108: Trying to drag me into a fire pit? Don't even think about it.

The next day, Attendant Scholar Guo summoned several newly appointed officials, including Su Ming, to his office. Su Ming, dressed in the azure egret patch robe representing a seventh-rank editor, stood quietly among the crowd.

Attendant Scholar Guo's gaze swept over them, finally landing on Qian Bin.

Qian Bin had a somewhat indirect connection to Marquis Yongchangs Estate and was always quite active in the academy.

He tossed Qian Bin a rusty copper key.

"The Ministry of War is pressing hard. The Northern Frontier war requires us to review all previous dynasty's dossiers related to the Black Rong," Attendant Scholar Guo's tone was beyond doubt.

"Qian Bin, you will lead this task. The rest of you, assist Editor Qian. Within five days, find all information regarding the Black Rong's geography, armaments, battle examples, customs, and tribal origins from the underground archives. Categorize them and compile them into volumes; the Ministry of War will come to collect them."

This task was arduous, tedious, and the environment was harsh.

But the words "lead this task" made a flicker of triumph appear on Qian Bin's face. He immediately bowed, "Your subordinate accepts the order and will not fail your trust!"

Su Ming and the others bowed in agreement, their faces showing no emotion.

Pushing open the wooden door of the underground archives, a turbid air mixed with mildew and dust rushed out.

The others who came with him immediately frowned.

Qian Bin cleared his throat and adopted the air of a leader: "Gentlemen, military matters are urgent, and it is only right that we work hard for a few days. So, Brother Li, Brother Wang, you two are responsible for these two rows to the east; Brother Zhang, Brother Zhao, those few rows to the west are yours."

He finally looked at Su Ming, pointing casually, "Editor Su, you'll have to work a bit harder. You're responsible for the innermost rows and those scattered boxes in the corner. I'll handle the final compilation."

He assigned the most chaotic and dustiest area to Su Ming, while he easily took the "plum job" of final compilation and appearing before the Ministry of War.

Su Ming showed no dissatisfaction on his face; instead, he revealed a gentle, even somewhat timid smile, cupping his hands and saying, "As Brother Qian arranges, your subordinate will obey."

His submissive demeanor made Qian Bin even more pleased. He nodded in satisfaction, then found a relatively clean spot for himself and began his "supervisory" work.

Su Ming silently walked towards the corner of the bookshelf.

This was the Han Academy's "graveyard," where all forgotten knowledge was piled.

But for Su Ming, this was a treasure trove.

He didn't immediately start searching but first walked a circle around the huge bookshelf.

His spiritual sense quietly spread out.

The position, material, and age of each dossier formed a three-dimensional image in his mind.

"Disciple, show them what you've got! Let them see what a knowledge porter... ah, no, a knowledge Master is!" Lin Yu excitedly rubbed his hands.

He appeared to be clumsily sifting through and moving the dust-covered dossiers, but in reality, the moment he touched them, their contents flowed into his mind like water.

Qian Bin pretended to direct in other areas, while the others were slacking off and complaining endlessly.

Meanwhile, Su Ming was absorbing this sealed knowledge.

He precisely extracted useful dossiers from the mountain of waste paper.

There was former general Li Muyun's

An unknown scribe's

A worm-eaten, incomplete sheepskin map, with ancient script marking several secret trade routes and water sources across the desert.

There were also unofficial historical records about the century-long grievances among the Golden Wolf, Silver Wolf, and Azure Wolf tribes within the Black Rong... These fragmented, chaotic, and even contradictory pieces of information were rapidly filtered, integrated, and reconstructed in Su Ming's mind.

An incredibly clear strategic map of the Northern Frontier's Black Rong slowly unfolded in his mind.

Its detail and accuracy far surpassed that of any Minister of War in the current dynasty, or even Marquis Yongchang himself.

In between searching through these military archives, Su Ming did not forget his personal matters.

Lantai Secret Garden.

He used this name as a keyword, searching through countless piles of old papers.

Finally, in the corner of a miscellany recording strange tales from the former dynasty's palace, he found a few lines of text.

There were a few blurry lines: "...The Secret Garden is hidden north of the imperial city; one may not enter without an imperial decree. Within it are collected all strange tales, secret arts, and forbidden prescriptions of the world, guarded by ghosts and gods. Mortals who peek into it will suffer misfortune..."

"Guarded by ghosts and gods?" Lin Yu's voice sounded in his mind, with a hint of playfulness, "Hehe, this royal library has pretty high security. Disciple, just make a note of it for now; it's not time to touch it yet."

