87: You call this no one cares?

Chang'an, three hundred meters underground, Special Intelligence General Headquarters, Monitoring Station No. 7.

The deathly silence of the computer room was suddenly torn apart by a piercing buzz, and Cui Wujiu's heart skipped a beat along with it.

It wasn't that he hadn't seen big scenes before, but everything before his eyes completely overturned his perception of 'power'.

For seven consecutive days, the 'Power Of Will Flow Monitoring Station', built at a cost of ten billion, had been like an expensive tomb, so quiet it was driving people mad.

Cui Wujiu was almost ready to report to his superiors and admit that this operation was a total failure based on a wrong judgment.

However, late at night on the eighth day, at the stroke of midnight.

Without any warning, all the instruments seemed to be awakened simultaneously by an invisible hand!

Eerie blue indicator lights flashed frantically. On dozens of screens, the snowflake-like chaotic data streams were instantly cleared, replaced by thirty-seven incredibly precise red light spots appearing on a 3D map of Chang'an City.

"This is... a distribution map of night market stalls!" a young analyst cried out in shock.

Before the words had even faded, slender lines of energy automatically connected the thirty-seven light spots, outlining a profound and familiar pattern—the texture of a stall cloth.

That was exactly the ancient pattern Zhang Xuanyi had used to divide areas when he set up his stall years ago; it was something that should have only existed in legends.

Before everyone could recover from their shock, after a burst of static from the main console's speakers, an incredibly clear audio clip actually played.

It was a slightly raspy but vigorous hawk: "Mung beans for three wen, Talisman paper for five wen, hagglers get free dried dog meat!"

It was Zhang Xuanyi! It was that man's most worldly and ordinary street hawking from the streets of Chang'an years ago!

This voice was like a bolt of lightning striking the crowns of everyone in the monitoring station.

They had used the power of the state to try and capture that mysterious and unpredictable power, only to capture a street stall hawk.

This was an ultimate mockery and an incomprehensible declaration.

The voice stopped abruptly.

All equipment in the computer room lost power at the same instant, falling into a deathly silence.

Only the central printer made a soft sound, slowly spitting out a slip of paper.

Cui Wujiu's hand trembled as he picked it up. On it was only a single line of cold, small characters: "You can manage the numbers, but you cannot manage the heart."

The Tianshi Mansion's reaction was faster and tougher than Cui Wujiu had imagined.

They viewed this act as a provocation, a trampling of the orthodox majesty of the Daoist sects.

Three days later, twelve highly cultivated 'Guidance Envoyss' were dispatched to the twelve most active Yuanli Market locations across the country, carrying the 'Power Of Will Usage Regulations' issued by the Tianshi Mansion, acting with lightning speed.

The regulations required all stall owners to register their identities, declare their goods, and undergo daily inspections. The intensity and duration of the Power Of Will flames' use were strictly limited.

However, they were not facing a flock of lambs waiting to be slaughtered.

In Mohe, amidst the ice and snow, an old stall owner with a face full of chilblains took the 'Regulations'. Without even looking, he sneered in front of the Guidance Envoys and used both hands to tear it to shreds.

The paper scraps flew about, like adding frost to snow.

In Lingnan, in the humid and hot market, while a Guidance Envoys was solemnly reading the decree, a seven-year-old child with sky-pointing braids quietly circled behind him and poured a handful of mud mixed with saliva into his brand-new cloud-patterned cloth shoes, then made a face and ran off in a flash.

In the Western Regions, by an ancient road filled with wind and sand, a veteran soldier with a missing arm went so far as to pull out the inspection flag representing the Tianshi Mansion's authority. He propped it over his grill, fanning the flames while grinning at the pale-faced Guidance Envoys: "This fire smells better than your rules!"

Three days later, news reached Mount Longhu. Not one of the twelve Guidance Envoyss had completed their mission.

Even more ridiculous was that they had instead been corrupted by the local stall owners with fine wine and grilled skewers, becoming fast friends.

One young Guidance Envoys, while drunk and hugging a burly man with a roasted lamb leg, wept bitterly, repeatedly murmuring what the man had told him during the day: "We're not acting out, there's a fire in our hearts. If we don't set up a stall, we feel like we'll burst!"

For a time, the majesty of the Tianshi Mansion was swept away.

Meanwhile, Su Qingzhu, the chief reporter of 'Abnormal Observer', approached the core of the event from another angle.

She found an Abnormal who used to make a living selling fake Talismans on the black market. Now, he was honestly selling grilled gluten in the south of Chang'an City.

"Aren't you afraid the Tianshi Mansion will come and catch you?" Su Qingzhu asked.

The man chuckled and pointed at the gentle green flame in his stove: "Afraid? I used to not even care about my life, why would I be afraid of them? What I'm afraid of now is this."

He lowered his voice, a hint of reverence showing in his eyes: "In the past, selling fake Talismans to cheat people was routine for me. But now I don't dare—not because I'm afraid of being caught, but because I'm afraid the fire won't recognize me."

He pulled a skewer of charred, bitter-smelling gluten from his pocket. "See this? The day before yesterday, an outsider didn't know the going rate. I got greedy and charged him double. Guess what happened? The fire in my stove turned black with a 'poof', and the skewers it grilled were more bitter than Coptis! I took a bite myself and nearly vomited up bile."

