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

The meeting began.

Zhao Yanxian spoke in a loud voice that echoed in the empty room, making the window paper tremble slightly: "The case of Yan Shifan has been basically solved. The evidence of corruption, selling official positions, and embezzling military funds is conclusive. But the charge of colluding with Japanese pirates still needs more evidence. The arrest warrant from Fujian has been issued for half a month, and Lin Yiqing has not yet been caught."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the crowd.

"The information provided by Zuixianlou, the private treasuries in Nanjing, Suzhou, and Yangzhou is exactly the same as the information provided by Mr. Shen." He glanced at Shen Lian, his tone carrying a hint of deliberate praise, "You all know the credit for this."

Liu Fu chimed in, his tone ambiguous: "Of course, Shen Lian's intelligence was extremely accurate, and he deserves credit. But if Lin Yiqing can't be captured, will this line with the Japanese pirates be severed?"

"That's true. How could a poor scholar from Huizhou possibly know the location of Yan Shifan's Shunfeng ship outside Quanzhou Port? Even our Northern Garrison Command couldn't uncover these things after three months of investigation. He's imprisoned in the Imperial Prison; where would he get such abilities?"

When he said the name "Shen Lian," his gaze swept across Shen Lian's face like a knife, as if he wanted to devour him.

Wei Liangbi was about to speak.

Shen Lian pressed his hand down under the table.

It was a very light touch, like a breeze rippling across water. Wei Liangbi paused for a moment, then fell silent. His fingers clenched into fists on his knees, but he didn't say anything more.

Liu Fu's words sounded grand and righteous, but every sentence was a dagger to him. But it was precisely at times like these that one couldn't be hasty. Haste would play right into Liu Fu's hands.

Wang Chong spoke up.

His voice was low and slow, like an old ox pulling a cart: "It seems the thread of collusion with the Japanese pirates has been severed. Today we will only discuss Yan Shifan's case: corruption, selling official positions, embezzlement of military funds, filial impiety, and disregard for the law."

With a single sentence, Liu Fu's criticism was gently deflected.

Liu Fu's lips twitched, as if someone had shoved a piece of bitter melon into his mouth. But he didn't say anything more. Wang Chong was the kind of person who, when he spoke, set the tone.

Zhao Yan fell silent, picked up his teacup and slowly sipped his tea, glancing at Shen Lian from above the rim of the cup with an ambiguous look.

For the next hour or so, the three engaged in a tug-of-war over the details of the Yan Shifan case.

Zhao Yan advocated for a swift resolution to the case, accusing Yan Shifan of three crimes: embezzlement, filial impiety, and disregard for the law. He proposed reporting this to the court for a joint trial by the three judicial departments before formally executing him. His tone was unhurried, but Shen Lian could tell that Xu Jie was already impatient. Every day Yan's faction lived, Grand Secretary Xu would have one more day of unease.

Liu Fu repeatedly emphasized the "collusion with Japanese pirates" charge, arguing that although Lin Yiqing hadn't been caught, Yan Shifan's suspicion of colluding with the pirates couldn't be ruled out, and the investigation should continue, ideally uncovering the entire maritime merchant network in Fujian. He spoke with righteous indignation, but Shen Lian knew perfectly well—Liu Fu was simply buying time for Yan's faction. The longer the case remained unresolved, the longer Yan Shifan lived. And the longer he lived, the more uncertainties remained.

Wang Chong sat in the middle, listening more and speaking less. Occasionally he would interject a word or two, but it was always about procedural matters—the format of the report, the process of the joint trial, and the route for escorting the prisoners. He neither agreed with nor opposed the argument between Zhao Yan and Liu Fu, like a clay statue of a bodhisattva.

But Shen Lian noticed that every time the topic veered off course, Wang Chong would speak up at just the right moment to bring the conversation back on track.

Once is a coincidence. Twice is a coincidence. Three times—that's an attitude.

Shen Lian felt a slight chill run down his spine. Wang Chong was a much more complex person than he had imagined.

The meeting lasted for more than an hour.

