At night, Zhang Yuan sat cross-legged on the observation platform outside the pavilion, a large Luo Xing Pan of black iron, its surface adorned with silver-painted star charts, resting on his knees. The celestial patterns rotated and shifted, constantly evolving, much like the program code governing the world, flashing repeatedly through his mind. Each shift represented a potential future trajectory. In the star officials' perception, the past was eternal and unchanging, the present was unfolding in real time, while the future remained inherently uncertain. Countless possible futures existed—each subtle change in detail or lapse in thought could alter the course of what lay ahead. Among these, common folk held the least value; the actions and decisions of ordinary people had little impact on the future's trajectory. It was the thoughts and intentions of those in positions of power who truly mattered. Thus, the star officials needed to move their pieces—each one—so that the future unfolded precisely as they envisioned. The core of their strategic competition lay in the placement of these pieces. Whoever commanded stronger and more pieces would emerge as the victor. Of course, besides the individual pieces, the broader trends matter greatly. The great currents of history roll forward relentlessly, and the star officials must play their games in accordance with these shifting tides—astronomy is the art of observing such grand trends. To forcibly reverse the prevailing momentum, even the strongest star official will inevitably perish. The current Southern Dynasty now stands squarely before the tide of decline: officials in the court are corrupt, the treasury is depleted, and the northern armies press ever closer. From a strategic standpoint, Zhang Yuanqing finds himself at a disadvantage. Fortunately, the city of Linxia remains intact, preserving the Southern Dynasty’s lifeline. "Old rogue claims to foresee every celestial event—his mastery of astronomy should be solid. I possess the Great Luo Star Disk, so I can at best match him in skill. My real advantage lies in the dragon energy protecting me, offering inherent concealment. Certain sensitive operations cannot be entrusted to my teammates—they must be carried out by the shadow corpses. Also, characters of high rank who have a less deep connection with the Grand Abbot, such as Segment Master…" Zhang Yuanqing observed the stars, pondering these points in his mind. At that moment, a low, intermittent roar reached his ears—voices of restless spirits and ghostly corpses, audible only to the Night-Wanderer. Zhang Yuan felt his spirit tremble; the celestial patterns before him shattered, forcing him to step out of his observational state, his skin prickling with gooseflesh. "What is the Grand Master preparing?" he turned his head toward the source of the sound, eyes narrowing. Huh, he's definitely saving his strongest move. ... Early morning, outside the capital city gates. Worn-out refugees gathered in small groups, hunched over, sitting cross-legged along the roadside, shivering beneath the thin frost of the morning. The weather was growing colder. While northern cold was strong and imposing, southern damp chill felt like a blade penetrating deep into the bones—causing unbearable suffering even in the final moments, a slow, dull cutting, life draining away bit by bit until death. Thousands of refugees lived outside the city walls, barred from entry by the court, with neither funds nor strength to make the journey south. After losing their homes, their only means of survival became the capital itself. Dependent on the thin, nearly clear porridge provided by the court, they struggled to survive day by day, barely making it from one day to the next. When winter arrived, children and the elderly would perish first; younger ones might endure the harsh season, but that did not guarantee salvation. After winter came, there would still be the iron cavalry and sharp blades of the Northern Dynasty's army. Despair, numbness, and suffering enveloped the refugees outside the city. As the first rays of morning light pierced the world, the city gates began to open slowly. The refugees outside turned their eyes toward the gates, and in their dim, lifeless gaze, a spark of hope emerged. The court's relief porridge would be delivered each morning—this would be their only meal of the day. After eating, they would have the strength to dig roots in the forest or scrape insects from the fields. With eager, attentive eyes, a flat cart emerged from the gates, carrying four large wooden casks. From the gaps in the lids, a steady stream of white steam rose. "Gurgle… gurgle…" The sound of swallowing echoed continuously as refugees rose to their feet, and even those still asleep were roughly wakened by their companions or family members. These