Su Ming silently noted it down, then discreetly tucked the booklet back into its original place.

Five days later, the Ministry of War official arrived.

Qian Bin immediately went up to him with a beaming smile, pointing to the several large stacks of dossiers initially categorized by "geography," "armaments," "tribes," and other categories, claiming credit: "Sir, I have not failed in my mission! After days of diligent supervision, your subordinate has finally organized the required dossiers. Please take a look."

The Ministry of War official casually flipped through a few pages and nodded, "Thank you for your efforts, Editor Qian." The clerks he brought began to step forward to count and transport the documents.

Throughout the entire process, Su Ming stood quietly in the most inconspicuous corner behind everyone, like an irrelevant background figure. The Ministry of War official didn't even notice him... Night, Small Courtyard.

A pot of warm wine, two small dishes.

Xu Qing arrived, looking utterly exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes.

As soon as he entered, he poured himself a large gulp of wine and let out a long sigh of relief.

"Brother Su, I... I truly don't know how to be an official anymore!" His voice was hoarse, filled with frustration.

"Those old Masters in the Ministry of Revenue are still arguing fiercely over the military expenses for the Northern Frontier."

"People from Marquis Yongchangs Estate come eight times a day, implying that if we don't allocate enough provisions and pay, delaying the great battle in spring, they will submit a memorial impeaching our entire Ministry of Revenue!"

"But where is the money in the national treasury? The accounts are full of holes! I've calculated that even if we transfer all the taxes from several southern provinces next year, it won't be enough to plug this gap!"

Xu Qing's eyes were bloodshot; he forcefully slammed his fist on the table.

"A bunch of purists keep shouting 'enrich the people,' but when it comes to increasing commercial taxes, it's as if their lives are being demanded. Yet when war breaks out, it's the frontier soldiers who die, and the northern common people who starve! What kind of 'rest for the people' is this?!"

Su Ming listened quietly, refilling his wine cup.

He knew that Xu Qing didn't need advice, just an ear to confide in.

"Brother Su," Xu Qing had drunk a bit too much, his eyes glazed, "Tell me, why is this world so difficult?"

Su Ming patted his shoulder, saying nothing.

After seeing Xu Qing off, Su Ming stood alone at the alley entrance.

The night wind blew, rustling a few fallen leaves on the ground.

His gaze swept over the dark rooftops and corners on both sides of the alley.

He walked back into the courtyard, closed the door, and locked it... For the next few days, Su Ming's life seemingly remained unchanged.

In the Han Academy, he also began to pay attention to the few editors who, like him, were marginalized.

The leader was a young man named Zhang Yiming.

This person was quite talented and wrote excellent essays, but there was always a cynical resentment in his brows. He was surrounded by two or three others, often gathered in a corner, quietly cursing the government and complaining about their unrecognized talents.

Su Ming cautiously kept his distance from them.

That afternoon, Su Ming went to wash his hands and was stopped by Zhang Yiming at the corner of the corridor.

"Editor Su," Zhang Yiming softly called out to stop Su Ming.

"Brother Zhang," Su Ming cupped his hands.

"Don't you feel stifled copying books every day?" Zhang Yiming asked directly.

Su Ming's heart tensed, but his face remained as dull as ever: "Attendant Scholar Guo's mentorship, I dare not speak of hardship."

"Mentorship?" Zhang Yiming sneered, his voice very low, "Brother Su, you and I both come from humble backgrounds. Can't you see through this world? People like Marquis Yongchang are merely parasites of the state, relying on their ancestors' legacy! For their own fame and glory, they would drive our Great Xing's millions of soldiers and civilians to needlessly die in the Northern Frontier! Draining the national treasury, ultimately it's the common people who suffer!"

His words were highly inflammatory.

"Brother Su, you are a disciple of Master Zhou Wenhai. The integrity Master Zhou showed in speaking for the people back then is admired by our generation. Now that corrupt officials are in power, how can we scholars sit idly by?"

He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on Su Ming.

"I and several other editors plan to jointly submit a memorial, clearly stating the disadvantages of rashly starting a war, and asking His Majesty to reconsider! Brother Su, are you willing to join us and speak for the common people of the world?"

Su Ming's heart sank.

This was an attempt to recruit him, to force him to take a side.

He looked at Zhang Yiming's face, flushed with excitement, and slowly shook his head.

His face showed a look of difficulty and fear.

"Brother Zhang's noble righteousness, Su is... extremely impressed."

"It's just... Su is insignificant and new to officialdom, completely ignorant of military and state affairs. Attendant Scholar Guo ordered me to copy books precisely because my Foundation is shallow and I need more tempering."

