Chapter 1: Transmigrated
"Ah~"
In front of a rundown house in Xiaohe Village, a young man sat on the doorstep, propping his chin with his hands and sighing gloomily.
He had delicate, handsome features, his eyes downcast with a lazy, somewhat cynical expression.
The faint red glow of the setting sun cast on his face, adding a touch of vitality to his fair complexion.
He looked like a wealthy young master completely out of place in this shabby village.
This man was named Fang Zichen, also known as Fang Dababa. He had just turned eighteen and had transmigrated here three days ago from the year 2022.
[大霸霸 (dà bàba): lit. Big Domineering, a nickname implying someone powerful or intimidating]
This kind of supernatural, fantastical event—Fang Zichen had never experienced it before, but he was familiar with the trope!
"System?" he called out a few times. "Space? Spirit Spring? 007?"
Whoosh~
A gust of wind swept by, carrying a few leaves. Not a single ghost answered him.
Fine!
Fang Zichen sighed again, feeling sour inside.
Why did other transmigrators get golden fingers as thick as arms, while he got nothing?
This was so damn unfair.
"Father~"
A child walked toward him, holding a bunch of wild vegetables in his arms. The boy kept his head down, staring at his toes, and called out timidly.
Fang Zichen looked at him, feeling rather curious.
This child was called Guaizai. He was three heads tall—no, saying three heads tall was already flattering him. Rumor had it he was already three years old, but he was short, tiny, and skinny, with a head that looked disproportionately large. He didn’t look like a three-year-old at all.
[乖仔 (guāi zǎi): Well-Behaved Child]
[三头身 (sān tóu shēn): a chibi-style artistic proportion where a character's body height equals three head-lengths]
How could someone so small already know how to walk?
The Calabash Brothers had popped out of gourds bigger than him.
[The Calabash Brothers (葫芦娃, Húlúwá): a classic 1980s Chinese animated series about seven magical brothers, each born from a gourd with unique superpowers, who fight evil forces to protect their grandfather.]
But regardless of his height or skinniness, Guaizai was genuinely adorable—big eyes, a delicate nose, and lips like polished pearls. If he were taken back to modern times and walked down the street, hordes of women overflowing with maternal instincts would surely ask, "Little one, what color sack do you like? Would a urea bag work?"
[Urea bag: humorous reference to a cheap sack, often used in jokes about kidnapping cute kids]
Fang Zichen didn’t speak, making the atmosphere slightly awkward. Guaizai mustered up his courage, gave him an awkward smile, and called out again in a milky voice, "Fa... father~"
Fang Zichen forced a smile and responded, "...Yeah!"
This child was his stepson. Just yesterday, Fang Zichen had reached the peak of his life.
How did this happen? Let’s rewind the timeline to three days ago.
Three days ago, Fang Zichen had just celebrated his eighteenth birthday. Fresh out of university and preparing for a combined master’s and doctoral program, his adoptive parents were overjoyed and splurged on a lavish banquet at a high-end restaurant. Because he had been drugged once before, he only drank two glasses of wine the entire night.
The alcohol wasn’t strong, but it had a bit of a delayed effect. When Fang Zichen woke up, his head was pounding as if it were about to split open.
He wouldn’t have woken up so soon, but in his groggy state, he kept smelling an indescribable stench.
Anyone who had raised pigs could’ve told him, that stench was pig shit.
Rubbing his temples, Fang Zichen slowly sat up. When he saw his surroundings, he froze.
His heart pounded violently, the headache still lingering as he looked around in confusion.
He thought he must’ve been drugged again.
Last time, it had been aphrodisiacs. This time, it must’ve been some advanced hallucinogen—he was literally seeing things.
Trees, wild grass, dirt ground, and... a few blackish, irregularly shaped lumps surrounded by flies.
"..."
The hallucinations were so realistic he could even smell them...