"What happened then?" Su Qingzhu pressed, her heart pounding.

"Then? I searched the whole city for that customer, found him, returned the money, and apologized. Guess what? As soon as I got back to the stall, the fire turned back on its own." As the man spoke, he picked up a freshly grilled skewer of gluten and handed it to Su Qingzhu. It was golden, crispy, and fragrant.

It was as if a thunderclap went off in Su Qingzhu's mind, instantly connecting all the clues.

She suddenly realized: Cui Wujiu's monitoring station, the Tianshi Mansion's 'Regulations'—they were all wrong!

Completely and utterly wrong!

This Yuanli Market opened by Zhang Xuanyi had already spontaneously formed a set of supreme Laws—'Self-Punishment of Intent'!

Good intentions produce green flames, with a taste that is pure and fragrant. Evil intentions draw turbid fire, making the products impossible to swallow.

This was a constraint originating from the depths of the Soul, stricter and fairer than any worldly Law.

It didn't need anyone to manage it at all!

Cui Wujiu took Su Qingzhu's investigation report and returned to Mount Longhu.

He reported the phenomenon of 'Yuanli Self-Balance' to the Elder in seclusion.

In the secret room, the candlelight flickered. The Elder's withered fingers tapped on the table. After a long silence, he finally spoke slowly: "The Dao follows nature; perhaps it is truly so. But the thousand-year majesty of the Tianshi Mansion cannot be discarded due to mere speculation. Wujiu, try one last method."

He handed Cui Wujiu a simple jade seal, the body of which was engraved with the four characters 'tianshi command seal'.

"Use this seal to suppress one market. If the fire does not go out and the stalls do not scatter, it will prove that the 'Dao has established itself'. From then on, the Tianshi Mansion will stop and never interfere."

Cui Wujiu chose the Chang'an night market, the place where everything began.

At midnight, the night market was at its most bustling.

Cui Wujiu stood atop the bell tower, holding the decree seal high.

In an instant, the jade seal radiated brilliant golden light. A majestic and unquestionable pressure, like the Heavenly River pouring down, crashed towards the entire night market!

Under the golden light, the dancing green flames on thousands of stalls were instantly suppressed and torn apart as if encountering a category twelve gale, turning into sparks and scattering away!

Success? Cui Wujiu's heart tightened.

However, after only three breaths.

A sudden change occurred!

Those scattered sparks, far from being extinguished, seemed to have found new life instead.

A wisp of fire stubbornly emerged from a crack in the ground; a cluster of flames quietly reignited from the debris of an old locust tree; there was even a spark that spontaneously ignited from the hem of a passing pedestrian's clothes!

A single spark can start a prairie fire!

Countless flames emerged from all directions. They no longer clung to the stoves but rose into the air, eventually converging into a massive phantom cloth that blotted out the sky. It was exactly the appearance of the stall cloth Zhang Xuanyi used.

Upon the phantom cloth, a large ancient seal character composed of ten thousand flames slowly emerged, golden and brilliant, sacred and majestic.

"Forgiveness (Shu)."

—It was precisely the word Zhang Xuanyi had said years ago when he faced the Tianshi Mansion's recruitment and refused to be ordained on the altar.

Forgive the Daoist sects for being blind; forgive all living beings for their suffering.

Cui Wujiu looked up at that word, his whole body shaking violently. The tianshi command seal in his hand was so hot it almost melted.

He finally understood.

This was not a confrontation of power, but the choice of the Great Dao.

He walked down from the bell tower to the center of the night market. Under the astonished gazes of countless stall owners, he knelt on both knees and threw that tianshi command seal, representing the supreme authority of the Daoist sects, along with that 'Yuanli Market Management Measures' book, into the fire of a roasted sweet potato stove in front of him.

Green flames rose, swallowing the seal and the paper.

In the flickering firelight, Cui Wujiu seemed to see countless faces flash by—the old man from Mohe, the child from Lingnan, the veteran from the Western Regions, the former swindler... they were old and young, Abnormals and Mortals, but without exception, they were all nodding and smiling at him.

Cui Wujiu slowly rose, looked back towards the distant Mount Longhu, and whispered to himself: "It's not that no one is managing it; it's that the Dao manages itself."

The camera panned out. The Chang'an night market was brightly lit, with thousands of stove fires connected together, like a brilliant galaxy fallen to the Mortal world.

A familiar figure, wearing the most ordinary cloth clothes, was leisurely walking through the street. He casually took a skewer of grilled chives from a stall, took a bite, and mumbled indistinctly.

"This taste is even more authentic than what I grill."

A week later, Su Qingzhu, who had just caused a sensation in the industry by publishing 'Self-Balancing of the Dao: On the Internal Order of the Yuanli Market', received a kraft paper package in her office with no sender information.

The package wasn't heavy. There was no letter inside, nor any explanation.

Only a thin, small booklet hand-bound with coarse hemp thread.

The cover was blank, the paper yellowed, emitting an old scent of ink.

She curiously flipped to the first page, and her pupils suddenly contracted.

On it, there was not a single word, only drawings hand-painted with the most naive and peculiar strokes.