once-wandering, lifeless refugees surged toward the city gates. At this moment, another flat wagon emerged behind the first one, followed by a second, a third, a fourth, and so on—until finally, a group of over a hundred armored city defenders stepped out from the rear. The crowd of refugees, resembling a swarm of locusts, halted in their tracks. There were simply too many wagons—ten in total—this was no longer just for their benefit. In the past, there had been no more than three wagons, each carrying clear, fresh porridge, with each person receiving only half a bowl. There had never been so many city defenders to maintain order. As the steam rose steadily from the wooden buckets and the rich aroma of porridge filled the air, the sounds of swallowing grew louder, interwoven with the cries of children urging their parents to fetch food. Yet, the father, pale and wan, and the mother, thin and frail, hesitated, trembling, and dared not advance. At that moment, after the ten carts had left the city, they did not proceed further but turned instead toward the soup pavilions beneath the city walls. A general on horseback pressed forward with a steady trot, his voice rising clearly above the crowd of refugees: "The Emperor has taken great care of the people, understands your hardships, opened the granaries to provide relief, and has introduced new policies. From now on, the consistency of the soup at the soup pavilions will be measured by the floating of chopsticks—when they rise, the soup is thick; when they sink, it is thin, and when they reach the level of the heads of the people, the soup is ready." The Grand Master gazed at the city gates, his expression growing serious. After a few seconds of contemplation, he said coldly, "A sovereign of the realm, yet engaged in acts as humble as those of a chicken or a dog stealing food." "Not at all," Zhang Yuanqing lifted his face and smiled. "The whole world is the sovereign's land; every subject under the realm is a subject of the sovereign. To draw upon our own grain to relieve the suffering people—what could be more natural? Ah, by the way, the Grand Master might also instruct Zheng Wenhan to investigate the recent thefts of grain by the city's rice merchants. However, it will take some time for the official documents to be delivered and processed." The Grand Master had not anticipated this development, as it had been precisely Zhang Yuanqing's expectation. The night before, he had placed the companion spirit moon into the guild's warehouse and then notified Sun Miao Miao to retrieve it. With Sun Miao Miao's night-wandering ability now activated, she had effectively gained a secret form of protection. The Grand Master remained silent, his lips moving slightly. The middle-aged Taoist outside the pavilion dissolved into starlight. Not The late-arriving garrison commander declared loudly, "Last night, several grain stores in the city reported thefts of rice. The Ministry of Justice suspects the rice from the soup factory is improperly sourced. We shall take all the soup rice and investigate it thoroughly. If you dare to obstruct us, you are tantamount to rebellion." "Good heavens—what nonsense!" barked the garrison officer guarding the soup pavilion. "The Ministry hasn't even assembled yet—how can the Minister of Justice personally appear in a dream to inform you of the grain thefts?" Laughter erupted from all sides. The two groups of garrison troops neither engaged in combat nor exchanged blows; instead, they launched sharp accusations and insults at one another, with elders from both sides frequently stepping forward, their speeches overflowing with maternal sentiments. They stood in tense standoff for half an hour before suddenly, a large number of refugees in tattered clothing poured out of the city, shoulder to shoulder, one after another, mingling with the garrison forces. "Alright, fellows, the matter is settled. Let's go back," the garrison commander who had come to obstruct them exclaimed with a hearty laugh, sheathing his sword and leading several dozen subordinates away The city garrison's obstruction was merely a delay and a diversion—designed to buy time for preparations. The Chancellor had dispatched his disciples to gather a group of civilians within the city, feigning them as refugees, thereby disrupting the regular distribution of rice at the relief kitchens. As a result, the actual number of refugees receiving rice sharply declined, significantly undermining Zhang Yuancheng's plan to win public favor through "opening the granaries for disaster relief." Today's situation had been sudden and unexpected; tomorrow, new strategies might emerge to counteract it. Meanwhile, Zheng Wenhan had ample time to investigate the grain theft case. "Experience still counts," Zhang Yuancheng murmured, impressed. The Chancellor replied