Fang Zichen bolted to the side, holding onto a tree as he vomited. He retched until he was utterly exhausted. Just as he was about to sit down and rest, rustling came from the nearby bushes, and a wild boar with tusks emerged, rooting through the dirt.
Fang Zichen: "..."
Holy shit, this is it. I'm done for!!!
The wild boar stopped digging the moment it saw him, snorted twice, revved up like an engine at full throttle, and charged straight at him.
Fang Zichen’s head was about to explode. If he didn’t run now, when would he?
After running blindly for two hours, he finally managed to shake off the giant wild boar.
If he had thought it was all a hallucination before, he was wide awake now.
During those two hours of mad sprinting, his emotions had been a rollercoaster - panic, confusion, bewilderment, fear, all tangled into one messy knot.
What sin had I committed to deserve this?
He wondered.
Fang Zichen had graduated from university at eighteen and had millions to his name. Without even relying on his family, he was already on track to become a future elite of society.
Yet before this elite could shine for his country, he woke up in some godforsaken place.
As the third young master of the Fang family, no one would dare play such a cruel prank on him.
This was a transmigration.
But why did he have to transmigrate?
And if he had to transmigrate, why couldn’t he get a heads-up? He hadn’t even had time to prepare.
Now he was stuck wearing pajamas and flip-flops. How was he supposed to start his new life?
Sitting on a rock, panting, Fang Zichen called out stubbornly again, "System~"
No response.
Mimicking protagonists from novels, he closed his eyes. "Space?"
Then stuck out a finger. "Spirit Spring?"
"001?"
"002?"
...
"009?"
Damn it all.
Fine!
He accepted reality. No more daydreaming.
After resting for a bit, Fang Zichen couldn’t tell directions in the dense forest, so he randomly picked a path and headed downhill. He walked like that for the entire afternoon.
As evening approached, the temperature dropped sharply, and the thick woods grew even more eerie.
Strange noises started coming from the forest, making Fang Zichen’s steps increasingly unsteady.
"...Little brother~"
Suddenly, a voice came from his side - hoarse and aged, like an old man’s.
Fang Zichen: "..."
In the middle of a deserted mountain forest, aside from someone like him in a special situation, there was actually another person here?
No... maybe, possibly... it's not a person!!!
Fang Zichen felt his lower abdomen tighten, his brain overheating, and a surge of aggression rising within him.
Twice in one day! Twice!
He had nearly pissed himself. Young Master Fang had had enough.
Young men were full of yang energy, bold and fearless, unafraid of ghosts or demons.
[A person with heavy yang energy is naturally bold, physically robust, and spiritually bright - making them fearless against supernatural threats (like ghosts, which avoid their intense vitality)]
Brandishing the stick he had been using to feel his way, he stormed toward the voice, cursing.
"F*ck your ancestors! It’s not even dark yet, and you’re already out here scaring people? Watch me beat your soul into oblivion with this stick!"
Pushing aside the waist-high grass, he abruptly saw a human head on the ground ahead.
The head had long, messy gray hair sticking to its face. Between the strands, patches of bluish-gray skin and cracked, blackened lips were visible.
Just a head, no body in sight. It was as if the head had been chopped off and planted directly into the ground.
To be honest, if Fang Zichen hadn’t been running on sheer rage and adrenaline, this sight alone might’ve made him faint.
The head seemed excited to see him. "Little brother~ Help me."
Fang Zichen: "..."
Help with what? Help you find your body?
Or help you reincarnate?
Fang Zichen didn’t respond. He shifted his footing, ready to charge forward with his stick, when the head spoke again.
"I fell into a ditch. My leg might be broken, it hurts too much to climb out. Can you pull me up and take me home?"
"My home is right at the foot of the mountain, not far. Cough, cough... Little brother... please."
The person sounded weak, struggling to breathe after just a few words.
