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

The news reached the imperial prison at dusk on May 19th.

Shen Lian was using the stone that Fang Xuejian had sharpened to a point to draw lines on the wall—one, two, three lines. He had been idly counting the days on the wall ever since the day he transmigrated.

Fang Xuejian had recovered somewhat. He squatted in a corner, clutching a handful of straw and muttering to himself. He was calculating the formula for glass: one part saltpeter, two parts sulfur, three parts charcoal—no, it should be one part sulfur, two parts saltpeter, three parts charcoal? He scratched his head, threw away the straw, and started weaving again.

He was muttering about the gunpowder formula again.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps came from the end of the corridor, and there was something in those footsteps—excitement.

Inside the imperial prison, excitement meant only one thing: something big had happened outside.

The footsteps grew closer, then turned a corner and went in another direction; they weren't coming to see him.

Fang Xuejian poked his head out from the haystack: "What happened?"

Shen Lian counted his steps—the footsteps stopped at the location of the T-cell, where the money and accounts room was closed.

Could this matter also involve the accountant? Or is the other party trying to use this incident to provoke the accountant and get him to talk?

Just as the thought crossed his mind, footsteps sounded outside the door. This noise instantly interrupted Shen Lian's thoughts; the answer was about to be revealed.

"Someone's coming," Shen Lian said.

Fang Xuejian quickly retreated to the corner, pretending to be weaving something, but the knots he made were crooked and twisted.

The sound of an iron gate opening echoed down the corridor, followed by hushed conversations. The words were indistinct, but it was clear that many people were speaking—at least five or six. One of them had a shrill voice, with the distinctive tone of a eunuch, which sounded particularly jarring in the imperial prison.

May 19th was confirmed as the day Zou Yinglong submitted his memorial impeaching Yan Song. On this day in history, Emperor Jiajing was furious and ordered the arrest of Yan Shifan, resulting in Yan Song's dismissal as prime minister. This was something he had written countless times in his papers, every detail etched in his mind.

But will history change? So he kept waiting.

Waiting for a voice, a person, an event to tell him—history is still on its original track.

With a loud crash, the iron gate was pushed open and slammed against the stone wall, the sound echoing in the corridor for a long time.

"Lord Wei!" someone called out, followed by a jumble of footsteps that came and went.

Fang Xuejian grew nervous: "Shen Lian, what happened?"

"Wait," he said.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor again. Shen Lian recognized the footsteps—they belonged to Wei Liangbi.

The footsteps stopped at the cell door, but Shen Lian didn't turn around to look.

The iron gate was pushed open very gently, and Wei Liangbi stood in the doorway. Shen Lian could feel his gaze on him.

A look of awe, a kind of awe Shen Lian was very familiar with. In his previous life, when he was flipping through those yellowed historical materials in the library, he had seen countless times the immense pressure faced by imperial power between the lines. It was the kind of thing that seeped from the very bones of someone who had spent their whole life struggling in the arena of power, suddenly finding themselves facing an invisible wall—a submission to the unknown.

"Censor Zou Yinglong has submitted a memorial impeaching Yan Song and his son," Wei Liangbi said in a low voice.

Shen Lian slowly turned his head. Wei Liangbi's flying fish robe was neatly worn, making him look formal and dignified.

"Yan Shifan's Ten Major Crimes: Selling official positions, indulging his household servants, failing to observe mourning for his mother, allowing his son to plunder, being greedy and lewd, harming the country, and being disloyal and unfilial—"

As he spoke his final words, he looked at Shen Lian with a complex expression. Being manipulated by someone using information he himself didn't know about felt like swallowing excrement—both suffocating and stinking, yet also strangely exciting.

The intelligence was provided exclusively by Shen Lian, and its accuracy was astonishing.

Wei Liangbi switched the document to his left hand, wiped the sweat from his right palm on his lapel, and then switched it back.

"Mr. Shen, how did you know?"

Shen Lian met Wei Liangbi's eyes. In those eyes was something Shen Lian had never seen on the faces of the Embroidered Uniform Guards before—pleading. Not a pleading for power, but a pleading for answers.

