Chapter 2: The Drifter

The sun’s shadow was dim, and tall grass reached to his ankles.

In the wild woods, one man fled, four chased him, stirring up countless startled insects.

“Help! There’s a ghost!” The skinny man’s terrified cry echoed through the once-silent forest.

“Wait! We’re not ghosts!” Wang Yang shouted as he ran after him.

The skinny man may have woken long ago. Wang Yang didn’t know how much of their conversation he’d overheard; he chased him partly to prevent trouble, partly to understand what had happened.

Five men had collapsed around a soul bottle; when they woke, four had soul-transmigrated, one remained unchanged. The skinny man might not know how this ghostly event occurred, but he should at least know its origin: who they were, and why they were here.

“Stop!” “Who are you?!” Several shouts rang out at once.

Night had fallen; tree shadows slanted across the ground, and several blurred figures emerged ahead.

“Save... save—ah!”

Wang Yang saw the skinny man wave his arms and sprinted forward, but before he could even utter the word “life,” came a swift hiss!

The skinny man stiffened and pitched forward.

Whoosh!

Another piercing whistle!

The strong man swung his arm sideways, shoving the middle-aged man in front of himself!

The middle-aged man never had time to cry out—a long arrow pierced his throat.

The strong man dropped to the ground, gasping, his arms still trembling.

The middle-aged man toppled backward, hitting the grass with a dull thud.

A heavy stream of blood poured from his throat and mouth; his body convulsed continuously.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Wang Yang felt his heart was about to smash through his chest.

This was the first time he had witnessed death firsthand,

no—not just death, but murder.

It all happened too fast; Wang Yang barely had time to drop to the ground before he watched the middle-aged man fall less than two meters from him.

The middle-aged man’s name was Xu You, a well-known editor at the provincial publishing house. Though they’d only met at noon, he was Wang Yang’s only “acquaintance” in this strange new world. He never expected to die so soon—and so senselessly.

“The remaining three, keep your heads down, eyes closed, don’t move—or you’ll be shot on the spot!”

A cold voice, accompanied by the rustling of trampled grass, drew nearer!

How many were they?

At least more than three...

Wang Yang dared not lift his head.

“This one’s dead!”

“This one’s dead too!”

After two reports, someone barked: “Stand up, quickly!”

Wang Yang glanced at Xu You, half his body soaked in blood, and rose slowly—his legs were weak, as if all strength had been drained from his body.

Nine men came into Wang Yang’s view. They wore old gray clothes; two held bows, arrows nocked, aimed at Wang Yang, the strong man, and the handsome boy. Five carried swords, one held a spear, all alert.

The man in the center wore the newest clothes, a sword at his waist but not drawn. The black-faced giant with the spear stood close beside him, like a bodyguard.

“Don’t kill us! We know lots of things!” The handsome boy’s voice trembled with urgency—this was nothing like the opening he’d imagined for his transmigration.

The man in the center asked: “How many of you are there?”

None of Wang Yang’s three answered.

Because no one knew how to answer that question.

The man suddenly roared: “Speak! Or you die!”

The handsome boy shuddered and blurted: “Just us three! No one else!”

“When did you cross the border?”

“Cross the border? We didn’t cross any border!” the strong man cried.

“If you didn’t cross, why are you sneaking through A Qu Forest? I am the A Qu Garrison Commander. Yesterday I received a notice from Lu Yang: northern spies have infiltrated. Are you the ones?”

The strong man and the handsome boy didn’t know what “garrison commander” meant, but they guessed it was some kind of official—certainly not a bandit, which eased them greatly. Wang Yang knew “garrison commander” referred to a low-ranking military officer commanding ten soldiers.

These men were soldiers. Unlike soldiers in TV dramas, they wore no armor; their clothes weren’t just untidy—they looked downright shabby.

“No no! What’s a cup and plate? What’s that? We’re innocent!” The strong man and the handsome boy cried out together; they hadn’t even recognized “beidie” as two characters.

Wang Yang connected “crossed the border” with his earlier judgment of the mid-ancient era and guessed the meaning of “northern spy”: “If you were sneaking, you wouldn’t run, let alone scream.”

Everyone turned to look at Wang Yang; the handsome boy and the strong man hurried to add: “Yes! Exactly!”

The garrison commander clearly hadn’t expected this answer; he paused, then said: “You might be fleeing from pursuit!”

Wang Yang countered: “If you’re being chased, you keep running. We’ve stopped for a long time—where are your pursuers?”

The black-faced giant with the spear stared deeply at Wang Yang.

The garrison commander blinked, then growled: “Place of registration?”

Wang Yang said nothing. He knew the general era, but place names changed over time—he could easily misstate one. Also, he didn’t know where he was.

If he were a local, he’d need to give an exact address. If he were an outsider, they’d likely demand a “guo suo.”

