Chapter 1: with translation of chapter title

Zhao Jianguo had lived nearly thirty years, never imagining he'd fall over scrolling short videos (a slip, hit by his own phone)—or rather, he'd fallen into another era.

One second he was lying in that Shenzhen pigeon‑hole‑like rental, chewing a half‑cold burger while the phone screen's host shouted, 'Folks! Today's benefits are practically free!'; the next second the world spun, his ears suddenly blasted with a loud voice, sharp enough to stab: 'Jianguo! What are you staring at? You don't want this box?'

He shuddered, and the paint‑peeled wooden box in his arms almost struck his foot.

Opening his eyes, he saw a narrow hutong; grey walls on either side were cracked with fine lines, the wall base piled with unswept coal cinders that blew up bits of debris when the wind stirred. Underfoot the blue‑stone slabs were pitted and uneven—two steps could make the soles of his feet ache. The air smelled even more complicated: the burnt stench from a coal stove, a faint whiff of urine from somewhere nearby, mingled together, giving off an indescribable sense of embarrassment.

He lowered his head to look at himself, nearly passing out.

He wore a bleached‑white "Meituan Delivery Sprint King" T‑shirt, his jeans pocket still showing half a charging cable, and his sneakers were worse—the soles worn down to the lining.

'This get‑up in a 1955 Beijing hutong is no different from something dropped from outer space,' Zhao Jianguo thought, his heart pounding and his hands trembling a little.

Before he could recover, a middle‑aged woman darted out of the house, holding a blue Cloth Bundle, her voice louder than the hutong‑gate broadcast: 'Jianguo! The east wing room is just three steps away—why are you dawdling? Do you want to wear out your father?'

It was his mother Li Xiaohua. Zhao Jianguo quickly lowered his head, huffing and puffing as he moved the box into the house, silently chanting eight hundred times: 'Speak less, act honest, don't give yourself away.'

This place he knew—95 Nanluoguxiang Courtyard—wasn't that the dilapidated little place he'd complained about while watching 'Embrace the Siheyuan'? Back then he'd joked with friends, 'Living here you'd be fighting all day?' He never imagined he'd become a new resident of the courtyard.

He set the box against the wall, leaned on the doorframe to catch his breath, then suddenly a 'ding' rang in his head, like someone hitting his skull with a hammer, leaving him dazed.

【Check‑in System Activated】

【Host: Zhao Jianguo, age 17, ordinary physique, mental value qualified】

【Binding… please confirm within 30 seconds】

Zhao Jianguo's legs went weak, and he almost fell into the coal basket in the corner.

"Holy shit, a system?" His first reaction was to look for his phone, fumbling his pockets before remembering his phone was gone after the transmigration. He pinched his thigh hard, grimacing from the pain—not a hallucination.

"If this thing really exists, give me a sign!" he shouted through gritted teeth in his mind.

Just as he finished shouting, another 'ding' rang in his head, clear as an alarm clock pressed to his ear.

"Bind! Hurry up and bind!" Zhao Jianguo's mind burned with urgency, afraid this good thing would fly away.

【Ding! Binding Successful】

【Newbie Compensation Being Issued… Claim Practical Reward?】

"Nonsense! What's the point of something impractical?" He almost shouted, quickly covered his mouth, only roaring in his mind.

【Obtained: Infinite Space Storage Ring (mind‑activated, unlimited capacity, host‑only use)】

Zhao Jianguo stared for two seconds, a surge of heat shot from his soles to his crown, almost making him laugh out loud.

"Infinite space? And mind‑control? This beats a built‑in suite!" He kept his composure, slipped his right hand into his sleeve, silently thought "open"—as his fingertip touched the Storage Ring, the half‑piece of cold steamed bun in his pocket vanished.

He suppressed the smile at the corners of his mouth and sized up the east wing room. It was about forty square meters; a wooden board bed took up half the space; beside the bed stood a paint‑peeled square table, missing a chunk at the corner; the wall corner piled with luggage, and on the coal stove sat a dented aluminum pot. The window paper had a hole, and when the wind blew it made a "hoo‑hoo" sound.

Walking to the courtyard gate, he stared at the vermilion‑painted big door—the copper door knob missing a corner, the door hinge rusted so badly it could barely turn. He tentatively asked in his mind: "System, can I check‑in here?"

【Check‑in Possible, Confirm?】

"Confirm! Right here!"

【Ding! First Check‑in Successful】

【Location: Nanluoguxiang 95 Courtyard Main Gate】

【Reward: Basic Repair Skills (master basic carpentry, fitting, and circuit troubleshooting)】

In an instant, a flood of information rushed into his mind, as if someone had shoved a "Home Repair Practical Manual" into his brain. How to hold a plane steadily, which screwdriver for each screw type, how to check a short circuit in wiring… it was all solid experience, crystal clear, as if he'd practiced it for years.

Zhao Jianguo stood there dazed for three seconds. He used to be a delivery guy, didn't get into college, scraped by at a technical school to get an electrician's certificate, and had only fixed his own tripped breaker a few times—compared to what's now in his brain, it's like a petty witch seeing a great sorceress.