Fang Zichen stared at the head for a long moment, as if assessing whether it was dangerous. After a while, he finally stepped forward. Keeping a few paces away, he cautiously used his stick to push aside the grass near the head—and sure enough, he found a deep ditch, along with the rest of the person’s body.
"Not a ghost after all!"
Fang Zichen exhaled heavily in relief, wiping his face before complaining, "Old man, pulling stunts like this could literally scare someone to death."
"Little brother... please, help me up."
Without another word, Fang Zichen hauled the old man out of the ditch. The old man’s clothes were dirty and covered in grass, but the style and fabric were still recognizable, they looked like something straight out of ancient times.
"Ah..."
Fang Zichen pressed his lips together and remained silent, seeming somewhat dazed. The old man called out to him.
Fang Zichen sat on the ground: "What is it?"
The old man said his home was at the foot of the mountain, not far away. Two days ago, he had gone up the mountain to chop firewood but wandered too far and accidentally fell into a ditch. Now his leg was broken, and he couldn’t walk, so he wanted Fang Zichen to carry him back.
Fang Zichen agreed and immediately hoisted the old man onto his back, heading downhill. Thinking about how the old man had survived in this desolate wilderness for two days, recalling the guy he saw when he woke up this morning, and then considering the environment around that ditch, he genuinely wanted to turn his head and say to the old man: "What kind of five-colored, gold-encrusted dog shit did you step on to have such insane luck?"
[五彩斑斓的镶金屎 (wǔcǎi bānlán de xiāngjīn shǐ): lit. five-colored, gold-encrusted dog shit; fig. absurdly good luck]
The old man had said it wasn’t far, but after walking for over half an hour, they still hadn’t reached the foot of the mountain.
Moreover, the old man seemed like someone who couldn’t stand silence. He coughed twice, oblivious to Fang Zichen’s suddenly stiffened posture, and just stared at the back of his head before asking: "Little brother, are you a monk who left the clergy? Your clothes are pretty strange."
Fang Zichen: "..."
You think my clothes are weird? Yours aren’t?
"No, I’ve loved eating meat since I was a kid. A meal without meat just doesn’t taste good, how could I ever become a monk?"
"Then what about your hair…?"
"Cut it." Fang Zichen said.
"Wha—" The old man, having spent two days in the ditch, must have caught a chill at night. Combined with not having had water for so long, he started coughing again in shock, stammering: "Y-you… how could you c-cut your hair?"
Fang Zichen rolled his eyes.
I'm a modern man! Not an actor, not an artist. Short hair is completely normal, okay?
But the old man’s exaggerated reaction was probably due to some "body and hair, received from parents" nonsense.
[Body, hair and skin are received from parents. The body is a sacred gift from one's parents that should not be damaged]
Fang Zichen said: "I had lice before. Had to cut it."
The excuse was solid and reasonable. The old man sighed in relief: "Oh! Well then, learn your lesson next time. You’re still young, gotta be diligent, gotta keep yourself clean. Otherwise, if you’re all sloppy, you’ll never find a wife."
"Impossible." Fang Zichen jostled him slightly, continuing steadily downhill. "With just this face alone, moths would throw themselves into the fire for me."
The old man, completely illiterate, coughed and asked: "Huh? What fire?"
Fang Zichen felt another spray of spit on his neck. If not for his basic decency, he might’ve already tossed the old man onto the roadside. Suppressing his irritation, he asked:
"Old man, doesn’t your leg hurt?"
"It does."
"Then maybe you should talk less?"
"..."
____
Xiaohe Village.
The village chief’s family had been holding a funeral these past two days. White cloth and a white lantern hung on either side of their doorway. Inside the cramped main hall lay a coffin, with several people kneeling on the ground, sobbing mournfully.
A middle-aged man knelt directly in front of the coffin, a fire basin on the ground before him. As he burned paper money, he wailed:
"Father… Father~ Your life was so bitter! You toiled for half a lifetime, yet couldn’t even rest in a coffin after death. It’s my faul, I’m unfilial, I’ve failed you!"
