If you die, I will be able to inherit your cultivation.

Zhou Ming went straight to the study, found a bound blank book, ground the ink, and sat down at the desk to start writing.

He picked up his pen and wrote three large characters on the blank book cover: "The Scripture of Crossing the World".

This is the name he decided on after thinking about it all the way.

Although he didn't know the real name of the scripture in his mind, judging from the fact that "when a cultivator dies, his cultivation is transferred to the person who transmits the scripture," it was definitely not something legitimate.

To get people to read it obediently, you have to give it a glittering cover.

The phrase "crossing the world" immediately evokes the Buddhist approach of compassion and universal salvation.

It's high-end, classy, ​​and sophisticated, and people who hear it will immediately let their guard down.

After finishing the cover, Zhou Ming turned to the first page and solemnly wrote eight more characters: "Read a book a hundred times, and divine skills will naturally appear."

This serves as a reminder to those who study: scriptures must be read thoroughly a hundred times in order to cultivate magical powers.

Whether Zhou Ming believes it or not is beyond his control.

Next, Zhou Ming copied the three thousand words of scripture from his mind onto the pages of the book, word by word.

After copying to the end, he paused for a moment, then picked up his pen and added a sentence:

"Those who master this divine skill must pass it on to a hundred people, otherwise they will surely suffer karmic retribution."

That's pure nonsense. He doesn't know if someone who has successfully cultivated will voluntarily pass on the scriptures, but based on the principle of "better safe than sorry," writing it down is better than not writing it down at all.

If someone actually masters this technique and sees this sentence, and is so frightened that they spread the knowledge far and wide, wouldn't they make a fortune without lifting a finger?

After finishing copying one book, Zhou Ming started copying a second one.

The study was very quiet. The other servants were either playing chess or gambling in their small cubicles to kill time, so no one bothered him.

For the entire morning, Zhou Ming hunched over his desk, copying three books in one go, and then tucked them into his pocket.

Around noon, Zhou Ming followed the others to the back gate of the main house to wait.

Su Mingyue would go back after lunch, and spend most of the afternoon in her own courtyard.

Sure enough, less than half an hour later, the young lady emerged, surrounded by maids and servants, and walked straight toward the Begonia Garden without looking to the side.

Zhou Ming and his group also returned to the outer courtyard.

The steward of the Begonia Garden gathered the servants together and assigned them tasks for the afternoon.

Zhou Ming was assigned to accompany the head maid, Dongmei, on a shopping trip.

This Dongmei is no ordinary maid.

She was one of Su Mingyue's four most capable personal maids.

Not only is he intelligent and efficient, but he is also quite skilled in martial arts.

Zhou Ming had personally witnessed her single-handedly confront a dozen or so scoundrels.

Not only did he knock everyone to the ground, but he didn't even have time to catch his breath.

Zhou Ming felt at ease going out with such a formidable figure.

As soon as you step out of the Marquis's mansion, the bustling and lively atmosphere of the street hits you.

This was the first time Zhou Ming had truly seen what this world looked like since he transmigrated.

Yuyang County was an important city in Youzhou, located at the intersection of four trade routes from north to south and east to west. There were six main streets running east to west in the city, and countless alleys running north to south.

The area where the Marquis's mansion is located is a gathering place for the residences of nobles and wealthy merchants. The road is paved with smooth bluestone slabs and rows of locust trees are planted on both sides. Compared with Yu'an Street in the north of the city, which is full of merchants, it is much quieter.

But once you turn onto Yu'an Street, it's a completely different scene.

The street was wide enough for eight horses to walk side by side, and the shops on both sides were lined up one after another, including restaurants, cloth shops, banks, pharmacies, and bookstores, one after another, stretching as far as the eye could see.

The colorful shop signs hanging at the entrance fluttered in the wind—red, blue, and yellow, each embroidered with the shop's name, vying for attention to attract passersby.

