Chapter 4

Mobile phones heat up when they consume too much power, and the most power-intensive activities are gaming, followed by streaming live videos. True to his name, the shut-in Long Aotian had a phone packed with countless apps related to games, anime, and other online entertainment.

Based on the changes he had already observed in the music apps, Xue Jin'an had guessed that the games would likely be inaccessible. Still, he opened them one by one to check. Interestingly, while the games wouldn't launch, the system displayed a message: "Server updating."

This meant there was a chance these games might be playable again someday.

Xue Jin'an tilted his head in a mix of confusion and curiosity. Having lost his original form, he was now merely a minor artifact spirit with meager magical power. His consciousness and thought processes were constrained by the human body he had merged with, and combined with the disorientation of his new perspective, he was still struggling to master his current capabilities. There were many things he simply couldn't fathom.

These game apps—stuck in a perpetual state of "server updating"—were among them.

Xue Jin'an speculated that his own power might be performing adaptive debugging on these programs; he had no idea what they would eventually transform into.

"I can look forward to it, at least." This body's performance was equivalent to his original low-end, budget smartphone; it couldn't handle most of his apps. He had originally planned to uninstall a few to lighten the load, but now, he decided against it.

Since the games wouldn't open, Xue Jin'an settled for the video streaming app to keep the heat going.

The splash screen featured a meticulous brush painting of an ancient temple in the mountains. It was clearly an authentic work by a master, confirmed by the seals and inscriptions—it was a piece by the renowned late-dynastic artist Xie Daoyang.

A line of printed text floated over the painting: "The capital's hundred temples and Taoist shrines celebrate the Xiayuan Festival together. The 'Free Eternal Lamp' event is in full swing. From the 15th to the 18th of the tenth month, enjoy a twenty percent discount on ritual offerings at designated temples and shrines!"

Xue Jin'an: "..." This blend of ancient and modern aesthetics was enough to fry an artifact spirit's CPU.

Once the app loaded, Xue Jin'an tapped into the event details pinned to the top. Seeing that the event was organized by the Six Ministries, he finally understood what was going on.

It was the government stepping in to boost GDP. No wonder they were using a Xie Daoyang painting as a gimmick.

The Xiayuan Festival was an important holiday in the Great Qi Dynasty, and the government had granted a three-day break. Although it hadn't started yet, the entire screen was flooded with related information: the lifting of the curfew for three days, the collective rituals at the City God Temple, and so on. Xue Jin'an had to refresh the feed several times before the big data algorithm started pushing other content.

Because his current power was limited, his signal reception range was restricted to the capital. Furthermore, since it was already past curfew and the city had quieted down, the only live streams or videos available were either from official government agencies or those catering to the nightlife, such as the pleasure quarters.

Xue Jin'an had his expectations, but he didn't expect that, after the endless feed of Xiayuan Festival posts, his screen would be flooded with the Qianyuan Palace.

The Qianyuan Palace was the Emperor’s bedchamber. In the videos, the entire palace was brightly lit, and the Emperor, dressed in a black dragon robe, was hunched over his desk reviewing memorials.

The content of the videos was identical, but the angles and the streamers differed.

There were accounts like "Little Xiazi, Eunuch of Qianyuan Palace," "Dongchun, Maid of Qianyuan Palace," and "Zheng Qian, Guard of Qianyuan Palace." Looking at the sparse but generous tips they received, Xue Jin'an guessed they were spies for others or people working for pay.

The channel titled "Head Eunuch Li Hechun" had the most direct camera angle—occasionally even capturing the Emperor's face in close-up, revealing the tiny freckles on his skin. His channel had the most tips, receiving donations not just from imperial concubines, but even from high-ranking court officials, and his follower count was leagues ahead of the rest.

Xue Jin'an checked Li Hechun's personal profile and found a post from fifteen minutes ago: "No selection of consort tonight."

The comments and likes beneath it had already surpassed a hundred.

Empress Dowager: Understood.
Consort Rong of Minghua Palace: His Majesty has been working at his desk for days; it is truly exhausting. Tomorrow, I shall personally prepare some medicinal soup to deliver to you.
Consort Xian of Yonghe Palace: His Majesty is at an age where he must take better care of his health. It would be better to rest more. Eunuch Li, you really should urge His Majesty more often.
Consort Shu of Fushou Palace: Little Six has caught a cold and has missed two days of study at the Imperial Academy. He is falling behind, and I am quite anxious... If only Little Six could receive a bit of guidance from the Emperor.
Noble Consort Min: Your Majesty, please take care of your health.
Consort De of Qing'an Palace: Will His Majesty be selecting a consort tomorrow?
Consort Zhen of Yihe Palace: I am unwell, perhaps having caught a chill. I fear I cannot serve tonight. Eunuch, please set aside my name tablet for now.

Xue Jin'an scrolled through several more posts about whether the Emperor had "flipped a tablet." He noticed the follower list included both court officials and harem members, though the comments seemed restricted to those within the palace. From these comments, he began to form an impression of the palace masters: the Empress Dowager was a woman of few words; Consort Rong loved to cook and made soup every day; Consort Xian was genuinely concerned for the Emperor's health; Consort Shu was a doting mother worried about her son's studies.

A phone naturally didn't understand the nuances of human social art, so Xue Jin'an analyzed them at face value, convinced his logic was sound.

