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

On the third night, Fang Yuan finally finished reading it for the hundredth time.

When he finished reciting the last word for the last time, he was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the dormitory, the blanket had slipped down to his knees.

The pages of the "Scripture of Crossing the World" in his hand were already curled from being turned so many times, and the three words on the cover had been worn blurry by his fingers.

He closed the book, shut his eyes, and was about to fall asleep as usual when suddenly a warm current surged from his lower abdomen.

The feeling was like a scalding hot spring suddenly bursting open three inches below his navel, flowing down his internal organs and into his limbs and bones.

Fang Yuan's drowsiness was instantly washed away. He suddenly opened his eyes wide and opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

The heat flowed through his body, as if someone was stroking his bones with a red-hot iron rod over and over again. It didn't hurt, but it was burning hot, so hot that he was sweating all over.

Late at night, a cool breeze seeped in through the cracks in the wall, but Fang Yuan felt hotter than if he were squatting under the sun at noon on the hottest day of summer, and his clothes were completely soaked through.

After an unknown amount of time, the heat gradually subsided, like the receding tide, and eventually all of it retreated back into the dantian.

They gathered there, heavy and warm, like a small ball of burning coals.

Fang Yuan tried to exhale a breath of stale air, which condensed into a thin white line under the moonlight, shooting out more than half a foot before dissipating.

He looked down at his hands.

It was still the same pair of thin, bony hands with black grime under their fingernails, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what was different.

He tried clenching his fist, and his knuckles cracked a series of crisp sounds, like he was squeezing a handful of dry bamboo, the force traveling from his palm all the way to his shoulder.

Fang Yuan climbed up from his bunk, his movements so light that even he was startled. It felt like he was walking on cotton, or as if he wasn't touching the ground at all; he felt light as a feather.

The people in the same bunk were snoring loudly, and no one noticed.

Fang Yuan pushed open the door to the large communal sleeping area and walked into the courtyard.

The sky was already faintly turning gray; dawn was approaching.

Fang Yuan stopped and fixed his gaze on the stone mill.

This stone mill is used to press soybean meal. It weighs four or five hundred catties, and the manager usually has two or three third-class servants push it together.

When selecting people, Fang Yuan is never chosen because of his physique. It would be pointless to refuse him, and he might even hurt his back, delaying other tasks.

Fang Yuan walked up to the stone mill, bent down, opened his arms, and hugged one end of the mill.

The stone mill was ice-cold, and the cool air seeped into my skin through my sleeves.

He took a deep breath, and the ball of fire in his dantian suddenly ignited, a surge of heat flowing down his back and into his arms.

He gritted his teeth and growled, "Rise!"

The stone millstone was lifted off the ground.

It wasn't just a slight shift or a slight tilt; it was completely lifted off the ground, held in his arms, up to his chest.

Fang Yuan stared wide-eyed, not even bothering to catch his breath, and then he tossed the millstone up a little higher. His fingers gripped the indentation on the stone surface, his legs slightly apart, his knees bent and straightened, and he stood firmly again.

The millstone pressed heavily against his chest, but the weight of it seemed to be mostly dissolved by the heat flowing from his dantian, and he could bear the remaining weight.

His face, gaunt from long-term malnutrition, first showed confusion, then disbelief, and then his mouth slowly opened, revealing two rows of not-so-perfect teeth.

When he put down the millstone, it slammed onto the millstone with a dull thud.

Fang Yuan stood to the side, panting heavily, his breath coming out in puffs that were dazzlingly white.

"I...I really mastered it."

He murmured, his voice trembling.

He rolled up his sleeve and looked at his arm.

They still had those two thin arms, and you could hardly see any change.

But only he knew that beneath this skin and flesh, things were no longer the same.

He then recalled those eight words: "Read a book a hundred times, and divine skills will naturally appear."

It turns out it was true. Not a single word was false.

"I never have to..."

His voice choked, and he stared at his hands, which were strong enough to lift a stone millstone, tears welling up in his eyes.

"I won't have to be bullied anymore."

Something he had never felt before surged up from Fang Yuan's chest, hot and burning, hotter than the embers in his dantian.

He straightened his back and stood in the courtyard for a while, wiping away the tears on his face.