Shen Lian sat in the corner, listening to their discussion of every detail of the Yan Shifan case—the disposal plan for the stolen goods, the progress of the interrogation of accomplices, how to write the report to the court, which charge to put first, and which to downplay. He didn't say a word, but his mind was racing.

Every unintentional touch felt like stuffing an entire archive into his brain: Zhao Yan's memories, Liu Fu's memories, and the hand of a Jinyiwei captain he accidentally brushed against while passing by in the corridor.

All these memories were swirling together in his mind, like a pot of boiling porridge. Images, sounds, emotions, smells—the bloody smell when Qian Dehou was dragged away, the ink scent in Zhao Yan's duty room, the candle smoke in Liu Fu's secret room, and the acrid smell of rust and flesh mixed together when branding irons were used in the torture chamber of the imperial prison in the captain's memory.

My temples are throbbing. It's getting worse, like someone is hitting me with a hammer.

Shen Lian's fingers gripped the chair armrests so tightly they turned white, his nails digging into the old wood grain, splinters piercing his nails, causing pain. His vision blurred, flashes of bright light and dark shadows alternating. A dizzying, vertigo sensation surged from the base of his spine upwards, like waves crashing against him.

All my strength seemed to have been drained. Even sitting felt incredibly heavy, my spine felt like it was collapsing vertebra by vertebra, and every muscle and bone was screaming with exhaustion. It was clearly a sign that I was about to collapse completely.

It must not fall. It absolutely must not fall.

He screamed inwardly, urging himself on again and again. Hold on, you must hold on. Those memories he had painstakingly extracted, that intelligence crucial to his very survival, were his only means of survival in the Ming Dynasty, even his chance to defy fate. If he could just endure this exhaustion, these things would become his invincible trump card. If he fainted now—all his previous efforts would be for naught.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, trickling down his temples. He dared not wipe it away, afraid that raising his hand would reveal the trembling in his hands.

Shen Lian had no recollection of when the meeting ended.

He was utterly bewildered. Such a highly confidential meeting should, in principle, not be his place at all. What right did a "special advisor"—basically an unofficial intelligence provider—have to sit in the main hall of the Northern Garrison Command, listening to a few commanders discuss the conclusion of the Yan Shifan case? Yet Zhu Xixiao had summoned him anyway.

Is it a test? A trial? Or... something else entirely?

After everyone left, Zhao Yan walked straight towards Shen Lian.

His steps were slow but steady, each one firm and deliberate. He extended his hand, a perfectly measured smile honed in the ways of officialdom graciously displayed. Neither overly warm nor overly cold, it was like a bowl of tea that had cooled down.

"Mr. Shen, I look forward to your guidance in the future." He paused, his tone carrying a deliberate sincerity, "The past is the past. From now on, it will be the beginning of our cooperation."

As he spoke, he reached out and gently patted Shen Lian on the shoulder. The gesture was natural, like an elder encouraging a younger person, or like colleagues showing affection.

Zhao Yan's palm landed, warmly pressing against his shoulder—he was patting the shoulder, but his fingers inadvertently rested on the side of his neck.

Palms against shoulders, fingertips brushing against neck.

Skin contact.

This contact lasted even less than a second. But Shen Lian's mind was already about to explode. New fragments of memory poured into his skull like shards of glass—Zhao Yan was in Xu Jie's study, where a plaque inscribed with "Upright Mind and Sincere Intentions" hung on the wall, and a list of personnel after Yan Song's downfall was laid out on the table. Xu Jie's finger touched Hu Zongxian's name, and Zhao Yan said beside him, "This person, we wish to keep him." Xu Jie's finger moved away and landed on another name. Zhao Yan didn't speak again.

Zhao Yan withdrew his hand, turned around, and left.

Shen Lian tasted a metallic sweetness in his throat, and his vision blurred, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to let go or let anyone notice anything amiss. A smile even lingered on his lips.

Liu Fu walked past him, pausing for a moment.

"Mr. Shen," he said in a low voice, "Lord Zhu values ​​you highly. But in the Northern Garrison, being valued is one thing, how long you can live is another. You'd better take care of yourself."

After saying that, he left without looking back.

The carriage wound its way through the alleys for a long time before finally returning to the resettlement point.