He used to want to know who was standing opposite him, but he was also afraid to find out.

If the water is too deep, people will drown.

"I've already said I'm an undercover agent. The rest is neither for you to know nor important," Shen Lian said calmly.

Shen Lian would not tell him about the earth-shattering changes that would occur in history in the next few years.

Since the 27th year of the Jiajing reign, when Yan Song falsely accused Xia Yan and Zeng Xian of forming a clique for personal gain, resulting in Xia Yan's execution and Zeng Xian's unjust death, and Xia Yan's replacement as the Grand Secretary, the situation has changed.

As the saying goes, fortunes change, and now, in the 40th year of the Jiajing reign, the 13-year-long era of Yan Shifan's party's dictatorship has begun, starting with Zou Yinglong's "Impeachment of Yan Shifan and His Son Liu," signaling the party's impending exit from the historical stage.

Are these things important? Yes, they are important because they saved Shen Lian's life.

These things aren't important? What does all this nonsense have to do with Shen Lian?

The original owner of this body was also named Shen Lian, a scholar from Shexian County, Huizhou Prefecture, Southern Zhili. He was falsely accused of having ties with the White Lotus Sect and spent nearly four months in prison, where he was almost subjected to the excruciating torture of being sliced ​​to death several times.

So how could he possibly be qualified to get involved in palace secrets, imperial edicts, or clandestine agents?

Now that Shen Lian has arrived, even though the court situation is turbulent and stormy, this insignificant scholar is no longer in control of his own destiny. He is swept up by the torrent of worldly affairs and plunged headlong into this turbulent vortex of power struggles, with no way to extricate himself.

The air suddenly became quiet.

Wei Liangbi stood at the prison cell door, as if making some important decision, and then wisely walked away silently.

Fang Xuejian crawled out from the corner, squatted down next to Shen Lian, and lowered his voice: "Did Zou Yinglong really submit a memorial?"

Shen Lian nodded.

"Exactly the same as what you said?"

Judging from Wei Liangbi's reaction, Zou Yinglong's memorial was largely consistent with what Shen Lian had said.

Fang Xuejian was stunned for a long time, then suddenly laughed: "So, are you a god now?"

Shen Lian glanced at him: "What god?"

"Prophecy, God!" Fang Xuejian's eyes seemed unusually large on his face, which was swollen like a pig's head. "You knew seven days ago that Zou Yinglong impeached Yan Song. You knew ten days ago that Yan Shifan colluded with Japanese pirates. Wei Liangbi must be wondering now—who exactly is this person? Xu Jie's man? Someone from the Directorate of Ceremonial? Or a spy for some important figure he doesn't even know?"

Fang Xuejian was right. From this moment on, his value in the eyes of the Embroidered Uniform Guard was completely different. The fulfillment of the prophecy was his greatest shield.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor again. This time, there were many people, their movements orderly and forceful.

Wei Liangbi turned back and stood at the door. Behind him were two officers of the Imperial Guard, carrying things in their hands—a quilt, a set of clean clothes, a pot of tea, and a food box. The lid of the food box was not closed tightly, and the aroma of meat wafted out from the gap.

"Mr. Shen." Wei Liangbi's voice changed. Not "Shen Lian," but "Mr. Shen," the real Mr. Shen.

No more wavering. It's both laughable and pathetic.

At this moment, the change in address is more powerful than any words.

Unlike others, as Fang Xuejian said, he is a god.

Prophecy God!

Shen Lian remained motionless, knowing that appropriate restraint was necessary at this moment.

Wei Liangbi walked in, personally placed the bedding in the corner, and folded his clothes and put them on the bedding. Two captains followed behind, one placing the teapot and teacups on the ground, and the other opening the food box and taking out the dishes one by one—braised pork, steamed fish, stir-fried vegetables, tofu soup, and fragrant white rice.

Fang Xuejian's mouth was open, and he almost drooled.

