The lamp flame in the stone hut was as small as a bean, stretching Su Ming's shadow into a long, thin, and flickering shape.

The green jade slip in his hand remained warm and smooth, but the impatience in Su Ming's eyes had already faded, replaced by a kind of almost cruel calmness.

"Master, you are right."

Su Ming slowly withdrew his divine sense, no longer trying to correct those chaotic nodes, nor forcibly sorting out those spiritual flows that defied the Five Elements, "This formation is like an old man struggling on his deathbed, with all his meridians spasming. If I try to set his bones straight according to the meridian chart in a medical book right now, I'm afraid he'll stop breathing the moment I lay a hand on him."

Within his Consciousness Sea, Lin Yu floated cross-legged, holding that illusory notebook in his hands, a 'teachable' curve lifting the corner of his mouth: "Finally getting it. Faced with such a mess, the first step is never to repair, but to—establish records and observe."

Su Ming fished out a blank recording stone from his storage pouch.

He condensed a wisp of water spiritual energy as fine as a hair at his fingertip. Instead of directly inscribing a rune, he acted like threading a needle, gently connecting the recording stone's core crystal to the edge of the jade slip.

"Water Mirror technique, transfer."

Su Ming uttered a low command.

The surface of the recording stone rippled like water, and immediately after, the image of the wildly dancing spiritual energy nodes from within the jade slip was projected onto the recording stone and faithfully engraved.

This time, Su Ming was no longer a participant, but an observer.

He watched as those light points representing spiritual energy collided, annihilated, and regenerated in the void.

"Three changes per breath, the collapse of the Qian Position triggers a surge in the Li Position, seemingly chaotic..." Su Ming stared at the image, his fingers unconsciously tapping on his knee, "But if you stretch the timeline to half an hour, this kind of surge has occurred exactly twelve times."

"That's the pattern." Lin Yu said lazily, "As long as it's still operating, even if it's operating incorrectly, it must follow some underlying logic."

Su Ming didn't speak, silently sealing the first record and carving a number on the recording stone: "Sample One."

He decided not to rush to solve Elder Qingquan's puzzle anymore.

...

Half a month later.

Life at Iron Wall Pass was as dull as chewing a piece of jerky dried for three years.

There was no birdsong and fragrance of flowers like within the sect, only the never-ending black wind and the smell in the air mixed with rust and char.

The backyard of the Formation Maintenance Battalion was a narrow, long open space enclosed by high walls. It was piled high with discarded formation plates replaced from the city walls, broken spiritual energy conduits, and various metal wreckage of unknown names.

The ground was perpetually slippery because the underground spiritual energy conduits were old and poorly maintained, always leaking some spiritual liquid.

At this moment, the air was filled with a sickeningly sweet smell—the unique odor of highly concentrated spiritual liquid after volatilization.

"Bullshit! I saw this Crimson Gold pipe first!"

A roar shattered the backyard's dullness.

Two old soldiers wearing greasy formation robes were confronting each other like fighting cocks.

The one on the left had a pockmarked face and was tightly clutching a dark red metal pipe about half a person's length; the one on the right was missing half an ear and was brandishing a wrench, spittle flying everywhere.

"Pockmarked Zhao, have some shame! Last time, you swiped the Star Pattern Steel replaced from the 'Heavenly Pivot Position.' This time, it's our Second Squad's turn!" the half-eared old soldier cursed, "Even though this Crimson Gold pipe is cracked, if you cut it up, you can still get about two taels of refined gold. That's enough for two jugs of good wine on the black market! Don't even think about hogging it all!"

"Whoever grabs it gets it! The rule in this camp has always been 'the quick get, the slow get none'!" Pockmarked Zhao didn't yield an inch, the spiritual pressure around him faintly fluctuating—he was actually an old hand at the eighth layer of Qi Refining.

A circle of formation cultivators had gathered around to watch the commotion. Some were egging them on, while others watched with cold eyes. Clearly, this kind of scrap-grabbing drama was commonplace here.

Su Ming had just finished reporting his work from Zhao Tiji's stone hut and was passing by. He frowned slightly.

He didn't want to meddle.

At Iron Wall Pass, "meddling" often meant trouble, and trouble often meant danger.

But just as he was about to detour, his gaze was involuntarily drawn to the Crimson Gold pipe that had caused the dispute.

A subtle yet familiar crack pattern on the pipe's body stirred something in his heart—it was almost identical to the "Type C, Third Pattern Brittle Fracture" he had categorized while recording the characteristics of various discarded materials in the backyard over the past few days.

The depth and direction of this crack meant the amount of refined gold that could be extracted from this pipe wouldn't exceed one and a half taels, far from enough for the two to split evenly. However, if cut into specific shapes, it would be perfect for repairing a common "Earth Hearing" talisman base...

A vague idea took shape in Su Ming's mind.

Over the past half month, he had been silently recording backyard scraps and observing personnel disputes, originally intending to sort out the chaotic situation for his own convenience. Wasn't the conflict before him the perfect opportunity to introduce that long-considered "scrap management rule"? It could solve the immediate trouble and clear obstacles for the more important "observation" to follow.

Thinking this, Su Ming stopped.

But just as he was about to mediate, the half-eared old soldier's wrench slammed hard onto a nearby discarded pipe.

"Clang—"

A crisp sound rang out, accompanied by sparks flying everywhere.

Immediately after, that seemingly discarded pipe actually spewed a jet of scalding steam straight at Pockmarked Zhao's face.

"Watch out!"

Su Ming's figure swayed. His footwork seemed casual, but he instantly inserted himself between the two men.

He didn't block it head-on. Instead, with a flick of his right sleeve, a flexible water membrane instantly unfurled, like a catching net, enveloping the jet of steam. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he used a clever force to redirect it towards the open ground to the side.

"Hiss—"

The steam hit the slippery ground, billowing up a cloud of white mist.

Both old soldiers were startled by the sudden turn of events. After seeing it was Su Ming, their previously tense expressions relaxed slightly, but the wariness in their eyes didn't disappear.

"It's Assistant Repairer Su." Pockmarked Zhao gave a stiff, insincere smile and cupped his hands, "What, Assistant Repairer Su also has his eye on this scrap?"