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

As dawn broke, Shen Lian finally put down his pen.

The table was covered with papers—not one, but seven. Each one was densely covered with circles and lines, with names written inside the circles and arrows marked on the lines, like seven spider webs that had been half-woven but frozen. The lamp oil had burned out three times, the wick had formed three layers of wick, and his fingers were stained black with ink, his knuckles so stiff that he could barely clench them.

He arranged the seven sheets of paper in order.

The first image is a general map. It shows the internal factional distribution of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, from the Commander to the Captain, a total of forty-three names. Zhu Xixiao is at the very center, with three lines extending outwards, like the three main branches of a tree.

The second diagram shows Xu Jie's network of informants. Seven people, each with a code name, a single contact, and a method of intelligence transmission. The code names are from the Thousand Character Classic—"Heaven and Earth, Dark and Yellow, the Universe, Vast and Untamed." Zhao Yan is "Heaven," and the others are arranged in order, like seven nails wedged into the various joints of the Northern Garrison.

The third diagram shows Yan Song's network of informants. It includes five people, each with their own targets for surveillance, reporting frequency, and contact methods. Liu Fu was the central figure, the Zhou family commander was the hands and feet, and the official in the Ministry of Works was the messenger.

The fourth image shows Zhu Xixiao's network of trusted confidants. It lists three people, each with their tasks, authority, and level of trust. Chen, the advisor, is listed first, with a large circle next to his name.

The fifth group consists of neutrals. There are twelve people, each with their own stance, inclinations, and potential ways to be courted. Wang Chong is at the top, with a note next to his name stating—"He only recognizes the Emperor, not any party."

The sixth character is a fence-sitter. Sixteen people, each with their background, weaknesses, and potential bribes. Some are greedy, some are afraid of death, some are lustful, and some crave power. He notes each weakness next to their name, like a butcher marking parts of an animal.

The seventh map was drawn by himself—a map showing the distribution of sentries at the settlement. It included eight sentries, four visible and four hidden, with shift changes, patrol routes, and blind spots all clearly marked. Even the roof tiles that would rattle when stepped on were clearly indicated.

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.

He looked at the papers and took a deep breath.

His temples were still throbbing. It wasn't the hammering sensation he'd felt before—it was a dull, muffled, persistent pain, like someone slowly screwing a rusty nail into his skull from the outside. Occasionally, his vision would go black, and tiny points of light would flicker at the edges of his vision, like fireflies on a summer night. But he didn't care.

Because what he holds in his hands now is the secret of forty-three people.

He knew Zhu Xixiao was investigating him. He knew Liu Fu wanted to kill him. He knew Zhao Yan wanted to use him. He knew Wang Chong was observing. He knew the stance, weaknesses, and secrets of everyone within the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Now that we know who our opponent is, things are much easier.

He stood up and walked to the window.

In the courtyard, Fang Xuejian was squatting by the kitchen door, plastering the third crucible. The first two had cracked—the first exploded into pieces just as it reached 1000 degrees Celsius, and the second held up to 1300 degrees Celsius, but split in two while cooling. His face was covered in mud and cigarette ash, and his fingers were cut in several places by shards of porcelain; blood and mud mingled and formed dark red scabs. But he was still muttering to himself, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping sheet metal: "1700 degrees, 1700 degrees… First change the formula, then change the cooling speed…"

Shen Lian had a feeling.

Intuition told him—someone was watching him. Not the sentries in the courtyard, but someone else. Someone he couldn't see, a sentry standing behind a sentry.

Zhu Xixiao's investigation was being carried out in secret.

What Shen Lian didn't know was that in the signing room of the Beizhenfusi, three streets away from the resettlement site, Zhu Xixiao had already laid out all his documents on the table.

In front of Zhu Xixiao lay Shen Lian's dossier—not just one, but more than a dozen. From the day Shen Lian was imprisoned in the imperial prison, all the interrogation records, all the intelligence copies, all the records of changes in treatment, the menus for every meal, and the times of every visit by Wei Liangbi were all here. Stacked together, they were nearly half a foot thick, like a brick.

He was in his early fifties, not very tall, with a thin face, looking like an ordinary civil official. He wore a worn-out blue robe, the cuffs frayed and faded, with a tea stain on the collar that couldn't be washed off. Walking down the street, no one would give him a second glance.

But he is Zhu Xixiao.

Zhu Xixiao was a powerful figure in the Embroidered Uniform Guard during the Jiajing reign. He came from a family of military merit—a descendant of Zhu Neng, a famous general during the Jingnan Rebellion. His elder brother was Zhu Xizhong, who inherited the title of Duke of Cheng. When officials looked at Zhu Xixiao, they held a hint of disdain and prejudice. They believed that his position as Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, with its immense power, was entirely due to his ancestors' influence and his elder brother's support. They thought he was nothing more than a privileged son of a noble family relying on his family's power.

But these mediocre people have no idea about Zhu Xixiao's true talent.

