Yellow Millet Dream

Shh, shh, shh.

The Record of Selling Corpses appeared, the Lantern of Life rose.

The Yin-Yang Abacus clinked and clanked, Heaven and Earth, Dark and Yellow, fetching a fine price.

Lin Shou stitched ten corpses in a row, then drew his lottery to test his luck.

Four Confucian classics, two Enlightenment Pills, one Suspension-Beam and Awl-Stab Set, one Wall-Chisel Light-Stealing Lamp, one Ma Liang's Brush, one bowl of Yellow Millet.

Ma Liang's Brush and the Yellow Millet were rewards from corpses priced with the Dark character in the Record of Selling Corpses.

The remaining eight were all priced with the Yellow character.

For a ten-pull, the drop rate was passable.

Lin Shou ate both Enlightenment Pills; the thoughts of sages and worthies washed over him, and he vaguely sensed an elusive, drifting aura of talent.

He set the Confucian classics aside for now—no use for them at the moment.

As for that Suspension-Beam and Awl-Stab Set...

In ancient times, diligent scholars would tie their hair to a beam and prick their thigh with an awl to stay awake.

This set had two pieces: a rope for tying hair and an awl for stabbing the thigh.

In terms of effect, it could completely eliminate drowsiness and focus one's attention—a god-tier tool for grinding away. Wear it, and you could study until the world went dark, forgetting to eat or sleep, never feeling tired.

Lin Shou wondered what he'd need this for. He didn't stay up all night grinding. Forget it—he'd keep it around, and if he ever ran into some bratty kid, Brother Lin Shou would gift him this study-grind care package.

For now, Lin Shou tossed the Suspension-Beam and Awl-Stab Set into the Three Immortals Return to the Cave to gather dust.

Next was that Wall-Chisel Light-Stealing Lamp.

In ancient times, there was a diligent scholar from a poor family who chiseled a hole in his wall to steal light from his neighbor's candle for reading—hence the name "chisel wall, steal light."

This Wall-Chisel Light-Stealing Lamp was a curious little trinket.

With a candle burning in the Corpse-Stitching Shop, Lin Shou held the lamp and said, "Gather." Whoosh—the surrounding light shrank into a tiny point and flew into the lamp. The candlelight dimmed, and the entire shop plunged into darkness.

Lin Shou said, "Release." The light point flew back out, the candle blazed bright, and shh—the room lit up again.

This lamp could gather, store, and release light.

Lin Shou fiddled with it for a while, finding it amusing. But since it was just a Yellow-grade trinket, its functions were limited—basically a rechargeable flashlight.

He sorted through the Yellow-grade rewards one by one.

Next came the two Dark-grade rewards.

One was Ma Liang's Brush.

The corpse that yielded this reward belonged to a sour scholar. He'd taken the exams for years and never passed. His family was poorer than the relief porridge at the charity station—he even had to buy fava beans on credit.

His fellow villagers mocked him daily: "Another blank paper this year, huh?" His face would flush red with anger, wanting to retort and argue, but he had nothing to say to such crude folk.

That year, he came to take the exam again.

One night, as he was writing his paper, someone passed by, glanced at it, and said:

"Barely passable."

"Ah!"

The sour scholar first let out a cry, then slammed the table with wild laughter:

"Ah! I passed the provincial exam! Haha! I passed!"

He flipped the desk with a crash, scattering brush, ink, paper, and inkstone everywhere. He stood up in the tiny cubicle, dancing and singing, his face twisted with madness, shouting:

"I passed! I passed! Ahaha!"

The scholar had gone mad.

Still jumping and dancing, he slipped on the inkstone, fell, and hit the back of his head square on the sharp corner of the brick bed.

A crack. His head split open, a bloody gash.

The corpse hit the ground. He was gone.

The man who spoke shook his head and walked away.

Throughout history, under the poison of the feudal imperial exams, how many had been driven mad besides this sour scholar? In The Scholars, Fan Jin's passing of the provincial exam became a bitterly ironic, laughable farce—but wasn't it the true portrayal of countless failed candidates?

How many, trapped by social pressure, clung obsessively to fame and rank? Their minds might not have snapped yet, but their hearts—hadn't they long since?

The corpse was priced at Dark-grade, seventh rank.

The Record of Selling Corpses rewarded Ma Liang's Brush.

Ma Liang's divine brush, overflowing with talent, could paint falsehood into truth.

Lin Shou tried it out, drawing some small animals on paper. But they didn't come to life.

