River in Nanjing, hidden underground in the brothel 'Zuixianlou'. The owner of Zuixianlou was surnamed Liu, who was originally a servant in the Yan family, and his indenture was kept on file in the Yan family's accounting office. The entrance to the private vault was in the backyard, with a secret passage leading to the neighboring house, owned by Zhou De, Yan Shifan's cousin, who also had a dry share of 50,000 taels of official silver from the Suzhou Textile Bureau."

The pen paused for a moment, then started a new line.

"The total amount of bribes received by Yan's faction in Zhejiang is at least three times the amount already seized. The real master account is in the hands of Lin Yiqing, a Fujian merchant. He has been silenced by Yan's faction, and his body was sunk outside Quanzhou Port. The cargo ship 'Shunfeng,' which hid the account books, has either fled to Hirado Port in Japan or been scuttled overnight in the waters near Dazhui Island. All witnesses and physical evidence have been destroyed."

After finishing writing, I continued flipping through the case files.

The third document was the "Interrogation Record of Yan Song's Disciples and Former Officials." Thirty-seven people, their names, official titles, places of origin, examination results, recommenders, and classmates in the capital—written densely packed in tiny characters, filling every inch of the paper. Shen Lian looked through them one by one, circling several names: Hu Zongxian, Zhao Wenhua (even the dead are investigated), Yan Maoqing, and Luo Longwen.

Hu Zongxian's circle was drawn very lightly, like a dragonfly skimming the surface of water. The circles drawn by the others were heavy, like knife marks.

Shen Lian rubbed his temples, closed the file, stood up, and walked to the window.

In the courtyard, Fang Xuejian was mixing clay and sand together, kneading it with his hands. Mud squeezed out from between his fingers, covering his face so much that only his eyes could be seen moving. The cook squatted beside him, handing him water. The confusion on his face had turned into a resigned calm—since he couldn't stop him anyway, he might as well help.

Shen Lian looked at it for a moment, then turned back to the table and spread out another piece of paper.

"In this impeachment, it is recommended that the main charges be corruption, filial impiety, and disregard for the law. The matter of collusion with Japanese pirates should not be investigated further."

The pen paused for a moment.

"Water that is too clear has no fish, and a person who is too discerning has no followers. The court needs capable people. Colluding with Japanese pirates and resisting them may seem like opposing forces, but they are actually interconnected. If there were no Japanese pirates causing trouble, how could there be talk of colluding with or resisting them? Without Hu Zongxian, who will fill the gap in resisting Japanese pirates?"

He picked up another piece of paper.

"Hu Zongxian did embezzle during his tenure in Zhejiang, but the amount was not large, and most of it was used for military supplies. He is usable and can be retained. The core of Yan's faction's salt monopoly network in Fujian is Yan Maoqing. His control over the Lianghuai salt industry led to the decentralization of power, and he took a cut of at least 300,000 taels of silver annually, following the path of the Fujian Provincial Administration of Revenue in Nanjing."

After finishing writing, I put down my pen.

The time was not yet ripe. Zhu Xixiao, the commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, naturally understood the implications. There was no need for a "special advisor" like him to teach him.

In recent days, Shen Lian has been repeatedly reviewing the files sent by the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and the more he reads, the more alarmed he becomes.

The meticulousness of the case files and the variety of interrogation methods far exceeded his imagination in his previous life. The torture records detailed everything—the timing of each instrument of torture, the victim's reactions, the number of times they fainted, and the inconsistencies in their confessions—all were meticulously documented on paper.

He secretly rejoiced. He was glad that he had studied the history of the Ming Dynasty in his previous life in great detail, and that the fragments he extracted from Qian Dehou's memories could corroborate the dossier.

The sorrow and the blessing of the blessings, the blessings of the blessings.

While these files were verifying the accuracy of his intelligence, they were also helping him piece together fragmented memories into a complete picture. The papers he had read in his previous life, the files he had flipped through, the numbers he had noted down—little by little, they came back to life in this room where he was under house arrest.

Footsteps could be heard in the courtyard.

Shen Lian looked up and saw Wei Liangbi walking in through the main gate, carrying a food box in his hand. Today he was wearing a flying fish robe, the bright red satin embroidered with golden flying fish patterns, dazzling in the morning light. This outfit would be respectable among the Imperial Guards, but in this small courtyard—it seemed to be showing off something, or perhaps concealing something.

"Mr. Shen," Wei Liangbi placed the food box on the table, opened the lid, and said, "Breakfast. Millet porridge, steamed buns, pickled vegetables, and eggs. Please eat first, I'll come back for the files later."