In the shadows where Zhu Xixiao was, Chen, the advisor, kept his eyes lowered, maintaining a constant sense of awe. He knew better than anyone that others' views of Zhu Xixiao were completely narrow-minded. This commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, though seemingly of noble birth, was in reality unfathomably cunning and his methods were unparalleled.

Zhu Xixiao slowly and deliberately flipped through the files, reading page by page. It wasn't a deliberate slowness—it was the kind of slowness that comes from someone accustomed to finding flaws between the lines. He reviewed Shen Lian's words during the first, second, and third interrogations. The content of every piece of intelligence, the time it was provided, the verification results—everything went through his mind, like sifting sand, grain by grain.

His finger tapped the word "accuracy".

It wasn't an unconscious action; it was a deliberate, rhythmic tapping—one, two, three taps, then a pause. The sound of his knuckles on the wood was soft, but in the quiet duty room, it was as clear as a watchman's drum. This was his habit when he was thinking. The old guards of the Northern Garrison all knew that when Lord Zhu was tapping the table, no one should make a sound.

"This person," he said, his voice low, as if talking to himself, "has an extremely high level of accuracy in his intelligence."

Chen's advisor stood behind him.

His surname was Chen, but no one knew his full name, let alone his background. All the officials and even the Embroidered Uniform Guard knew that his surname was Chen—the term "Chen the Advisor" was all they referred to him, nothing more.

This man was less a living, breathing person and more a shadow lurking in the darkness. While Wei Liangbi shone brightly in the open, issuing orders and receiving guests, this man remained a constant, unnoticed presence in the shadows, a source of constant anxiety and unease for Wei Liangbi. Whenever Wei Liangbi came to the signing office to report, he dared not look him in the eye.

He did not interrogate, question, write official documents, or touch instruments of torture in the Northern Garrison. Yet, he was fully aware of every secret case and every decision handled by the Northern Garrison, and nothing escaped his notice.

He was Zhu Xixiao's most relied-upon brain, the mastermind behind the scenes.

"I've noticed it too," Chen's voice was low. "Every piece of intelligence he provided was so accurate it was unbelievable. The original search for Yan Shifan's private vaults in various places—three in Nanjing, two in Suzhou, and one in Yangzhou—was so successful. Following the map of the underground vault at Zuixianlou, which Shen Lian specifically pointed out, we found 630,000 taels of silver and 10,000 taels of gold. This vault was extremely well hidden. ... In Nanjing alone, four private vaults were searched, with a total of over 1.43 million taels of silver."

He paused, then continued, "A list of Yan Song's protégés and former officials—thirty-seven people, their names, official titles, and places of origin, not a single word is wrong."

"This intelligence would take at least three months to investigate by someone else. How did he know it all, all alone in the imperial prison, without any outside help or communication channels?"

Zhu Xixiao closed the file. Sunlight shone on his face, making the fine wrinkles clearly visible—three horizontal lines on his forehead, a crow's foot at the corner of each eye, and nasolabial folds extending from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth, as if carved by a knife.

"And there's more," Chen's advisor continued, "The intelligence he provided covers several completely different areas. Details of Yan Song's corrupt accounts—these are secrets of the Ministry of Revenue and the Inner Transport Department. The internal rules of the Embroidered Uniform Guard's spy network—this is top secret of the Northern Garrison. Top-secret information about Yan Shifan's collusion with Japanese pirates—this even we investigated for three months without success. How could one person simultaneously possess so many top-secret intelligence sources from different places?"

Zhu Xixiao tapped his finger again.

"You mean his intelligence sources are questionable?"

Chen's advisor remained silent for a few moments.

"I dare not draw a conclusion." He took out a stack of papers from his sleeve and spread them on the table. "But I have compiled all the records of his interrogations in the imperial prison, every piece of information he provided, and every word he said."

The papers were covered in dense writing, but they weren't copies of the dossier—they were Chen's own analytical notes. The characters were written in tiny, meticulous script, as neat as if engraved in print, each one carefully considered. He arranged the papers chronologically, connecting related entries with red thread. Those red threads wove a net on the table, with Shen Lian's name at the center.

"Look," he said, pointing to the top few red lines.

"During his first interrogation, he provided intelligence about Yan Shifan's transshipment of silver in Zhangjiawan. This intelligence involved the Ministry of Revenue's canal transport accounts, the Ministry of Works' river works funds, the salt tax revenue of the Lianghuai Salt Transport Bureau, and the smuggling salt channels of the Huizhou merchants—at least four unrelated departments. How could a poor scholar from Huizhou, whose ancestors for three generations had never held official positions, never run a business, and had no official background, possibly know all this?"

Move your finger to the red line in the middle.

"During the second interrogation, he provided the internal rules of the Embroidered Uniform Guard's spy network. The methods of single-line communication, the cycle of changing secret codes, and the level of security for the spy roster—these things were only accessible to the Commander-in-Chief and a few core advisors within the Embroidered Uniform Guard. How did he, an outsider and a prisoner in the Imperial Prison, know all this?"