The air was filled with the aroma of steamed flour as the steamer was opened, the scent of herbs wafting from the pharmacy, the fragrance of jasmine blossoms from the teahouse, and the enticing aroma of crispy fried dough sticks from the street corner stall.

The crowd surged, shoulder to shoulder.

Zhou Ming followed behind Dongmei, his eyes almost unable to take it all in.

He had visited ancient cities and imitation ancient streets in his previous life, but those were all lifeless scenes, nothing like the vibrant scene before him.

He was engrossed in watching when he suddenly heard several beggars squatting in a corner on the street whispering to each other.

The words "a dilapidated temple outside the city" were vaguely mentioned in the conversation.

Zhou Ming's heart skipped a beat, and he unconsciously slowed down, straining his ears to listen carefully.

"It's true, I saw it with my own eyes!" an old beggar with a face full of sores said in a low voice, his expression excited, to his companions beside him.

"At that dilapidated mountain god temple outside the city, at night, a fat man with a veiled face sits in front of the Buddha statue, lighting a ghostly green candle, and teaching a group of beggars to chant sutras."

"Chanting scriptures? A fat man with a mask teaching a beggar to chant scriptures?" A young beggar with a missing arm sneered from the side.

"You bald-headed Zhang, you're so hungry you've lost your mind, you're spouting nonsense."

"I'm talking nonsense? I was right there in the temple, under the broken wall, and I heard it all clearly. They even gave us steamed buns to eat after the scriptures were recited!"

The old beggar grew anxious, his voice becoming shrill, "And the thing he was chanting sounded like Taoist stuff, but it wasn't."

"The Tao has no name, so I call it profound. Profound and yet more profound, the root of all things... Listen to these words, could I have made them up?"

Another beggar's expression turned serious, and he leaned closer and whispered:

"I've heard about it too. These past two days, Old Cripple and his gang have been going to that dilapidated temple every day, acting all mysterious. They won't say what they're going there for. They used to be starving like dogs, but these past two days they haven't been complaining about being hungry as much."

"That's right," the old beggar said in a low voice, a hint of fear in his eyes.

"I think that masked fat man doesn't look human; he's probably a monster from the mountains."

"My father once said that some demons specifically choose to stay in remote temples and villages, using their magic to bewitch the poor. They first give them food and drink, and then... then they have to take away their souls."

"Collecting souls?" The young beggar swallowed hard, his mockery vanishing.

"That's not all." The old beggar lowered his voice even further, and several other beggars around him huddled together.

"I saw it with my own eyes. That sorcerer rubbed his fingers together, and a ball of fire appeared out of thin air! It was bluish-green and eerie, hovering just above his fingertips!"

Upon hearing this, Zhou Ming almost lost his composure.

Good heavens, he spent half a tael of silver to buy steamed buns, made up excuses, covered his face and stuffed cloth to pretend to be fat, and finally created the image of a "master". In the blink of an eye, he was rumored to be a monster that collects souls.

Once this news spreads, who would still go to the dilapidated temple to chant sutras and receive steamed buns?

His plan to spread the teachings has fallen through, hasn't it?

What should we do?

"Zhou Ming, what are you daydreaming about?" Dongmei's voice suddenly rang out from ahead.

When Zhou Ming came to his senses, he saw Dongmei standing a few steps away, hands on her hips, her phoenix eyes slightly narrowed, and a hint of impatience on her face.

She was about seventeen or eighteen years old, with delicate features, but there was a sharp edge between her brows that made people dare not underestimate her.

"Sister Dongmei," Zhou Ming quickly walked a few steps to catch up, smiling.

"This is the first time I've come shopping with you, so please forgive me if I'm overwhelmed by all the choices."

Dongmei sized him up and down, her expression unchanged, and snorted coldly, "Hmph... stick close!" Then she turned and continued walking forward.

Zhou Ming followed behind, head down in thought. He couldn't go to the dilapidated temple for the time being; his understanding of this world was still too shallow.

If I were to be mistaken for a demon and arrested, even if I didn't die, I would be badly injured.