Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life-Chapter 134: Calculation Room Odd Jobs

The bell tolled at mao hour, its sound heavy and prolonged.

Su Ming opened his eyes.

The room was still dark, only a sliver of fish-belly white light seeping through the window paper.

From the next room came the loud sound of Zhang Meng turning over, while from Manager Zhao's room in the north wing, the faint sound of water could be heard, presumably as he had already gotten up to wash.

Su Ming did not get out of bed immediately.

He felt the wisp of spiritual energy within him, finer than a strand of hair, struggling to worm its way through his damaged meridians.

A whole night of breathing exercises had yielded minimal results.

The damage to his Dao Foundation was like a leaky wooden bucket; eight or nine out of every ten parts of the spiritual energy drawn in silently dissipated.

He sat up and put on that brand-new set of gray menial clothes.

The coarse cloth material was a bit rough against his skin, but he felt a long-lost sense of solidity on his body.

He pushed open the door. The slightly cool air at the foot of the mountain in the early morning rushed into his lungs, carrying the freshness of earth and vegetation.

Zhang Meng also walked out yawning, his burly upper body bare, the lines of his muscles distinct in the morning light.

"Brother Su, morning!" he greeted in a muffled, booming voice, picking up a bucket from the corner of the courtyard. He drew a bucket of water from the old well and poured it over his head. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

The icy well water made him shudder, instantly waking him up completely.

"Let's go, time to get our assignments!"

The huge square in front of the External Affairs Hall was already packed with a sea of dark heads.

Over a thousand menial disciples were divided into ten squares according to the areas they were responsible for, silent as crows.

Standing among the crowd, Su Ming activated the Aura Concealment Art, minimizing his own presence to the lowest.

A steward from the External Affairs Hall stood on a high platform, holding a jade slip, reading out today's personnel transfers and task assignments with an expressionless face.

The vast majority were repetitive, hard labor jobs.

"... Courtyard Ding-Qi, Zhang Meng, Spirit Beast Valley, cleaning the Cloud-Steppers stables."

"... Courtyard Ding-Qi, Li Kai, Formation Peak, transporting discarded formation materials."

"... Courtyard Ding-Qi, Zhao Ping, Pill Cauldron Peak, weeding the herb fields."

Su Ming listened. Zhao Ping was likely the name of that Manager Zhao.

"Courtyard Ding-Qi, Su Ming."

"... Transferred to the Accounting Office of the External Affairs Hall. Report there immediately."

As soon as these words were spoken, countless gazes filled with envy, jealousy, and doubt swiveled towards Su Ming in unison.

The Accounting Office!

That was heaven in the eyes of menial disciples!

No exposure to wind and sun, no physical labor, just sitting indoors every day fiddling with counting rods and organizing ledgers.

This was an incredibly cushy job!

Su Ming merely smiled slightly and walked out of the square under everyone's gaze.

The Accounting Office was located in a side hall halfway up Guiding Peak.

Far from the bustle at the mountain's foot, the surroundings were planted with emerald bamboo, creating a quiet and secluded environment.

Su Ming pushed the door open. The stale scent of ink and the unique fresh smell of bamboo slips assailed his senses.

The room was large. Shelves reaching to the roof beams lined the walls, crammed full with various account books and archives.

Several disciples also wearing gray menial clothes were buried among mountains of paperwork, the crisp sounds of abacus beads clicking rising and falling intermittently.

This place was even busier than Su Ming had imagined.

"Newcomer?"

A thin, gaunt old man poked his head out from behind a pile of account books, his murky eyes sizing up Su Ming.

His hair was graying, his face covered in wrinkles, and an old, polished abacus hung at his waist.

"This junior is Su Ming, ordered to report to the Accounting Office." Su Ming bowed in greeting.

"I'm Liu Tong." The old man grunted and pointed to a small, empty desk in the corner. "You'll sit there from now on."

"From now on, you'll call me Manager Liu."

His tone carried a natural sense of exclusion that an old-timer held towards a newcomer.

Su Ming didn't mind. He followed the instruction and went to sit in the corner.

"Kid, don't think entering the Accounting Office means you're here to enjoy yourself."

