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

Fang Yuan was only in a daze for less than an hour before it was fully light.

The stable manager was banging on a clapper and cursing outside, causing chaos in the communal sleeping area.

Fang Yuan sat up abruptly, and the first thing he did wasn't to put on his shoes, but to reach out and touch the "Scripture of Crossing the World" in his arms.

The book was still there, pressing hard against his ribs, and only then did he feel at ease.

The day's work consisted of brushing horses, carrying hay, and cleaning the stables.

To others, he was no different from yesterday; he still had that skinny frame and was still working silently with his head down.

But Fang Yuan himself knew that things were different now.

When carrying the haystacks, even with hundreds of pounds pressing down on him, he didn't even lose his breath, his steps steady and firm, leaving a mark with each step.

The manager passed by him and cursed him a couple of times as usual. Fang Yuan didn't shrink back like before; he just listened quietly. Once the manager was far away, he went back to doing what he was doing.

He had already made up his mind.

Who should we look for first? The pillar.

Zhu Zi was a third-class servant, just like him, doing odd jobs in the mule and horse stable behind the stable. He was two years younger than him and was often bullied.

Zhu Zi was short and dull-witted, so everyone called him "Silly Zhu Zi," but Fang Yuan never called him that.

Last month, Zhu Zi was slapped twice by a second-class servant in the kitchen, his nose bleeding profusely. Fang Yuan intervened to break up the fight, but both of them ended up getting beaten up and squatting behind a haystack crying.

As evening fell and work was finished, Fang Yuan blocked the pillar behind the mule and horse shed.

Zhu Zi was squatting on the ground picking up pebbles from the soybean meal when he saw Fang Yuan coming over. He smiled sheepishly.

"Brother Fangyuan."

Fang Yuan squatted down opposite him, looked around, and seeing that no one else was around, took out the book "The Book of Crossing the World" from his pocket.

"Zhu Zi, do you believe me?"

Fang Yuan placed the book on his lap and looked into the pillar's eyes.

Zhu Zi glanced at the book, then at Fang Yuan, and nodded obediently: "I believe you."

"Okay." Fang Yuan opened the book, pointed to the first line, and said, "Read it after me. After reading it a hundred times, you'll be just like me."

Zhu Zi didn't understand what "just like you" meant, but he believed in Fang Yuan.

He took it and awkwardly began to read along, his tongue tied, his words stumbling and stammering.

Fang Yuan wasn't in a hurry. He taught her one word at a time, and if she mispronounced a word, he would start over, over and over again.

When it got dark, Zhu Zi read that page of scripture less than ten times.

Fang Yuan patted him on the shoulder: "Keep reading it tomorrow. Don't tell anyone until you've read it a hundred times."

Zhu Zi nodded vigorously, carefully tucking the "Scripture of Crossing the World" into his bosom.

Fang Yuan did not intend to pass the skill to only Zhu Zi.

The next morning, he went to Ah Gui in the woodshed again, and on the third day, he dragged Gou Sheng, who was sweeping the yard, along with him.

His method was incredibly clumsy; he searched for them one by one and spoke to them one by one.

He recruited ordinary, lowly servants who were bullied just like him, honest people who didn't even dare to raise their voices.

He lent his copy of "The Book of Crossing the World" to one person to read for a night, and to another to copy a few passages. Whenever he had free time, he would ask: How many times have you read it? Do you feel warm inside?

On the third day, Zhu Zi ran to find Fang Yuan, his face filled with surprise and joy, and stammered:

"Fang... Brother Fangyuan, my... my stomach is burning hot!"

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

"It's really hot!" Zhu Zi's eyes lit up like lamps.

Fang Yuan grinned.

He was even happier than the pillar.

In just three to five days, two more solidified chains appeared next to the original causal chain in the vicinity.

At night, Fang Yuan led Zhu Zi and A Gui to squat in the open space behind the horse farm and continued to recite scriptures.

Fang Yuan discovered that the more scriptures he read, the stronger the heat he felt in his dantian became, and his strength also increased accordingly.

The three of them huddled together, the moonlight casting long, thin shadows of their small bodies.

In the past two days, Zhou Ming has seen several completely solidified causal chains.

Zhou Ming lay on his bed, legs crossed, staring at the increasingly dense causal network between his eyebrows, feeling both excited and a little uneasy.

To his delight, Fang Yuan's efficiency was much higher than he had imagined.

What's alarming is that things seem to be escalating a bit too quickly.

He continued copying scriptures during the day as usual these past two days.

Every morning, when Miss Su Mingyue went to the main courtyard, he would go into his study, dip his wrist in ink, and carefully copy the three thousand characters of scripture onto a blank book.

Over the course of two days, he copied out six more books, but he didn't dare to go out and distribute them anymore.

He had already risked his life to throw away one of the several grand mansions surrounding the Marquis's residence a few days ago.

Throwing a second round of questions is pointless and doubles the risk. Losing one book is accidental, but losing two is a completely different matter.

Moreover, it won't be long before those powerful families themselves discover the truth.

Even the most useless person, as long as they're not an idiot, could unleash the power of the Skin Refining Realm after reciting the mantra a hundred times. In the eyes of any powerful clan leader, this would be a momentous event that shakes the heavens.

They couldn't possibly remain unmoved, nor could they possibly abandon it.

They would definitely have someone secretly test it, and if it turned out to be true, they would spare no effort to have their own direct descendants and private army secretly cultivate it.

Once things get to this point, if someone continues to throw books around, it's like scavenging for food right under their noses—the risk is too great.

At night, Zhou Ming, carrying six copies of the "Scripture of Crossing the World" that he had copied, left the house and crawled out of the dog hole.

Follow the shadows along the base of the wall through the alley, and you'll arrive at an inconspicuous corner deep within the alley.

This is the end of a narrow alley, rarely visited by anyone. At the base of the wall lie several loose old blue bricks, their cracks filled with moss.

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

Zhou Mingyue dug a hole in the brick, just big enough to fit a few books.

Zhou Ming wrapped the six copies of "The Scripture of Crossing the World" in oiled paper, stuffed them into the brick hole, then put the blue brick back in its original position, and patted the dust off his hands.

He stood up, looked around, found nothing wrong, and then disappeared into another alley.

Zhou Ming turned around and went back to his room. He lay on the bed, put his hands behind his head, and pondered his future plans.

He no longer intends to distribute these scriptures.

Once the days off arrive, the servants of the Marquis's mansion will have a pretext to go out, and he can leave the mansion legitimately.

Second-class servants like Zhou Ming have one day off each month.

Then we'll dig the book out and take it to the busiest part of the city.

Then, put these books in the most inconspicuous hidden compartments under the benches in teahouses, next to the dilapidated sheds where street performers rest on Tianqiao, or backstage at opera troupes.

These places are a melting pot of all sorts of people. Whoever finds it won't bother to investigate its origin; they'll just secretly hide it and study it in secret.

When members of aristocratic families discover scriptures, they will definitely hide them away, lock them in a secret room, and only allow their own direct descendants to cultivate them.

The more people who know, the less of an advantage they have.

But there are no secrets in this world. Aristocratic families can keep books secret, but they can't keep secret those who have been kicked out of the game, let alone those commoners from humble backgrounds who are never even worth their attention.

Zhou Ming rolled over, a smile playing on his lips.

The wider the scriptures spread, the denser the karmic network between his eyebrows becomes.

Throughout the entire Yuyang County, anyone who cultivates magical power through those three thousand characters of scripture is essentially working for him.

What else is he afraid of? He's afraid the news won't spread.