Chapter 108: Progress in Three Worlds and the New Ancient-Dress Character: Chu Yang [Request Monthly Votes and Follow Reading]

“Itachi’re not actually going crazy from all this research, are Itachi?”

Shanks gave him a look.

“Captain, I want to save this fish-man.”

Chu Yang said solemnly.

“Mr. Tom? Why…?” Shanks broke off, then suddenly realized: “I forgot—Itachi were saved by the Fish-Man Tribe.”

“Mr. Tom? Itachi know him…” Chu Yang also realized: “He built the Pirate King’s ship—it’d be strange if Itachi didn’t know him.”

Shanks nodded.

At that moment, Buggy appeared suddenly, slinging an arm around Chu Yang’s shoulder and whispering: “We’ve known about this for a long time, but the Captain said Mr. Tom could complete the Marine Train, so we didn’t interfere.”

Shanks sighed: “If it weren’t for Chu Yang leaving for a while, I wouldn’t have thought to come to Water Seven now to overhaul the Red Hair. I originally planned to wait until after completion to quietly celebrate with Mr. Tom—but I never expected something like this to happen today…”

Chu Yang looked at Tom, covered in wounds, and asked: “Do we rescue him now?”

Shanks shook his head. “No. I haven’t moved yet because I’m afraid Tom’s disciples will get caught in the crossfire.”

Chu Yang scanned the surroundings but saw no Franky.

Only Spandam, wrapped head to toe in bandages, was visible.

Clearly, this guy had been beaten to a pulp by Franky.

Buggy chuckled. “Don’t rush. Wait till we’re at sea. There are too many warships watching—we can’t act here.”

Chu Yang nodded.

Tom was taken to the Marine Train he himself had built: the “Smoking Tom.”

The culprit, Spandam, was also carried aboard by his men.

The Red Hair Pirates were gradually returning to their ship, preparing to set sail.

The surrounding warships reacted a beat too late—only after the Red Hair and the Smoking Tom left Water Seven did they realize what had happened.

All parties headed toward Enies Lobby.

News reached Marine Headquarters immediately; Admiral Sengoku, still a Marine Admiral at the time, picked up the call, listened to the report, and turned pale.

Sengoku rushed off at once, boarding a warship with a group of Vice Admirals and Rear Admirals, heading straight for Enies Lobby.

They assumed the Red Hair Pirates’ target was Enies Lobby.

Meanwhile, the Red Hair drew closer to the Smoking Tom; Spandam aboard the train sensed something was wrong.

“Damn it! Those pirates are coming for us!”

“Red Hair?”

“Why the hell is he getting involved in this mess?”

Spandam was terrified.

Aside from Whitebeard Edward Newgate, Kuma, and Big Mom Charlotte Linlin—who had already secured their thrones as Pirate Emperors—Shanks was unquestionably the strongest beneath them! If such an enemy was targeting him, how could Spandam not be terrified?

“How do we stop this Marine Train?”

“If we use brute force, Mr. Tom will get hurt!”

“If all else fails, we’ll have to destroy the tracks!”

“But this was built by Mr. Tom—if we damage it, won’t he be furious?”

The crew debated loudly on how to rescue Tom.

Shanks’s head throbbed from the noise.

The surrounding warships kept closing in—if they waited any longer, it might be too late to act.

At that moment, Chu Yang spotted a boy standing on the distant tracks.

He knew he couldn’t delay any longer.

“I have a plan.” Chu Yang leapt onto the rail, crouched, and turned back: “Itachi handle the Marines around us!”

Shanks reached out to stop him: “What are Itachi—”

Before he finished speaking, he saw Chu Yang flying away.

Yes.

Chu Yang was flying.

Using Earth Release: Ultra Light Heavy Rock Technique.

Shanks stood frozen, dumbfounded.

Even Buggy and the crew were stunned.

“Captain, I think I’m getting seasick—I just saw Yang kid flying.”

“Shanks, I’m seasick too—he’s flying pretty fast.”

“Captain… puke… I’m really seasick now…”

Without warning, the warships opened fire, rocking the Red Hair violently; standing on deck felt like riding a seesaw.

Shanks snapped back to reality and immediately ordered the crew to return fire, covering Chu Yang.

Chu Yang swiftly flew above the train, landed in the cab, kicked the driver into the sea, then slammed on the brakes.

The high-speed Marine Train nearly derailed, skidded a short distance, then slowly came to a halt.

The boy stood motionless, eyes vacant, arms outstretched, blocking the train.

The train was now only an arm’s length from him.

On the other side, Chu Yang had barely stepped out of the cab when he was attacked—a squad of Enies Lobby Marines and CP9 spies opened fire simultaneously.

Facing a group of nobodies, Chu Yang raised his arm and summoned a thick tree trunk.

After sweeping it once, the carriage became eerily clean.

Spandam cowered in the corner, trembling.

So hateful.

Why didn’t Itachi just blast me away too? Spandam cursed inwardly.

Chu Yang walked up to Spandam, grabbed the bandages wrapped around his wounds.

Spandam screamed in agony.

Chu Yang unleashed Haoshoku Haki, knocking him unconscious, then threw him overboard.