When Shen Lian got out of the car, his legs went weak, his knees buckled, and he almost knelt on the ground. Wei Liangbi caught him, his fingers gripping his arm tightly. His eyes were full of worry—not feigned, but genuine.

"Mr. Shen, are you alright?"

"It's nothing." Shen Lian pushed his hand away, his voice steady. "My legs went numb from sitting in the carriage for so long."

He walked into the courtyard and used his last bit of strength to close the door.

The moment the door latch closed, his body felt as if his spine had been ripped out, and he slid down the door to the ground. His temples felt like they were about to split open, and his mind was filled with fragments—Zhao Yan's memories, Liu Fu's memories, Wang Chong's memories, the captain's memories—all surging, colliding, and tearing apart.

The images overlapped. The sounds mingled. The emotions clashed.

Fang Xuejian called from outside the door, his voice as bright as a gong: "Shen Lian? You're back? I've fired the second batch! It's much better than the first! Take a look!"

Shen Lian did not answer. He forced himself to piece together those fragments of memory, one by one, like piecing together a painting torn to pieces.

In Zhao Yan's memory, there was the entire network that Xu Jie had laid within the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Seven informants were distributed across various key departments of the Northern Garrison Command—one in the Records Department, two in the Garrison Command Prison, two in the Northern Garrison Command's duty room, one in the Archives, and one in the Capital Garrison Command's office. Each person had their own code name and a single contact. The code name used was from the Thousand Character Classic—"Heaven and Earth were dark and yellow, the universe was vast and desolate."

Liu Fu had a list of Yan Song's informants within the Embroidered Uniform Guard. There were five people, the highest-ranking being a commander surnamed Zhou, responsible for monitoring Zhu Xixiao's every move. The remaining four were distributed among the Imperial Prison, the Records Office, and the patrol battalions of the Capital Guard. Liu Fu himself did not contact Yan Shifan directly; there was an intermediary, a secretary in the Ministry of Works, whose surname he couldn't discern.

Wang Chong's memories.

Shen Lian had no opportunity for physical contact—but his words at the meeting, combined with the fragments Wei Liangbi had previously provided, were enough to piece together a picture. Wang Chong's true stance was neutral, but leaned towards the emperor. He had written a sentence in a secret report, which Shen Lian gleaned from fragments of Wang Chong's trusted lieutenant's memory: "The Yan faction can be eliminated, but not hastily. Xu Jie can be used, but not entirely trusted. The emperor is the ultimate authority."

There is also the memory of a captain.

He was Liu Fu's man, responsible for monitoring Shen Lian's settlement. He meticulously recorded everything in a small notebook: shift changes, food delivery times, Shen Lian's wake-up and light-out times—the handwriting was crooked and messy, like a chicken scratching. One piece of information in his memory caused Shen Lian's pupils to contract sharply—

Zhu Xixiao investigated him because Liu Fu was behind it.

Liu Fu suspected Shen Lian was Xu Jie's man and wanted to use Zhu Xixiao to get rid of him. However, he couldn't do it himself because his position in the Embroidered Uniform Guard was too sensitive—a commander openly targeting Zhu Xixiao's "special advisor" would be tantamount to admitting guilt. So he used a roundabout method. He had his subordinates pass on messages, and his colleagues "casually mention" it during meetings, allowing the fragments to slowly accumulate on Zhu Xixiao's desk.

Shen Lian felt a little better.

He stood up from the ground, walked to the table, and lit the oil lamp. The light was dim, casting a yellowish circle on the paper, like a moldy moon.

He picked up a pen and drew a circle on the paper. Inside the circle, he wrote "Zhu Xixiao".

Then, three circles were drawn around the names, labeled "Zhao Yan (Xu Jie)," "Liu Fu (Yan Song)," and "Wang Chong (Neutral)." These circles were connected with lines, and arrows and names were marked on the lines.

He wrote down name after name, drew line after line. Zhao Yan's seven undercover agents—Heaven and Earth, Primordial Chaos. Liu Fu's five informants, including the commander surnamed Zhou and the messenger from the Ministry of Works. Wang Chong's three confidants, distributed between the Bureau of Records and the Treasury. Each person's name, official rank, position within the Embroidered Uniform Guard, contact with whom, and under whose command were all written on paper, marked with different colored ink. Black lines represented subordinate relationships, red lines represented hostile relationships, and blue lines represented cooperative or ambiguous relationships.