He was no longer the third-rate servant who could be beaten up by anyone.

From now on, no one can bully him anymore.

Before the feeling of triumph had even subsided, Fang Yuan's thoughts began to wander elsewhere.

He took out the book "The Book of Salvation" from his pocket and smoothed out the curled corners with his fingers, as if it were some precious treasure.

He knew perfectly well that he had developed this ability, which proved that the scriptures were true.

There are many people in the world who are bullied more than him, and many more who have a worse fate than him.

He couldn't manage others, but he could manage those third-class servants like himself.

"I have to spread this message."

After saying that, Fang Yuan remembered the sentence at the end of the book.

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

Fang Yuan tucked the book back into his pocket and said earnestly to the stone mill, as if swearing an oath to it, "I will definitely pass it on."

He turned around and went back to the communal sleeping area, lying down on his own bunk.

He was already planning in his mind who to talk to first after dawn, how to say it, and whether those people would believe him.

He tossed and turned excitedly until dawn broke, at which point he finally managed to close his eyes for a short while.

These past two days, Zhou Ming's days have been quite regular.

Early in the morning, he followed Su Mingyue to the main courtyard. After the young lady led the maids and servants into the inner quarters, Zhou Ming went straight into the study next door.

Sitting at the desk, with eyes focused on the nose and mind at ease, wrist suspended in the air, I carefully transcribe the three thousand characters of scripture in my mind onto the pages of the book.

Copying books is a tedious task.

The handwriting must be neat and legible, and there must be no mistakes or omissions. After copying each page, he would proofread it word by word and only turn to the next page after confirming that there were no errors.

After sitting for the whole morning, my wrists were so sore I couldn't lift them, and ink had accumulated in the gaps between my fingers.

But Zhou Ming knew in his heart that every word he copied could become a thread of cause and effect for someone else in the future.

These books are not waste paper; they are seeds. The more seeds he sows, the greater his future harvest will be.

Over the course of two days, he copied books in the morning and did odd jobs like sweeping and moving things with the steward in the afternoon.

At night, he would take the "Scripture of Crossing the World" that he had copied during the day, slip out of the dog hole, and throw the book into the various mansions in the city under the cover of darkness.

Over two days, they copied a total of six books and distributed them all.

Lying in bed at night, Zhou Ming closed his eyes. The chain of cause and effect between his eyebrows had grown from just a few strands to a dense, fine cluster.

Most of the newly formed silk threads were still very faint, like freshly drawn spider silk, which would break with a gust of wind.

However, some of them had solidified and gained weight. One was square and round, and two or three others of unknown origin were slightly thicker than the others.

At that moment, he stared at one of the causal chains and suddenly frowned.

That's square or round.

Just now, this chain of cause and effect suddenly thickened considerably, as if someone had poured molten iron into the thread, transforming a thin spider silk into a heavy iron wire.

It hung steadily in the causal net between Zhou Ming's eyebrows, looking like a fine cotton thread next to a hemp rope compared to the other silk threads.

Zhou Ming suddenly sat up in bed, his heart pounding.

"This is..." He narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth slowly curving upwards to an angle he couldn't suppress, "Qi Refining Realm?"

His cheap cheat code had told him that the higher a cultivator's cultivation level, the stronger the causal chain becomes.

Fang Yuan's transformation clearly indicates that he has read the text a hundred times, cultivated his magical power, and officially entered the ranks of cultivators in the Qi Refining Realm.

A third-class servant, just a few days ago he was a weakling who could only hide and cry when bullied.

Now I am a cultivator, and cultivators are different from martial artists.

For a martial artist to enter the Skin Refining Realm, they need to train their body for three to five years; otherwise, they can forget about ever reaching the Skin Refining Realm.

For cultivators to generate Qi, they must have spiritual roots and a cultivation method.

The "Scripture of Crossing the World" breaks this rule. Regardless of whether you have spiritual roots or not, as long as you recite it a hundred times, you will naturally enter the Qi Refining Realm.

Zhou Ming had never seen a cultivator at the Qi Refining Realm or a martial artist at the Skin Refining Realm, so he naturally couldn't estimate who was stronger.

However, Zhou Ming could foresee that the appearance of the "Scripture of Crossing the World" would inevitably stir up a huge wave in this world.