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

Zhou Ming followed behind Dongmei, weaving through the crowds on Yu'an Street.

Dongmei was very efficient. She first went to the cloth shop and picked out ten bolts of fine Huzhou silk, then asked the merchant to deliver them to the Haitang Garden of the Marquis's Mansion.

She went to the cosmetics shop to buy a few more boxes of the jasmine balm that Su Mingyue usually used, and then went to the pharmacy to get some herbs to regulate her blood and qi.

Finally, they stopped in front of the dried goods shop, bargained for a few minutes, and then decided on a bag of bird's nest and two catties of white fungus.

This shopping spree took up most of the afternoon.

Zhou Ming followed behind, carrying more and more things in his hands: bamboo baskets, paper packages, and cloth bags, piled up so high they almost blocked his view.

While keeping the route in mind, he also kept thinking about the matter of spreading the scriptures at the dilapidated temple. Now that the beggars had spread the word, he probably couldn't go to that place anymore, and he would have to think of another way to spread the scriptures.

By the time Dongmei finished buying the last item, the sky was already glowing with the colors of dawn.

She then led Zhou Ming to a roadside tea stall to rest, ordered two bowls of cold tea, drank one herself, and pushed the other bowl in front of Zhou Ming.

This flattered Zhou Ming, who took the drink and gulped it down.

This earned him a roll of his eyes from Dongmei, who exclaimed that Zhou Ming was like a cow chewing on a peony, completely ignorant of tea appreciation.

Zhou Ming was secretly thinking to himself, what good tea could this tea stall possibly have? It would be good enough if it could quench my thirst.

After resting, the two began to walk back. By the time they returned to the outer courtyard of the Marquis's residence, it was completely dark.

From afar, one could see the lights of the Begonia Garden shining brightly, with maids moving about in twos and threes tidying up, and the sounds of pots and pans being shoved in the kitchen could be faintly heard.

Miss Su Mingyue and the others had already finished dinner, and the courtyard was finally quiet.

Zhou Ming handed over the purchased items to the warehouse one by one, signed the register, and was then invited by the manager to go eat.

The servants' dinner was prepared by the same person: two coarse grain buns and a bowl of bland vegetable soup for each person.

The cornbread was rock hard; one bite could break your teeth. A few withered yellow vegetable leaves floated in the soup, and the saltiness was so faint that it was almost undetectable.

Even so, none of the servants sitting around the long table complained, and they all wolfed down their food.

This is inside the Marquis's residence.

If this were outside, countless people would fight tooth and nail to get a taste of this every day.

Zhou Ming ate his cornbread while thinking.

After the meal, those who were supposed to keep watch were called out by the steward and led away, while the remaining servants dispersed and went back to their rooms to rest.

Zhou Ming didn't have to keep watch tonight, so he walked home alone.

He kept his head down the whole way, his mind preoccupied with how to spread the "Scripture of Crossing the World".

This matter was much more complicated than he had originally thought.

The goal is to spread the scriptures, but not to let others know that it was he who spread them.

His previous life was just a lowly second-class servant in the Marquis's mansion. What if someone traced him and found out about him one day?

If he claims that the scriptures were distributed by him, wouldn't he be tied up and tortured to find out the origin of the scriptures?

At that point, forget about inheriting cultivation; just getting a whole corpse would be considered a stroke of good fortune.

But he couldn't leave the scriptures untold, as they were his means of survival in this other world.

After thinking for an entire afternoon, Zhou Ming still couldn't come up with a perfect solution.

As I was walking back with my head down, a low sobbing sound suddenly came from the quiet alley.

The voice was very soft and intermittent, as if it were being squeezed out from between the teeth.

Zhou Ming stopped and held his breath to listen carefully. The crying was coming from the neighboring horse-breeding yard.

Zhou Ming tiptoed over and peered through the crack in the door.

The thin moonlight spilled onto the open ground in front of the stable, casting a small, thin figure squatting beside a haystack, wiping away tears with his sleeve.

He recognized the man; he was Fang Yuan, a third-class servant.

Fang Yuan is different from Zhou Ming.

Although Zhou Ming was also skinny, he was at least a second-class servant and had his own house.

Fang Yuan was a third-class servant who lived in a large dormitory at the horse stable, where he served Su Mingyue's horses every day.

But what Zhou Ming remembered about Fang Yuan was not his identity, but his overly kind nature.

This kid has a natural-born saintly heart; he can't stand seeing others suffer.

If he saw someone being beaten on the street, he would try to break up the fight.

Even if someone is being criticized, he will still say a few good words for them.

This might not be a big deal in modern society, but it was a strictly regulated ancient society.

The result of trying to break up a fight is that he himself gets beaten up and then hides somewhere to cry in secret.

After crying it out, the next time I see injustice, I'll still rush to my senses.

The kid is squatting by the haystack right now, with snot and tears streaming down his face. He's probably been beaten up again for standing up for someone.

When Zhou Ming saw that it was him crying, he lost interest in continuing to watch. He had only taken two steps when his feet seemed to be nailed to the ground.

A pair of cunning eyes began to dart around in the moonlight.

"etc."

"Isn't this a ready-made chosen preacher?"

"With that kid's saintly heart, if he really made a name for himself, do you think he'd keep it a secret from everyone?"

"He'd probably want to help every poor person he sees!"

"At that time, Fang Yuan will be able to spread the scriptures all over the city without expending any effort."

Zhou Ming grinned, suddenly feeling that God had been kind to him.

He tiptoed back two steps, carefully choosing a blind spot in the courtyard.

He pulled out a copy of the "Scripture of Crossing the World" that he had copied from his pocket, tossed it up, and the book flew in an arc before landing squarely on the haystack with a thud.

Fang Yuan was crying and hiccuping when a book suddenly fell from the sky, startling him so much that his tears stopped instantly.

He stared blankly at the sky, then looked down at the book, blinked a few times, and picked it up.

The moonlight wasn't very bright, so Fang Yuan brought the book close to his eyes, opened to the first page, and began to read aloud:

"...Read a book a hundred times, and divine skills will naturally appear?"

He turned a few more pages, and his eyes gradually brightened.

Zhou Ming peered through the crack in the door and saw Fang Yuan's face, still wet with tears, slowly break into a smile.

His smile was sly, and he kept glancing around as if he had found some incredible treasure.

It became.

Zhou Ming didn't dare linger. He turned around and ran back to his room in a flash. He closed the door, leaned against it, and couldn't suppress the smile on his lips.

He walked to the bedside, plopped down, his heart still pounding. Not from exhaustion, but from excitement.

This opened up a new path for him.

As long as he copies the book and distributes it one by one, who can trace it back to him?

If you throw a book into a corner, stuff it into a woodpile, or put it under a table in a roadside teahouse, who would know who put it there?

Before long, as long as one or two people read the book a hundred times and cultivate their magical powers, the book will spread like wildfire.

He won't need to worry about it; word will spread naturally.