Shen Lian looked at him. He also looked at Shen Lian.

They stared at each other for a few moments. Wei Liangbi was the first to look away.

"Have you reviewed the submitted case files?"

Shen Lian didn't answer, but pushed the stack of papers on the table in front of Wei Liangbi.

Wei Liangbi picked up the first sheet. He glanced at it. His pupils suddenly contracted—like a cat suddenly seeing light in the dark.

"Drunken Immortal Pavilion... its underground vault..." His voice was low, but he couldn't hide the excitement bubbling up from his throat. "How did you know?"

Shen Lian picked up the porridge bowl, used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of pickled vegetable, and drank the porridge by himself.

The millet porridge was cooked to perfection, the grains bursting open, the broth thick and rich, with a subtle aroma of smoky wood. The Imperial Guard's cook was quite skilled.

Wei Liangbi waited a moment, and seeing that Shen Lian did not speak, he picked up another piece of paper.

This time, his hands trembled. Not the kind of trembling from excitement—it was as if a string in his heart had been suddenly plucked, causing his entire hand to shake. His breathing became heavy, and his chest rose and fell noticeably beneath the flying fish suit.

"Yan Maoqing, an annual commission of 300,000 taels..." He raised his head, staring at Shen Lian, "Hu Zongxian... you say he's a capable person, should we keep him?"

Shen Lian put down his bowl of porridge.

"Hu Zongxian's contributions in fighting the Japanese pirates in Zhejiang outweighed his faults. After the fall of Yan's faction, the southeast still needs him. If we kill him, who will stop the Japanese pirates?"

He paused, his tone becoming serious.

"Although I hate the Yan faction for ruining the country, I must always distinguish between right and wrong when judging people and things. Hu Zongxian did have flaws in his private morality—to say he was 'half praised and half criticized' would be too lenient. But when it comes to his contributions in suppressing the Japanese pirates, he single-handedly supported the entire southeastern half of the Ming Dynasty."

He looked up at Wei Liangbi.

"During the years when Japanese pirates were rampant, the people of several provinces along the southeast coast suffered terribly. Hu Zongxian, as the supervising censor, was ordered to quell the pirates. In just a few years, he planned and commanded troops, saving countless lives from suffering for the people along the coast. No one can erase his merit."

Wei Liangbi opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

Shen Lian continued, "Without Hu Zongxian holding the line, the southeast would have been rotten long ago. What chance would Qi Jiguang's army have? Some say he was a 'partisan of Yan Song' and 'extorted and embezzled'—those are true. But to erase his anti-Japanese war achievements simply because of his moral failings would be truly foolish."

"When hiring people, the first thing to ask is whether they can do the work and handle the responsibility. Who could do a better job than him in this mess of fighting the Japanese pirates?"

He wanted to say, "I, Shen Lian, would like to give it a try," but he swallowed the words back.

What is he now? Just a high-ranking prisoner. Someone who can't even step out of the prison gate, what right does he have to talk about resisting the Japanese?

"I'll arrange for people to investigate Zuixianlou right away." Wei Liangbi folded the two pieces of paper and tucked them into his clothes. He did so very carefully, as if he were carrying some fragile treasure.

The footsteps faded into the distance.

Shen Lian continued flipping through the files.

The fourth document was the "Interrogation Record of Yan Shifan," dozens of pages long, filled with questions and answers. He read it line by line. Yan Shifan initially denied everything, then admitted to some things, and then—he said nothing at all. At the end of the record, the interrogator wrote: "Official Yan Shifan has refused to answer questions since May 25th, responding with silence."

Shen Lian wrote a line on the paper.

"Yan Shifan remains silent because he already knows. Qian Dehou is dead, and Lin Yiqing has been silenced. There's no point in trying."

He put down his pen and stood up to stretch his muscles.

His shoulders were stiff and his back ached. He had been in prison for over twenty days, and his body still hadn't recovered. He did a few stretching exercises, and his bones made a "crackling" sound, like an old wooden door being pushed open.

Fang Xuejian called out from the courtyard, "Shen Lian! Look! The crucible is ready!"

Shen Lian walked to the door.

Fang Xuejian held a crooked clay blank in his hands, its surface pitted and uneven, shaped like a deformed bowl. His face was covered in mud, only his eyes shone brightly.

"Once it's dry, we can burn it!" His voice trembled, not from cold, but from excitement. "If we find some more quartz sand and saltpeter, we can try the first batch!"

Shen Lian looked at him, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

A wry smile. Yet, also envious.