When I was halfway through drawing, the door was pushed open.

Fang Xuejian stood at the doorway, holding a bowl of noodles. A poached egg rested on top, fried to a golden brown with slightly curled edges. Steam rose gently in the morning light.

"The cook made this, eat it while it's hot." He placed the noodles on the table, looked down at the piece of paper, and paused, "What's this?"

Shen Lian turned the paper over. The blank side was facing up.

"It's nothing."

Fang Xuejian opened his mouth, then swallowed his words. He didn't press the matter. This was a skill he had learned in the imperial prison—knowing when to shut up. He pushed the bowl of noodles towards Shen Lian, set out the chopsticks, and turned to leave.

He paused when he reached the door.

"Shen Lian, if you have a headache, I have medicine." He turned around, his expression serious. "It's saltpeter left over from making glass. Mix it with water and drink it to relieve the pain. It works, though. It just doesn't taste good, like drinking dirt."

Shen Lian was taken aback: "Saltpeter diluted with water?"

"Potassium nitrate solution can dilate blood vessels." Fang Xuejian's tone was very professional, as if he were back in a laboratory. "Your symptoms sound like a tension headache and vasospasm. Potassium nitrate can relieve the spasm, but it doesn't cure the root cause. What you really need is—"

"No need," Shen Lian interrupted him.

Fang Xuejian said "Oh" and left. His steps were slow and hesitant. He looked back once more at the door before gently closing it behind him.

After finishing his noodles, Shen Lian continued drawing the picture.

The oil lamp's light grew dimmer and dimmer; he added oil once, then again. The wick burned down to a tiny stub, the flame shrinking to the size of a mung bean. Outside the window, the sky changed from black to gray, then from gray to white. Sparrows began to chirp in the pomegranate tree.

He finished drawing the last line and put down his pen.

The entire sheet of paper was covered in ink, like a spider web. No, it was denser than a spider web, more like the aerial roots of a banyan tree, branching out from a main trunk into countless twigs, each bearing a name.

Zhu Xixiao was at the center. Zhao Yan (Xu Jie) was on the left wing, with seven undercover agents like seven tentacles reaching into every corner of the Northern Garrison. Liu Fu (Yan Song) was on the right wing, with five informants, using the Zhou family's commander as a hub, connecting directly to Yan Shifan above and the Ministry of Works below. Wang Chong was at the top of the central axis, with three trusted confidants like three nails driven into the most vital department of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Shen Lian's own name was written on the very edge, enclosed in a small circle. From this circle, there was only one line pointing to Zhu Xixiao. A thin line, one that could break at any moment.

He stared at the picture for a long time.

Then a problem was discovered.

Surprisingly, the prison guard Sun was not on any of the lists.

Shen Lian frowned. Judging from Qian Dehou's memory, the jailer Sun had clearly shown him unusual concern—quietly wiping his wounds and whispering, "The young Grand Secretary is trying to save you." That behavior was clearly that of someone planted in the imperial prison by Yan's faction.

But Liu Fu had no memory of him. Zhao Yan had no memory of him either. The captain in charge of monitoring the resettlement site also had no memory of him.

Who exactly is this man? Could he really just be an ordinary, literate jailer, a marginal figure casually bought off by Yan's faction? Or is there someone else behind him, someone even more deeply hidden than Liu Fu?

This line must be preserved.

Then he picked up his pen and put an X next to the name "Liu Fu". The X was very light, like two crossed willow leaves.

This person must be eliminated first. Not because of personal grudges—but because he was pushing Zhu Xixiao to investigate him. Without eliminating Liu Fu, Shen Lian will forever remain a sitting duck.

Shen Lian folded the picture, tucked it into the insert of "Supplement to the Great Learning," closed the book, put it back on the shelf, and then picked up the cold tea on the table and took a sip.

The tea was brewed yesterday, and it was bitter and astringent. But he drank it very slowly, as if he were savoring a cup of freshly picked Longjing tea.