The other men and women nearby cried even harder at his words.
The surrounding villagers also felt sorry for Uncle He Liu.
He went to chop firewood, and suddenly disappeared on the mountain.
Truthfully, a missing person wasn’t unheard of, but that mountain was full of deadly things. After two days with no sign of him, everyone assumed he was gone.
The village chief refused to give up. Yesterday, he led the village men to search again, but found nothing. They had no choice but to hold the funeral today.
As dusk fell, a young man came running in from outside, shouting:
"Dad! Grandpa’s back! Grandpa’s back!"
"...What?" The village chief staggered forward, gripping his second son’s hands tightly. "You said your grandpa’s back? He’s alive?"
The mourners immediately surrounded He Xi, then looked outside—but saw nothing.
He Xi, still excited, explained earnestly: "Grandpa fell into a ditch on the mountain and broke his leg. A young man saved him and is carrying him back. They’re still on the way, I ran ahead to tell you."
He had run into Fang Zichen and the old man on his way home. Just as the group was about to go meet them, Fang Zichen arrived at the doorstep with the old man on his back.
The village chief’s eyes reddened: "Father~"
The crowd swarmed around the old man, bombarding him with "concern."
"You old man, you actually came back? Why not just die out there? Wuwuwu~ And here I thought I’d be widowed in my old age. I couldn’t sleep all night!"
"Dad, where’d you go chopping firewood? I turned the whole mountain upside down and couldn’t find you!"
"Yeah, Dad, you scared us to death! Thank goodness you’re back."
Not a single person noticed Fang Zichen.
Fang Zichen hadn’t expected that someone as tall, striking, and obviously eye-catching as him could ever be ignored so thoroughly.
"Hey," he said dryly. "Could someone take the old man off my back?" Or should I just dump him on the ground? I’ve been carrying him for over half an hour!
"...Oh! Right!"
Another flurry of chaos ensued as they settled the old man. Finally, the village chief had time to speak to Fang Zichen.
Noticing his short hair, strange clothes, and bare arms (quite revealing), he asked where he was from and where he was going.
Fang Zichen wanted to say, "I came from my mother’s womb and am heading back to the earth," but since he might need to stay here tonight, offending them wouldn’t help. His eyes darted around before he started spinning tales.
"I come from the Eastern Land of Great Tang."
[Eastern Land of Great Tang: Tang Dynasty China (618–907 AD); Tang Monk's origin in Journey to the West]
The village chief frowned, thinking. "Never heard of it. Are you from overseas?"
Huh?
Fang Zichen tilted his head, holding a bowl. The village chief glanced at his hair and added: "There’s a dock in our town. A few years ago, some big ships arrived—those people had golden hair, green eyes, and short hair like yours. No one here keeps their hair this short unless they’re monks. And they dressed… lightly too."
"Yeah, that’s right," Fang Zichen sighed in relief, downing the bowl of water in two gulps. "I’m from overseas. You got it."
"Then how’d you end up in the mountains?"
Fang Zichen: "..."
You’re asking me? Who should I ask?
After a brief pause, he said: "I was traveling, but some people targeted me. They robbed me and even pulled knives to kill me. I wasn’t gonna stand there and let them chop me, so I ran. Ran and ran, and somehow ended up in the mountains."
"I see." The village chief believed him.
Not because he was gullible, but Fang Zichen looked young—soft-faced, red lips, white teeth, strikingly handsome features. The village chief noticed his long, delicate fingers, almost like a girl’s, and figured it out.
This wasn’t a laborer.
And he didn’t seem like a bad person either.
After chatting a while, the village chief offered to let him stay for some time. As the old man’s savior, Fang Zichen was treated with great courtesy. The bowl he’d been handed earlier had actually contained sugar water - sweet and refreshing.
Fang Zichen nodded in agreement.
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