"From now on, fixing a chair or table, hooking up a wire—I won't need to beg anyone." He calculated in his mind, his eyes brightening a bit.

At dusk, the family of three sat around the small square table to eat. On the table was a pot of millet porridge, bright yellow, with a thin layer of oil floating on top. Three dark steamed buns sat in the ceramic bowl, hard as rock.

His father Zhao Erniu lifted his bowl, squeezed out a smile: "The factory notified me today—I'm being transferred to the Steel Rolling Factory, so we get to bask in a bit of big‑factory glory."

Li Xiaohua also chimed in happily: "The work's a bit heavier, but once the wages come I'll get you two taels of pork to build up your strength."

Zhao Jianguo lowered his head to look at the gruel‑like porridge in his bowl, his heart sinking. He picked up a steamed bun, took a bite—it was coarse enough to scrape his throat, with a hint of sourness; swallowing it sent a burning fire down his throat.

He forced himself not to spit it out, even served himself a bowl of the thickest porridge, forcing a "tasty" expression: "It's… pretty fragrant." Hardly had he spoken when he almost choked.

This isn't eating, it's torture—imagine a proud 21st‑century office slave who's never suffered like this. He furtively slipped his hand into his sleeve and tossed the remaining half‑bun into the Storage Ring—though it's worthless, at least he doesn't have to spit it out in front of his parents, preserving a bit of dignity.

He was lowering his head to drink porridge when the door suddenly went 'bang bang bang', the knocking quite strong.

'Is the new neighbor home? Open the door, open the door!'

Zhao Erniu hurriedly got up to open the door; a tall young man peered in from outside, his face breaking into a smile, his apron stained with oil, and he was holding an aluminum lunch box.

'Tomorrow there's a general meeting of the courtyard—don't be late! San Daye said, whoever doesn't go will have their work points deducted (here the work points are modeled after the rural ones: if your work points are low, you'll be responsible for cleaning the whole courtyard on weekends, a little self‑run evaluation—this is just a private thing, useless!)!'

Zhao Jianguo looked up, his heart giving a 'thump'—wasn't that Sha Zhu? The big‑mouth, warm‑hearted canteen master from *Embrace the Siheyuan* who's always shouting, 'I, Sha Zhu, am the most reasonable!'

Sha Zhu in front of him looked even more spirited than in the drama, his eyebrows thick as two small brushes, his eyes bright as lightbulbs, and when he smiled his teeth flashed white enough to dazzle.

'Thanks for the reminder, bro, we'll remember.' Zhao Erniu was exceedingly polite, nodding quickly.

Sha Zhu's gaze fell on Zhao Jianguo, sizing him up from head to toe: 'Yo, this kid looks handy! If you ever need any pipe‑fixing or bulb‑changing around the house, just call me! I, Sha Zhu, run the kitchen at the Steel Rolling Factory—my skills are top‑notch!'

Zhao Jianguo hurriedly lowered his head, pretending to tidy the desk corner, but alarm bells rang in his mind—this guy is too enthusiastic? Just moved in and already knocking on doors to curry favor; is everyone in the courtyard like this?

He furtively felt his pocket, confirming that the half piece of steamed bun was not there.

He knew the score—the Siheyuan was full of people, gossips, freeloaders, and schemers of all sorts. Now his identity was unknown; aside from the system he had nothing, the repair skills he'd just acquired were untested, and he dared not let even a hint of the ring show—one misstep and he might end up stripped to his underwear.

But he wasn't panicking—he had the system, an infinite space, and the repair skills he'd just gotten. Surviving should be easy; to live decently, he just needed to use his brains.

After Sha Zhu left, the courtyard fell quiet. Next door came the radio's 'eee ya ya' opera singing, a child's crying and fussing, mixed with the coal stove's 'crackle' as it burned, and the rooms gradually warmed up.

Before bed, Zhao Jianguo sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his worn‑out athletic shoes, thinking: 'Tomorrow I need to figure out how to get a pair of cloth shoes, or these won't last a few days.'

With a thought, he took the half piece of steamed bun from the ring and placed it on the table. The black bun lay still, its surface rough, the edges still bearing the tooth marks from his bites. He stared at it for ten seconds, then pushed it to the corner of the table—better keep it, just in case he gets hungry someday.

He suddenly recalled that while moving boxes earlier, he'd seen a few old planks stacked at the base of the wall, plus a rusty wrench. 'Basic repair technique…' he muttered to himself, his fingers unconsciously tracing motions on his knee as if turning a screw.

Zhao Jianguo stood, walked to the door, and ran his hand over the mottled door—the hinge gave a soft 'creak', as if responding to him.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward—this courtyard looked a bit run‑down, life here a bit hard, but it wasn't impossible.

Just as he turned to close the door, footsteps sounded outside—coming nearer, tapping on the blue stone slabs with a 'tap tap', clear as drumbeats. The door was pushed open a crack, and a figure stood in the doorway holding an oil lamp.

Zhao Family's! The wick has grown, trim it and use it again! Be sparing, kerosene is precious!

Zhao Jianguo raised his hand, preparing to close the door, but it suddenly stopped midair.