Move your finger to the bottom red line.

"During the third interrogation, he provided top-secret information about Yan Shifan's collusion with Japanese pirates. This included details about Lin Yiqing, a Fujian merchant, the receiving ships in Hirado Port, Japan, and routes for smuggling sulfur and ironware. Our undercover agents in Fujian investigated for three months and still couldn't uncover all this information. Where did he, a man imprisoned, get it from?"

He looked up at Zhu Xixiao.

Zhu Xixiao was also looking at him. The duty room was as quiet as a well.

"I have a conclusion," Chen's voice lowered further, "This person is either at the core of a very high-ranking figure's secret intelligence network—meaning he has powerful backers. Or—"

He stopped.

Zhu Xixiao waited for him to finish speaking. His finger hovered above the table, not falling.

"Or perhaps his intelligence sources are problematic."

Zhu Xixiao's fingers fell. Once, twice, three times. Slower and heavier than before.

Which possibility is more likely?

Chen remained silent for a long time. The light from outside the window shifted an inch, the dappled light moving from the corner of the table to the edge.

"I don't know," he finally spoke. "But I do know one thing—if he has someone backing him, that person must be in the palace. Only someone in the palace could simultaneously possess the rules of the Embroidered Uniform Guard's spy network and the top-secret intelligence about Yan Shifan's collusion with the Japanese pirates. Moreover, he knows about the silver seal, the rules for classifying secrets, and how the spy register is kept. Even Grand Secretary Xu might not know all of these things."

His voice was lowered even further, so low that it was almost just a breath of air.

"It could even be some kind of trap set up by the palace, bypassing our Embroidered Uniform Guard. In recent years... the Emperor's trust in the Northern Garrison Command is not what it used to be."

Zhu Xixiao's hand stopped.

He knew Jiajing's suspicious nature better than anyone else. That emperor, who seemingly devoted himself to Taoist practices in the Western Garden, outwardly ignored state affairs, but in reality, he held every thread in his own hand. Yan Song was one thread, Xu Jie another, and the Embroidered Uniform Guard yet another. He could tighten or loosen the thread as he pleased. But if any thread broke—he would simply replace the one holding it.

The Yan faction and the Qingliu faction are currently locked in a fierce power struggle, the court in disarray like a chessboard, with countless powerful figures falling victim to this infighting. Yang Jisheng is dead, Shen Lian is dead, Wang Yu is dead, Zhang Jing is dead. Each of these deaths is a pawn captured on the chessboard.

Does the Emperor no longer trust the Embroidered Uniform Guard?

This thought was like a needle, stuck in Zhu Xixiao's mind, and he couldn't pull it out.

Chen, oblivious to Zhu Xixiao's expression, continued, "But if he really has someone in the palace behind him, then he shouldn't be treated like this. It doesn't make sense that a spy ordered to infiltrate the palace is imprisoned in the imperial prison awaiting death, almost subjected to the death by a thousand cuts, and interrogated four or five times before anyone believes him. Palace spies all carry tokens. Secret edicts, gold badges, waist tokens, even oral orders—they always have one. He has nothing."

"So," Zhu Xixiao said softly, "you suspect that his intelligence sources are problematic."

"I dare not say I doubt it," Chen's advisor followed and stood beside him. "But I feel it is necessary to investigate this matter thoroughly. We cannot just investigate whether his intelligence is accurate—we must investigate where his intelligence came from."

Zhu Xixiao turned around and looked at the red threads on the table. The threads were dense, like a net, capturing every piece of information about Shen Lian. Every thread pointed to the same question—how did he know?

"How do I check?" he asked.

Chen's advisor took out another piece of paper from his sleeve and handed it over.

The paper contained very few words, just one line: "Investigate Shen Lian's background. Investigate everything about him in Huizhou. Investigate whether he could have accessed the source of this intelligence. Investigate his parents, teachers, classmates, and neighbors. Investigate all his contacts before he went to prison."

Zhu Xixiao stared at the paper, remaining silent for a long time. The light from outside shifted half an inch, the slivers sliding from the edge of the table to the floor. The duty room was so quiet you could hear the dust settling on the floor.

"Investigate," he finally spoke, his voice as deep as stone. "But investigate secretly. Don't alert them. Send your most trusted men, disguised as merchants, and don't show your Embroidered Uniform Guard badges."

Chen's advisor nodded, took a step back, and disappeared back into the shadows.

Zhu Xixiao stood alone by the window, looking at the pomegranate tree in the yard. The pomegranate tree was in bloom, its fiery red petals swaying in the wind like clusters of tiny flames. He suddenly remembered a sentence Shen Lian had said during the first interrogation.

"Every word I said can be verified."

He gave a cold laugh.

Verifiable and verifiable are two different things. You can say the sun is round, and that's verifiable, but if you've never left your house and never seen the sun, how do you know it's round? Either you've heard someone say it, or you've seen it with your own eyes. If you have neither—then you're not human.