calmly, "The Emperor may continue to make his moves." Zhang Yuancheng straightened his expression and sighed, "Chancellor, do you know the difference between refugees and ordinary civilians?" The Chancellor responded evenly, "There is none." "Then watch closely," Zhang Yuancheng said. Outside the city, a Level-4 spiritual servant surged with a gust of wind, colliding directly into the body of a city garrison commander. The general's pupils instantly widened, then returned to normal. He sheathed his sword, leaned down, scooped up a handful of sand from the ground, dropped it into the porridge, and said, "What are you all staring at? Go ahead and do it!" The subordinates followed suit, though they were sorry to see their good porridge ruined; they dared not defy the superior's orders. Once the sand was mixed into the porridge, Zhang Yuanqing took control of the general and commanded, "Now come on—get your porridge!" The refugees surged forward in a rush, some pausing in place, hesitating, and many others turning around and walking away. On the observation platform, Zhang Yuan清 turned to the abbot and said, "They just want to survive." The abbot remained as calm and detached as ever, his body transforming into a beam of golden light and disappearing into the pavilion. "That's the advantage modern people have in terms of information access," Zhang Yuanqing exhaled. Fortunately, the civilians who had left the city were only seeking a better deal—free, thick porridge—and thus had been persuaded to come out by the gathering and influence of the Taoist priests at the Tianji Building. If the people were to cause chaos—accepting the porridge only to discard it—Zhang Yuanqing's plan would still fail. Indeed, such a scenario would not arise. The Grand Master is seen by the public as a noble, radiant figure, a shining beacon. Should he issue such a directive to the people, it would damage his reputation and prove counterproductive. Zhang Yuanqing turned and entered the pavilion to begin brewing tea. He did not become overly confident merely due to this initial success. Winning the hearts of the people was crucial, yet receiving public goodwill through a single rice-distribution campaign was merely one step in the process—not enough to determine the overall outcome. Moreover, no matter how many hearts he won, if he failed to weaken his adversaries, all efforts would remain in vain. Zhang Yuanqing's true strategy boiled down to just five words: capture the enemy by first capturing its leader. By stabilizing Zheng Wenhan, he intended to launch a decisive campaign against the Zheng family at the right moment, eliminating all of Zheng's core personnel. Once that was accomplished, the Imperial City Office and the city defense forces would naturally switch their allegiance. However, with the current strength of his forces, he still lacked the power to completely eliminate the Zheng The imperial lady's private chamber. Zhang Yuanqing opened his eyes once more and saw Guan Ya sitting at the desk in the outer room, holding a brush and writing with somewhat hesitant movements. "Have you made any progress on the case involving the Divine Sharp Army?" Zhang Yuanqing asked. Guan Ya set down the brush and looked over. "I'm still analyzing. Since you've come, let's discuss it together." Zhang Yuanqing followed her suggestion and asked, "What about the others?" Guan Ya replied, "They've gone on duty." Yesterday, Zhang Yuanqing had asked Yang Zheng to draft a notice, which was posted both inside and outside the city, announcing the appointment of Ya, Chu, and Wan as consorts. It highlighted their selfless efforts to save the emperor, emphasizing their loyalty and courage. With this shift in allegiance, new subplot and main storyline missions were initiated. To lift the seals and restore their ranks, they have been actively engaged in missions since yesterday. "Where is the Palace Master?" Zhang Yuanqing inquired. "Headed to Linxia." "Guan Ya said, 'Fu Qingyang has sent military reports: the Northern Dynasty has launched intense assaults on Linxia over the past few days, causing severe casualties among the defenders. Fu Qingyang himself is among those severely wounded, and many of the troops are suffering from serious injuries. Resources are rapidly depleting, and they urgently need Life Source Liquid.' 'Our reserves of Life Source Liquid are dwindling. We must now address the threats at the capital, so we can only send the Palace Master.' Zhang Yuanqing drew a deep breath: 'Lingjun and Xiahou Aotian are defending Linxia—yet they still lack Life Source Liquid? The intensity of the frontline battles far exceeds our expectations. Fu Qingyang may not be able to hold out for even ten days. We must act swiftly and discuss the situation with the Shenrui Army.' His responsibilities had grown even heavier.