Only someone with Fang Xuejian's temperament—able to see hope in a tangled mess—could endure four months in that hellish place, the Imperial Prison, and then come out laughing and shouting, "Look at my crucible!"

More than ten days later, the sun began to set.

Wei Liangbi arrived, carrying a dossier. The cover read: "The Drunken Immortal Pavilion Case: Seizure Record, June of the 40th Year of Jiajing".

When he walked in, his expression was very strange.

Excitement mixed with awe. And then there's the expression you only see when you suddenly realize you know nothing about the world. It's like the ground beneath your feet suddenly collapsed, and you're still standing, but you no longer know where you are.

"The underground vault of Zuixianlou has been found. It contains 630,000 taels of silver and 10,000 taels of gold."

He gently placed the file on the table, but did not sit down. He stood with his hands at his sides, his back straight, his expression respectful, but his eyes held a deep and sincere reverence. He even slowed his breathing, not daring to show the slightest disrespect.

"Mr. Shen, your intelligence is absolutely accurate. Lord Zhu asked me to convey to you: when impeaching Yan's faction, only mention corruption, filial impiety, and disregard for the law, and do not involve the anti-Japanese war—I have noted this down."

Shen Lian looked at him, his expression unchanged.

But in his heart, he was thinking: He had studied Yan Shifan's interrogation record in the History of Ming Dynasty diligently in his previous life. All those sleepless nights had finally paid off.

Wei Liangbi waited a while, and seeing that Shen Lian did not answer, he spoke again. His tone was even more respectful.

"Lord Zhu said that from today onwards, you can have whatever you want. Books, paper, pens, crucibles, quartz sand, anything is fine. There is only one condition—please do not leave this courtyard."

Shen Lian nodded slightly.

But another wave of emotion stirred within me.

Zhu Xixiao repeatedly postponed the date he was supposed to meet with him.

Why?

Was it to squeeze every last drop of value out of him before discarding him like trash? Or was it to lie in wait, patiently watching him slip up during his intelligence mission? Shen Lian was utterly perplexed, a sudden surge of helplessness washing over him—a feeling of being pulled by an invisible thread, knowing where the thread was but not knowing where the person pulling it was trying to drag him.

The records of the raid on Zuixianlou in the case file were densely filled with details. Numbers, names, times, locations, methods of hiding, and the structure of the secret passages—everything was clearly recorded.

"Zhu Xixiao, that old fox. He's truly not simple."

When Wei Liangbi left, he was as light as when he arrived. Like a gust of wind, he came and went, leaving only the ever-thickening stack of files on the table.

He turned and went back to his room, arranging the files one by one, covering the entire tabletop.

His gaze swept over the files.

Summary of Yan Maoqing's bribery accounts in Zhejiang. Where is the loophole? In Yan Maoqing's hands, on the ship that Lin Yiqing sank to the bottom of the sea.

Interrogation records of Yan Song's protégés and former subordinates. Those thirty-seven people: some confessed, some implicated others, and some feigned death.

Interrogation record of Yan Shifan. He remained silent from May 25th onwards. He knew Qian Dehou was dead and Lin Yiqing had been silenced.

Shen Lian closed the dossier, folded it neatly, and placed it on the corner of the table.

The wick flickered, the flame shrank to the size of a soybean, and then suddenly expanded again.

He silently calculated in his mind.

Will this downfall of Yan be a thunderous blow that uproots the towering tree of Yan's party, or will it be all bark and no bite, just a passing breeze?

How much did Zhu Xixiao actually uncover? How did he plan to use his resources? Now that Yan Song has retired and Yan Shifan is imprisoned, how deep will the Yan faction be investigated—is this Zhu Xixiao's own idea, or is it instigated by someone else behind the scenes?

Could it be the Jiajing Emperor who devoted himself to Taoist cultivation in the Western Garden?

In the end, Yan Song was nothing more than a vicious dog kept by the emperor. He was released to bite when useful, and discarded and killed when no longer needed. Yan Shifan thought he had a tacit understanding with Jiajing—to admit to embezzlement but not to collusion with Japanese pirates—but he forgot. Tacit understandings are always determined by the master.

The sound of a night watchman's drum echoed down the corridor; it was the second watch.

Shen Lian pondered for a moment longer.

I had a vague feeling that something was off.

More and more files were being sent out. Intelligence was being sent out piece by piece, and verified one by one. Everything seemed to be going in the right direction—but it was going too smoothly. So smoothly, in a way, that it was unsettling.

That strange feeling was like a fishbone stuck in his throat, impossible to swallow or spit out. He thought about it for a long time, but ultimately had no clue.