The strong man quickly answered: “I’m from Lingnan!”

The strong man’s reaction was fast—he didn’t know the current geography, but he knew the climate wasn’t hot, so it wasn’t Lingnan. Besides, he’d heard Lingnan was remote and backward in ancient times. If he claimed to be from there, would they really check? Even if they could, it would take years—he’d have time to think of a way out.

The handsome boy wanted to cry. He never expected a simple question about registration to stump him. He had the male lead’s identity card! Why was he already so humiliated? Remembering the transmigration novels he’d read, courage surged—he straightened his chest and declared: “I’m from the great country of Great Britain overseas!”

Wang Yang looked at the handsome boy and thought: You really dare to make that up.

The strong man’s mind stirred—he realized that claiming to be from overseas was better than claiming Lingnan. Overseas identities could be invented freely; no one could verify them.

The garrison commander frowned and turned to Wang Yang: “And you?”

Wang Yang said: “Fulangren.”

The handsome boy was confused—what did that mean? The strong man thought: He’s been inspired by the boy. Is he claiming to be a Japanese ronin?

Fulangren had nothing to do with Japanese ronin.

In the mid-ancient era, fulangren specifically meant people without household registration.

The Book of Sui, Treatise on Food and Goods, states: “Those without registered households, who refuse to be enrolled in county records, are called fulangren.”

The garrison commander sneered, pointing at the strong man and the handsome boy: “Since one of you is from Lingnan and the other from some overseas ‘Bu Dian’ country, produce your ‘guo suo.’”

The “guo suo” was a travel permit in the mid-ancient era, issued by the household registration office, similar to today’s ID card. All travelers—noble or common, official or civilian, even foreign merchants—were required to carry one.

The strong man and the handsome boy stared blankly. It wasn’t that they were slow—it was that they had no idea what a “guo suo” was. If the commander had said “ID card,” they could’ve claimed it was lost. But now, his words were like duck hearing thunder—they couldn’t even grasp the concept, let alone devise a response.

The garrison commander sneered: “I can tell you’re lying. Doesn’t matter—we’ll take our time.” He glanced at Wang Yang: “As for the fulangren, I don’t handle those. Go to Lingxi. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a bowl of bean porridge.”

Wang Yang had never heard of Lingxi, but he was eager to escape this situation under military control.

The strong man immediately said: “I’m a fulangren too!”

The handsome boy followed: “Me too! We’re all fulangren!”

The garrison commander cursed: “Shut up, both of you! Lying through your teeth—you’re either northern spies, escaped slaves, or wandering bandits! Fulangren? Fulang your mother’s fulang! Wu Zi, take that real fulangren away first!”

The strong man panicked: “He’s fake!”

Wang Yang’s heart sank.

The garrison commander snapped: “What nonsense are you spouting?”

“If he’s not real, neither am I! We’re together!” the strong man shouted, then urgently looked at the handsome boy.

The handsome boy paused for a second, then nodded firmly: “We’re together! We’ve always been together!”

Wang Yang looked at the handsome boy; the boy turned his head away, avoiding his gaze.

Wang Yang exhaled, calmed himself, and said: “I’m not with them.”

“We are together!” “We are together!” The strong man and the handsome boy shouted in unison. In that moment, Wang Yang felt like a crab that had nearly crawled out of the basket, only to be dragged back by two others of his kind.

“This is fucking insane!” The garrison commander pinched his temples, his expression irritated.

The soldier named Wu Zi stepped close and whispered something. The garrison commander’s gaze swept over Wang Yang and the other two, then slowly softened into a smile.

“Since we can’t sort this out, you’ll all stay. Once you’re in my hands, life won’t be easy. But all three of you have decent looks. Especially this one,” the garrison commander eyed the handsome boy up and down, clicking his tongue: “Pretty as a little lady!” Then he turned to Wang Yang with a lewd grin: “This one’s fine too!”

“What are you going to do?!” The handsome boy felt a bad premonition.

The garrison commander grinned wickedly: “What? You’ll find out what ‘do’ means soon enough! Our team leader has a taste for this—lucky you!”

Fuck!

Wang Yang’s mind exploded; his scalp prickled.

In the mid-ancient era, male relationships were common—even the Western Yan emperor Murong Chong had been taken as a male concubine! How could he have forgotten this?

The soldiers burst into laughter at the garrison commander’s words; Wang Yang and the other two turned pale.

The garrison commander waved his hand: “Arrest them all! The two prettiest ones go to the team leader; the strong one goes to the clerk!”

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Note: Even in the Qin Dynasty, with its strict household registration system, identity cards were never widely used among commoners. The Qin equivalent of an ID was called “yan” or “fu”—issued only when leaving one’s registered locality, similar to this era’s “guo suo.” Thus, if Wang Yang and the others had simply walked into a town and claimed to be locals, they wouldn’t have been asked to produce a physical document.