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Xiao Jue tapped the bamboo slips lightly with his fingertips.

"Issue the order," Xiao Jue said, interrupting his subordinates' argument. "The matter of garrisoning the eastern front is to be put on hold for now. Tomorrow, all non-combat damage records of military equipment reported by each battalion from last year to the present will be transferred out and concentrated in the supply train."

"Order Zhou Heng, together with his superior, to compile a general list of categories and quantities within five days and submit it for approval."

The order was clear and specific. Investigating non-combat damage to ordnance is a common, extremely tedious, and historically thankless task in the military.

Involving a supply soldier is more like dumping an endless mess on him, a disguised form of punishment or test.

The officials exchanged bewildered glances, wondering why their lord had suddenly become concerned with such a trivial matter, and even singled out a lowly soldier. But none dared to question him.

The soldier immediately bowed and said, "Yes, sir, I will do it right away."

Xiao Jue said no more and closed the scroll.

Zhou Heng... He wanted to see whether this stone, which seemed to have some different patterns, would crumble under real trivialities and pressure, or whether it could once again spark some unexpected brilliance.

---

The next day, when the mountain of bamboo slips, recording all sorts of bizarre reasons for damage and loss, was brought in front of Zhou Heng, he nearly fainted.

"This...this is?" His voice trembled.

Old Wu patted him on the shoulder, his expression showing rare sympathy, but also a hint of indescribable solemnity: "The task assigned from above specifically asked you to assist. The Marquis himself is in charge." He spoke the last five words very softly, but they struck Zhou Heng's heart like a heavy hammer.

The Marquis...is personally inquiring about this?

Zhou Heng's legs went weak, and he had to hold onto the table to steady himself.

He instantly understood: his previous "little tricks" had finally been noticed. This wasn't a reward, it was a test, putting him on the spot!

But the jade clasp on his chest seemed to be burning faintly, and the cold flow of information and the warning of "annihilation" in his dream pierced his nerves sharply.

After a long while, he turned around very slowly, little by little, to face the pile of bamboo slips that represented endless trouble.

He reached out his hand tremblingly and picked up the top bamboo scroll.

---

For the next five days, Zhou Heng practically lived among piles of bamboo slips that smelled musty and musty.

He gave up sleep, cut back on meals, his eyes were bloodshot, his fingers were scratched by rough bamboo strips, and charcoal ash was almost embedded in his fingerprints.

He dared not come up with any more eye-catching "simplified partitioning" methods, but he iterated on the previous methods.

He forced himself to browse as quickly as possible, building a vague framework in his mind: swords, spears, halberds, bows, crossbows, armor, carriages, horse parts... and then, like sorting through garbage, he quickly put the information he saw into the "garbage bin" in his mind.

When he encountered particularly outrageous or frequently occurring reasons for damage, he would make an extremely brief mark on another bamboo slip with charcoal.

This is the most primitive form of information filtering and pattern recognition, a survival instinct forced out by the sheer volume of work.

Old Wu initially helped with the sorting, but seeing his almost obsessive focus and increasingly rapid categorization speed, he quietly stepped back, only responsible for handing him water and collecting the bamboo slips that he had marked.

The old man's cloudy eyes grew increasingly surprised.

On the evening of the fifth day, on the table in front of Zhou Heng, in addition to the still towering unprocessed bamboo slips, there were several more bamboo slips filled with crooked symbols and numbers.

That wasn't a table; it was more like an extremely simplified list of categories.

His voice was so hoarse he could barely speak. Pointing to the bamboo slips, he said to Old Wu:

"Old Wu... roughly... for swords and knives, training losses account for 70%, and among them, the number of swords and knives damaged due to 'sparring damage' reported by the Xuan-character Battalion is more than three times that of the Di-character Battalion..."

The crossbows that were rendered unusable due to dampness and insect damage were mainly concentrated in several camps stationed along the river after last autumn's flood season... The proportion of armor that was lost was relatively high, especially some light leather armor, and the rate of loss reported by several camps was... somewhat unnatural...

He spoke haltingly and his logic was not very clear, but Old Wu understood him.

Old Wu didn't say anything, but solemnly put away the bamboo slips summarizing the original records marked by Zhou Heng.

When this summary marked with "outliers" was passed through layers of bureaucracy and finally placed on Xiao Jue's desk, he read it very slowly.

He wasn't looking at the rough numbers, but rather at the capabilities behind the report: the ability to process massive amounts of messy information in extreme timeframes, and the intuition to capture key anomalies.

"Is this all you've done in five days?" Xiao Jue asked.

The military advisor replied, "Yes. According to his superior, this soldier barely slept, merely categorizing and summarizing information, pointing out suspicious points. He made no judgments, nor did he delve deeper."

Knowing when to stop, presenting only the phenomena without drawing hasty conclusions—this sense of propriety surprised Xiao Jue somewhat.

"Issue the order." Xiao Jue put down the bamboo scroll. "Based on these 'anomalies,' have the Military Law Department and the Logistics Department conduct a joint investigation. Do it secretly, and don't alert them."

"Yes."

"Also," Xiao Jue paused, "let Zhou Heng rest for two days. After that, transfer him to... the Central Army's Document Office, still under the jurisdiction of the Supply Corps, to do some copying and organization."

The soldier felt a chill run down his spine. The Central Military Secretariat! Although it wasn't dealing with core secrets, it was a hub of information, offering a glimpse into the overall operations of the Northern Liang Army.

This seemingly neutral adjustment actually places the person in a position closer to the central authority and easier to observe.

"Understood."

---

When the transfer order reached the supply train, Zhou Heng was suffering from a low-grade fever and was feeling dizzy due to exhaustion and tension. He didn't immediately recognize the words "Central Military Archives".

After the messenger left, Old Wu looked at him with mixed feelings and whispered, "Young man, the Marquis... he's keeping you under his nose. Fortune or misfortune... is unpredictable."

Zhou Heng jolted awake, his muddled mind feeling as if it had been doused with ice water.

Right under my nose...

In that instant, the fatigue and fear that had accumulated over the past few days seemed to be torn open with a tiny crack.

If... if his clumsy, accidental methods actually manage to get that person's attention?

What if... what if this path really works?

What if?

What if he actually manages to find his way home?

The premise is that he must live, and he must... make himself more useful.

Zhou Heng slowly raised his heavy eyelids, which were heavy due to fever, and looked in the direction of the central command tent.

In his eyes, besides the familiar fear, a hint of determination quietly crept in.

Give it a try.

Anyway... there's no other way to go, is there?