Wei Liangbi straightened up and looked at Shen Lian. His face showed respect. It wasn't the respect a subordinate showed to a superior; it was something deeper, like the expression of a believer seeing a statue of God.

A person who has been in darkness for a long time suddenly saw a light. He didn't ask where the light came from; he just knelt down.

"Mr. Shen, you have suffered. I have offended you greatly, and I hope you will forgive me and not hold it against me. From today onwards, you will be moved to cell number three in cell A. There is a bed, a table, and books there. Hot water is available at any time, so you can take a bath and change clothes."

Shen Lian looked at him and remained silent for a while. "Fang Xuejian will move with me."

Wei Liangbi paused, his gaze shifting from Shen Lian to the disheveled, skinny young man in the corner. Fang Xuejian was squatting in the haystack, clutching a handful of loose straw.

The red marks from the paper were still visible on her face, and the wound on her lips had scabbed over.

Wei Liangbi did not hesitate.

"Okay," he said. "Fang Xuejian will move next door to you."

Fang Xuejian was so happy he couldn't speak for a long time, and almost jumped up.

Shen Lian stood up, his legs a little numb. When he reached the door, he paused and glanced back at Fang Xuejian.

"Walk."

Having traveled through time, I have finally walked out of this prison cell.

Fang Xuejian quickly stood up, threw away the loose straw in his hand, dusted himself off, and followed behind Shen Lian. When they reached the door, he turned back, grabbed a piece of braised pork from the food box, stuffed it into his mouth, his cheeks puffed out, and chewed as he followed.

Wei Liangbi walked in front, and Shen Lian followed behind him, counting his steps—two hundred and thirty-seven steps from the old prison cell to cell number three.

Behind the two captains came several more jailers, carrying all the belongings. The procession was steady and somewhat solemn.

They went deeper and got closer to the exit.

We are closer to freedom.

The door to cell number three in cell A was made of iron, but it was twice the size of the previous cells. Inside, there was a wooden bed, a table, and a chair. On the table were an oil lamp, several books, and a stack of papers. In the corner was a wooden bucket filled with water, and a wooden ladle floated on the water.

Shen Lian stood at the doorway, looking at everything. Wooden bed, table, chair, books, paper, pen—these were things he wouldn't have dared to dream of seven days ago.

The two of them were given a private room, which was a significant improvement in their treatment.

Fang Xuejian was led to the cell next door. He stood in the doorway, peering inside cautiously, then turned to Shen Lian and smiled: "There's a bed! A table! And books! Shen Lian, don't we count as having survived?"

I guess so.

Shen Lian entered the cell and sat on the bed. The bed was hard, but much better than squatting on the floor. He picked up a book from the table, flipped through it—it was *The Great Learning: A Supplement*, written by Qiu Jun, discussing governance. He put the book down and picked up the paper and pen from the table. The paper was fine Xuan paper, the pen was a wolf-hair brush, and the ink was pine soot ink. He dipped the pen in the ink and wrote a single character on the paper—"Strict."

Wei Liangbi stood at the door, waiting for Shen Lian to put down his pen before speaking, "Mr. Shen, is there anything else you need?"

The light from the oil lamp shone on Wei Liangbi's face, casting a half-light, half-shadow on his thin face.

This is the insurmountable greed for intelligence that intelligence agents cannot overcome.

"The locations of Yan Shifan's private treasuries in various places," Shen Lian said. "His hometown in Fenyi, Jiangxi, is hidden on the eastern foothills of Phoenix Mountain, which locals call 'Silver Cellar Ridge.' There are three in Nanjing, two in Suzhou, and one in Yangzhou. I'll write down the specific locations for you tomorrow."

Wei Liangbi's eyes lit up.

"There's also a list of Yan Song's protégés and former subordinates," Shen Lian continued. "A total of thirty-seven people, including ministers of the Six Ministries and Nine Ministers, as well as local governors. Seven of them are key—they hold Yan Shifan's life in their hands. I'll write down the names of these seven people for you tomorrow."

"There's also the matter of the financial accounts. It concerns Yan Shifan's collusion with the Japanese, so we need to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible."