Liu Tong slowly walked over and heavily thumped a thick stack of bamboo slips, their edges already frayed, onto Su Ming's desk.

"These are the material in-and-out warehouse receipts from the Vessel Hall for last quarter. A complete mess, nobody wants to deal with them."

"Aren't you a scholar? Today, sort these out for me."

"If you can't sort them out, don't bother eating."

After saying this, he clasped his hands behind his back, strolled back to his own seat, picked up his teacup, and closed his eyes to rest.

The few menial disciples nearby secretly glanced at Su Ming, their eyes holding a trace of sympathy.

They had all seen that pile of messy accounts.

Those blacksmiths from the Vessel Hall had tempers as foul and hard as their hammers. Their receipts were even more scribbled and chaotic. Shortages and discrepancies were common, nothing ever matched up.

This was Manager Liu putting a newbie in his place.

Su Ming picked up the topmost bamboo slip and slowly unrolled it.

Pungent ink stains, sloppy handwriting, chaotic numbers.

It was indeed a mess.

Yet, the corner of Su Ming's mouth lifted slightly in a faint arc.

What he feared was not trouble.

What he feared was having no opportunity.

He did not touch the abacus on the desk.

His fingers lightly traced over the bamboo slip, his eyes rapidly scanning the content.

His brain was the most precise abacus.

"Mystic Iron, incoming inventory three hundred twenty-one jin, loss three jin, actual incoming three hundred eighteen jin..."

"Red Copper, outgoing inventory one hundred seven jin, used to forge thirty-six 'Fire Crow Swords'..."

"Low-grade Spirit Jade, outgoing inventory one thousand two hundred pieces, used to inscribe 'Spirit Gathering Array Disks'..."

"Formation Flags..."

When he saw these two words, Su Ming's mind stirred slightly.

He remembered that quiet, reticent roommate of his, Li Kai.

He continued reading.

One after another chaotic account entry was automatically broken down, categorized, and reorganized in his mind.

Time passed bit by bit.

At some point, the sound of abacuses in the room stopped.

Those few menial disciples were all looking at Su Ming in the corner with eyes as if looking at a monster.

Too fast!

That kid's speed was simply inhuman!

In the time it took them to look at one bamboo slip, he had already finished three!

Moreover, from start to finish, he hadn't used an abacus once, hadn't touched a writing brush once!

Liu Tong had also opened his eyes long ago.

His murky old eyes were full of doubt and uncertainty.

Was this kid putting on an act, or did he really have the skill?

One shichen later.

Su Ming put down the last bamboo slip.

That mountain-like pile of messy accounts had been completely sorted and neatly arranged by category by him.

He pulled a worn-out brush from the brush holder, took a blank bamboo slip, and dipped it in ink.

He did not start writing immediately.

Instead, he closed his eyes.

In his mind, countless streams of data flowed, converging into an invisible, massive table.

Incoming inventory, outgoing inventory, losses, balance...

Each item was crystal clear.

Suddenly, his brow furrowed slightly.

The Logistics Department of Heavenly Sword Peak received a batch of low-grade Spirit Jade and standard Formation Flags from the Vessel Hall every month, under the heading 'Daily Training Losses.'

The quantity of these supplies was astonishingly similar every single month.

Even stranger, their loss rate was also remarkably consistent, neither more nor less, exactly thirty percent.

Once or twice might be coincidence, but for it to be so for several consecutive months, this regularity was far too deliberate.

Su Ming had seen too many similar accounting tricks back in the Hanlin Academy. Behind such seemingly neat numbers often hid things that couldn't bear the light of day.

There was definitely something fishy going on here.

A bold idea surfaced in his mind—this was an opportunity, a chance to demonstrate his value, yet one that could also backfire spectacularly.

His thoughts raced, swiftly weighing the pros and cons.

Expose it directly? That would be like an egg striking a rock; how could a mere menial disciple like him provoke Heavenly Sword Peak? Pretend he didn't know? Then he would be no different from any ordinary menial, lost in the crowd.

He had to find another way. He needed to let those above see his ability, yet he couldn't point it out directly, making himself a target.