"Overflowing with talent, could paint falsehood into truth..."

Overflowing with talent?

Lin Shou shook his head and temporarily put Ma Liang's Brush into the Three Immortals Return to the Cave. It seemed he couldn't use this thing yet.

The last reward was Lin Shou's favorite.

A bowl of Yellow Millet.

The corpse this reward came from was a scholar who had stayed up late every night cramming for exams, sleep-deprived, until he died of a heart attack in the examination hall.

As a child, the scholar had shown remarkable talent. When he first began his enlightenment education, he learned characters extremely quickly. His teacher praised him as material for study. His parents were overjoyed, saying their family had produced a treasure who would surely become a high official someday. From then on, to cultivate this future great official, they spent money on the best tutors and bought him tonics, pouring all their effort into giving him the best of everything.

However, once enlightenment ended and he formally began studying the Four Books and Five Classics, the scholar realized he wasn't actually cut out for academics—he was just quick at learning characters. He couldn't grasp the Confucian principles his teacher explained, and the classics eluded his understanding. How could he possibly pass the exams?

The scholar knew he wasn't destined for officialdom, but seeing his parents' hopes for him to become a dragon, their daily anticipation that he would one day soar to success and elevate the whole family, he could only grit his teeth and push on. When he couldn't understand his studies, he stayed up all night memorizing by rote.

Naturally introverted, the scholar was crushed by the pressure of his parents' expectations for him to pass the imperial exams. Night after night of studying wore down his body. Eventually, he died of overwork and a heart attack—right there in the examination hall.

His parents were probably still at home, eagerly waiting for their son to return in glory after passing the provincial exam, then later the metropolitan exam, becoming a high official, making a fortune, bringing honor to the family, and earning the envy of all their neighbors for raising such a promising child.

But they didn't know their son had already died in the examination hall. This grand dream of a son becoming a dragon, of relying on their child's hard work to bring them glory, was about to shatter.

Was it all just a dream?

The affairs of the human world are much the same.

Everything seemed like a Yellow Millet Dream.

Lin Shou picked up the bowl of Yellow Millet rice and began to eat.

The grains were plump, but tasteless in his mouth. Did he eat? It felt like he had, and yet like he hadn't.

After finishing the bowl of Yellow Millet rice, Lin Shou felt drowsiness wash over him. He arranged his pillow and lay down to sleep.

As he slept, Lin Shou dreamed. He dreamed of an endless expanse of Yellow Millet Land, golden as far as the eye could see, like a sea of Liang Sea. A gentle breeze blew, stirring up waves.

The next morning, the rooster's crow woke him from his dream.

Lin Shou opened his eyes. An endless golden sea of millet slowly faded from his vision.

It had been a good dream. Lin Shou had grasped some new abilities. Now he wanted to test how powerful they were.

Lin Shou lifted the door panel and opened the Corpse-Stitching Shop.

Testing this ability carried risks. If it didn't work properly, it could lead to social death. So Lin Shou needed to find a suitable testing ground—somewhere he could clean up the mess even if the ability failed.

After thinking it over, Lin Shou remembered a place.

During the earlier Fortune-Longevity Paste smuggling case, he had stitched up a young constable who died at Shallow Water Pier. That constable had been silenced because he discovered a clue that could deliver a fatal blow to the Western Affairs Party.

The clue he found was the address of a warehouse storing smuggled Fortune-Longevity Paste.

If the Three Judicial Offices learned the warehouse's address and found the smuggled Fortune-Longevity Paste and account books, impeaching the Viceroy of Liangguang and the Western Affairs Party in court would be no problem.

This Fortune-Longevity Paste warehouse was located on the turf of Weng Deyan, the boss of a Canal Gang branch at Shallow Water Pier. The constable had been killed by Weng Deyan's men.

Lin Shou figured that since Weng Deyan's Canal Gang were traitors smuggling Fortune-Longevity Paste, if he grabbed one or two of them to secretly test his ability, even if it failed, he could just bash the witnesses into brain damage with his shovel. He wouldn't feel guilty, and he could still report them to the Six Fan School to cover his tracks. Either way, it was safe.

Tsk, not bad. He'd use the Canal Gang as his guinea pigs.

After the Bureau of Corpse Management came to collect the bodies, Lin Shou shouldered his Burial Shovel and ambled along the river toward the Canal Gang's territory at Shallow Water Pier.

At that moment, the Canal Gang members at Shallow Water Pier had no idea what was coming for them.