He checked Li Hechun’s other posts and found some comments only from officials. The most recent one was from five days ago, featuring a photo of a shattered paperweight with the caption: "His Majesty threw this."

Grand Secretary Jiang Wen: I shall return tomorrow, then.
Minister of Justice Lin Ruofu: My thanks for the tip, Eunuch. However, this case must be presented to His Majesty; I await the Imperial decision.
Minister of War Xu Pingchuan: What are we to do? That stingy miser at the Ministry of Revenue is adamant about cutting our budget. My soldiers can barely train anymore. Forget it, old man Lin, you’re thick-skinned, you go test the waters first. I’ll watch how you handle it.
Hanlin Academician Qin Lian: It’s over, it’s over. Why did it have to be my turn at the Imperial desk today? (Crying)

Emperor: Li Hechun, get in here.

After the Emperor’s comment appeared, no one spoke on that thread again. Perhaps that was why, for the following five days, Li Hechun’s posts were only about the "selection of consorts"—previously, there was usually a post every two or three days about the Emperor's mood.

The Emperor clearly knew Li Hechun was selling information about him, but he was deliberately allowing it.

Xue Jin'an couldn't grasp the subtlety of human language, but he could reverse-engineer the logic behind their behavior through data analysis.

As the saying went, "Water that is too clear has no fish." The sheer number of identical videos proved there were plenty of spies in the Qianyuan Palace, both overt and covert. Since one couldn't stop the flow, it was better to channel it. Letting Li Hechun leak information was actually beneficial, and occasionally, it even helped the Emperor "fish" for traitors.

Judging by those hundreds of posts, Li Hechun knew exactly where to draw the line. He hadn't leaked a single word about any truly major state affairs.

He could feed from a hundred sources without causing a disaster—no wonder the man was a Head Eunuch. Xue Jin'an hit the "follow" button on Li Hechun's account.

The algorithm immediately popped up recommendations: People who follow "Head Eunuch Li Hechun" also follow "Morning Court News," "Qionglin Banquet Matchmaking Corner," and "Public Trials by the Three Judicial Offices."

Xue Jin'an followed them all. While browsing, he accidentally clicked into "Public Trials by the Three Judicial Offices." This room was live-streaming 24/7. The footage was dim, lit only by a flickering candle flame. He could faintly hear the sound of a whip cracking and agonizing screams—they were clearly interrogating a prisoner in the dungeon.

The candle popped, the whipping stopped, and footsteps approached. A jailer lowered his voice: "My Lord, they still won't confess regarding the events of two years ago..."

"Oh? Is that so?" A light chuckle followed. A hand holding scissors trimmed the candle wick, and the room suddenly brightened, illuminating the man’s deep crimson robe—the attire of a second-rank official—embroidered with a pheasant pattern. It looked as vivid and dark as blood.

The man said, "I will interrogate them myself."

He tossed the scissors onto the table and picked up the candle. As he walked, the light revealed a bloodied woman tied to a rack, her head hanging low, gasping for air.

She was dressed in a palace maid's uniform.

It was strange. Usually, maids or eunuchs who committed crimes were handled by the Internal Affairs Department. Why were they at the Three Judicial Offices? And why was such a high-ranking official personally overseeing the interrogation? It didn't make sense.

There weren't many second-rank officials in the entire court, and within the Three Judicial Offices, that only left the Minister of Justice and the two Censors-in-Chief. Even the head of the Supreme Court was only a third-rank official.

Xue Jin'an was immediately intrigued and was about to analyze the situation when the screen suddenly went black. A dialog box popped up: "Detected that you are a minor. Youth Mode has been activated. Content involving gore, violence, and obscenity—unsuitable for minors—has been intelligently filtered."

Xue Jin'an: "..."

Returning to the homepage, he found that even the streams from the pleasure quarters had been blacked out.

So, Long Aotian had swapped all those components and upgraded the system countless times—why was this damn anti-addiction program for minors still there?!

The minor artifact spirit glared at the filtered screens, grinding his teeth.

In the end, he gave up in frustration and refreshed the page. This time, the algorithm pushed streams from a single organization: the "Cloak Bureau."

Few knew its real name, but its nickname, "Blood-Clothed Guard," was infamous. It was a spy agency established by the current Empress Dowager when she was regent, abolished by the late Emperor, and reinstated by the current one. It was effectively the same as the Jinyiwei or the Eastern Depot.

Xue Jin'an clicked through them. The camera angles were bizarre, like paparazzi sneak-shots, and the courtyard styles clearly indicated they were the residences of high officials.

Xue Jin'an hoped to overhear some secrets, but ancient people didn't have much to do at night; they barely talked before starting to "exercise," causing the streams to go black one after another.

Xue Jin'an wasn't actually that curious; he just had a touch of obsessive-compulsive disorder. After several screens went dark, the little artifact spirit silently, viciously shoved a pastry into his mouth. His dilapidated, budget-phone-like body finally began to heat up in protest of the high-power consumption of charging while streaming.

The scorching temperature dissipated the chill of the autumn night. He looked at the remaining 35% battery, tossed the inexplicable emotional waste into the trash bin, and used a "Rocket Booster" to clear the cache. Satisfied, he lay back in bed and kicked the damp quilt aside.

Between dreaming and waking, he heard the pitter-patter of rain outside. Someone was stroking his face, and an anxious voice echoed hazily in his ears, seemingly whispering, "Why are you so hot?" and "You have a fever."