Wei Liangbi's breathing quickened, not out of fear, but out of excitement.

"Mr. Shen—" he asked curiously, "What exactly are you?"

Shen Lian remained silent. He knew better than to ask questions; this rule had to be established.

"I understand." Wei Liangbi stood there for a long time, then bowed deeply and left. It wasn't the perfunctory bow typical of officialdom; it was a genuine, heartfelt bow.

There's nothing more satisfying than conquering someone in their area of ​​expertise.

Fang Xuejian, from the next cell, peered through the iron bars and asked, "Shen Lian, what you just said—Yan Shifan's private treasury, Yan Song's protégés and former officials, the account books of the finance department—is it all true?"

"Some of it is true," Shen Lian said frankly, "but some of it is made up."

Fang Xuejian was taken aback: "Made it up? Aren't you afraid they'll find out?"

"What they can't find out is true," Shen Lian said. "What they can find out is also true. Only what they can't find out is fabricated."

Fang Xuejian was stunned for a long time, then suddenly laughed: "You're too cunning."

Shen Lian understood that Wei Liangbi now believed he was a mole because of the value of the intelligence he possessed, but this was only a reprieve. The real story would begin once he was released from prison.

Zhou Kui's voice came from the cell door: "Mr. Shen, the hot water is ready. Would you like to take a bath?"

Shen Lian stood up and walked to the door. Zhou Kui stood outside, his face bearing the same respectful expression as Wei Liangbi. The jailer carried a wooden bucket, steaming from it.

"Thank you, Commander Zhou," Shen Lian said.

He took the wooden bucket and closed the door. He took off the prison uniform he had worn for over twenty days; the uniform was stiff and covered in sweat and blood. He threw the uniform in the corner, scooped up water with a wooden ladle, and poured it over his head. The water was warm, but it burned his skin, making him shiver. He rubbed the grime off his body with his fingers, layer by layer, as if peeling off skin.

Fang Xuejian called from next door, "Shen Lian! Is the water too hot?"

"Warm."

"Mine too! Zhou Kui said there will be hot water every day from now on!" Fang Xuejian said excitedly. "Shen Lian, are we really alive?"

Shen Lian poured water over his head, letting it flow down his face. The water flowed over his eyes, nose, and mouth, dripping onto the ground with a crisp sound.

He looked at the paper and pen on the table. The character "严" was still on the paper, but the ink had dried.

"It's just a suspended sentence," he said. "The real beginning will only begin after I get out of prison."

There was silence next door. After a long while, Fang Xuejian spoke up: "Shen Lian, wherever you go, I'll follow you."

Shen Ling nodded slightly; this promise was a vow to never fail him, even unto death.

However, Fang Xuejian was straightforward and pure of heart, unsuitable for the treacherous power struggles of the imperial court. He had his own world, and deserved a place to realize his ambitions. This chaotic world and new era needed people like him who devoted themselves to the study of things and the research of skills.

Shen Lian poured out the water from the wooden tub, dried himself with the clean prison clothes, and put on the new clothes. The clothes were cotton, very soft, and felt warm against his skin, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time.

He sat on the bed, picked up the book "Supplement to the Great Learning," and opened to the first page. The light from the oil lamp illuminated the pages, making the characters clear and the ink smell sweet.

At the end of the corridor, Wei Liangbi's duty room was brightly lit.

Wei Liangbi was writing two secret reports, one to Zhu Xixiao, the commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and the other to Wang Chong, the garrison commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

He suddenly recalled Shen Lian's words in the torture chamber: "Killing a prisoner is easy. But severing a direct line to the palace, one that could lead to the downfall of the Yan faction—Lord Wei, can you bear the responsibility?"

He couldn't afford it. He won the gamble, and won by the perfect timing.

Therefore, he had no choice but to trust his intelligence.

He believed in a scholar imprisoned in the imperial prison, and in a ghost whose background he couldn't uncover.

He let out a long breath. There was no need to hesitate; it was time to place his bet.

Regardless of who Shen Lian is, from this day forward, he is a member of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.