He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly.

"Discussing government affairs without authorization is not our duty, and I fear it would go against my Master's teachings of 'being cautious in speech and action.' Su... Su truly dares not. I hope Brother Zhang... understands."

He used his "stupidity" and his teacher's "teachings" as his strongest shields.

Zhang Yiming's eyes, from initial expectation, turned to disappointment, finally transforming into deep disdain.

He stared at Su Ming for a long time, then finally squeezed out a few words from between his teeth.

"Rotten wood cannot be carved!"

He violently flicked his sleeve, turned, and strode away, his back filled with resolute determination.

Su Ming stood alone under the corridor, the cold winter wind blowing, rustling his wide sleeves.

"Tsk tsk tsk."

Lin Yu's voice sounded in his mind, with a tone of someone enjoying a spectacle.

"See, disciple, this is a typical rookie in the workplace. Full of passion, full of ideals, but he hasn't figured out who the players are on this chessboard and who are the pawns. His memorial, once submitted, will be like throwing meat buns to a dog – a waste."

Su Ming remained silent, turning to walk back to Wenyuan Pavilion.

Zhang Yiming's companions now looked at him with complex expressions, disdain mixed with a hint of relief, as if to say: Look, this is a coward.

Su Ming walked straight back to his corner, picked up his brush again.

The ink was already half-dry; he gently dipped the tip of his brush in water, twirled the brush on the inkstone, and restored its moistness.

"Master, was he wrong?" Su Ming quietly asked in his mind.

"From a rational standpoint, he wasn't wrong. An empty national treasury and rashly starting a war indeed carry endless hidden dangers." Lin Yu's tone was unusually serious. "But his mistake was treating the imperial court as a school for debating scriptures. What's discussed here isn't right or wrong, but pros and cons, positions."

"When he shouts like that, it feels good, but he offends everyone who wants to fight, has to fight, and relies on war for their livelihood. Marquis Yongchangs Estate wants military achievements, the Ministry of War wants power, and the Emperor wants prestige. He's using his own future to smash against their iron rice 'bowls.'"

Su Ming's brush tip landed on the paper, and a neatly written character "Rong" appeared vividly.

He understood.

Zhang Yiming didn't lose to reason; he lost to the rules.

And he himself was learning the rules of this world in the most clumsy way.

Copying books was the turtle shell he put on himself... Ministry of Revenue Yamen, Department of Accounting.

The air was filled with the musty smell of old account books and the crisp "clack-clack" of abacus beads.

This was the heart of the entire Great Xing Dynasty, and also the most troublesome place.

Xu Qing's eyes were bloodshot, and the mountain of dossiers in front of him almost swallowed him whole.

He hadn't had a good night's sleep in three days.

Military reports from the Northern Frontier flew in like snowflakes, each one signifying an astronomical expense.

Grain, military equipment, pensions, horse feed... behind each item was a long string of zeros.

But on the national treasury's ledger, there were only glaring deficits.

"Section Chief Xu, Section Chief Xu!" A high-pitched voice came.

It was an old clerk from the same department, named Qian, who was usually best at shirking responsibility.

"The Chief Clerk of Marquis Yongchangs Estate is here again, waiting outside. He specifically asked to see you, asking when the funds for the first batch of grain and fodder for spring can be allocated." Old Clerk Qian had a gloating smile on his face, "You see, this..."

Xu Qing irritably rubbed his temples.

Marquis Yongchangs Estate again.

These military nobles were fiercer than anyone when demanding payment, but they also encroached on more land and evaded more taxes than anyone every year.

"Just say I'm calculating important matters and tell him to wait." Xu Qing didn't even lift his head.

"Oh my, my Lord Xu, that's the Chief Clerk of the Marquis's Estate, we can't afford to offend him." Old Clerk Qian said in a sarcastic tone, "Why don't you go see him?"

Xu Qing suddenly looked up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Old Clerk Qian.

That gaze made Old Clerk Qian involuntarily retreat half a step.

"Did you not understand what I said?"

Old Clerk Qian shrank his neck and sheepishly backed out.

The entire Department of Accounting instantly fell silent, with only the occasional sound of abacus beads falling.

Xu Qing closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, feeling a dizzying sensation.

It couldn't be plugged; this hole could not be plugged no matter what.

He could even imagine the tragic scene after spring: a shortage of grain at the frontier, wavering morale, and the Black Rong pushing straight through.

By then, the officials of the Ministry of Revenue would be the first scapegoats to be sacrificed.

"Increase revenue... increase revenue... where else can we increase revenue?"