Killing such a man would only sully his hands—better to dump him in the sea to feed the fish. It’s ecological balance.

Environmental protection matters.

In the second carriage, Chu Yang finally saw Tom—slumped in a corner, drenched in blood, barely breathing.

Chu Yang rushed forward and poured vast amounts of life energy into Tom’s body.

Franky, stunned into silence, finally snapped out of it and charged into the carriage—just in time to see Chu Yang healing Tom.

Franky’s eyes filled with tears, his anxiety palpable.

Chu Yang ignored him, focused entirely on transferring life energy to Tom.

Franky crept closer, wanting to check Tom’s condition—when suddenly Chu Yang stood up and kicked him hard.

Franky spat a mouthful of blood, flying backward into the sea; his blood quickly stained the surrounding water red.

Young Franky couldn’t yet be associated with the Red Hair Pirates—if he were, the first to suffer after they left would be him.

Chu Yang knew this, which was why he kicked him so hard.

Then he carried Tom, whose breathing now steady, off the Marine Train.

The Marines’ artillery barrage was fierce.

But the newly upgraded Red Hair wasn’t intimidated—it returned fire with equal intensity.

Both sides held back, avoiding close combat.

Yet the Marine formation kept tightening, showing clear signs of encirclement.

At that moment, Chu Yang returned to the ship with Tom.

Shanks stood at the bow, shouting.

“Set sail! Weigh anchor!”

Sengoku, arriving too late, could only watch as the Red Hair broke through the Marine blockade and vanished into unknown waters.

In truth, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He was the only Admiral left guarding Headquarters—if a clash had erupted in Water Seven, the Marine HQ would have been left defenseless, risking catastrophe.

Sengoku had come under immense pressure; luckily, Shanks had no interest in Enies Lobby.

“By the way, why did this guy cause such a huge commotion?”

On the return voyage, Sengoku turned to the surrounding Marine officers.

One Rear Admiral replied: “Rumor says the Red Hair Pirates rescued the shipwright Tom, who was supposed to be executed.”

Sengoku thought for a moment, then asked: “The same Tom who built the ‘Oro Jackson,’ known as the world’s greatest shipwright?”

The Rear Admiral nodded. “Yes, Admiral Sengoku.”

“That explains it,” Sengoku exhaled deeply. “Red Hair was once on Roger’s crew—this was likely an act of gratitude.”

The Rear Admiral asked in surprise: “Red Hair Shanks was once a crewman of the Pirate King Roger?”

“Itachi didn’t know?” Sengoku looked around and saw many faces filled with shock.

“Admiral Sengoku, please don’t drop such massive secrets so casually—it scares people, just like Captain Karp.”

Vice Admiral “Aokiji” Kuzan leaned against the rail, looking exasperated.

“Don’t compare me to that old fool,” Sengoku snapped at the mention of Karp. “The New World is in chaos, yet he’s gone back to the East Blue—no one knows what he’s doing!”

“Not sure,” Kuzan shrugged, teasing. “But Karp says the next time he sees Red Hair, he’ll kill him… Looks like they’ve got a serious grudge.”

On the night they left the Seven Waterfalls City, Tom woke up, and upon realizing he was aboard the Red Forest, he fell silent for a long time.

“If Itachi return now, everyone connected to Itachi in the Seven Waterfalls City will be punished by the World Government—worst case, everyone gets the death penalty.”

Chu Yang reminded him from beside him.

Tom let out a deep sigh. “Why save me? Itachi must have other motives too.”

Shanks smiled. “Our only goal is to repay your kindness. Without your painstaking work crafting the ‘Oro Jackson,’ Captain Roger could never have fulfilled his dream—and there would be no Pirate King afterward.”

Tom looked up sharply, stunned, staring at Shanks.

“I used to be a junior crewman on Roger’s crew,” Shanks scratched his head.

Tom suddenly remembered: back then, there had indeed been two little brats on Roger’s ship—one of them with red hair.

They chatted for a long while, after which Shanks invited Tom to join tonight’s banquet.

Nothing is more worth celebrating than successfully saving a companion’s life.

At least, that’s how the Red-Haired Pirates saw it.

The dining hall, now four or five times wider than before, became a grand banquet hall, lit up brightly all night.

Every pirate sang and danced, their cups never empty.

Tom slowly blended in; soon he was drunk, and when he woke the next morning, he accepted the fact that he was now one of the crew.

Chu Yang returned to his research.

Whether because his mood had improved or not, the research on the bloodline factor technology progressed extremely smoothly.

Five days later, Chu Yang successfully extracted a bloodline factor with Mokuton effects.

…………

Naruto world.

After training for many days in the Wet Bone Forest, Chu Yang successfully attained Sage Mode—but he still couldn’t enter it instantly like Hashirama Senju.

Entering Sage Mode instantly isn’t easy.

Even Jiraiya, who would later become one of the Legendary Sannin, couldn’t do it.

It requires balancing three types of energy within the body.

Physical energy, spiritual energy, and natural energy.

Chakra is the product of balanced physical and spiritual energy; adding natural energy means disrupting an already established equilibrium.

But inertia is terrifying.

Especially when the body has long grown accustomed to producing chakra—this inertia has become instinct.

This is the fundamental reason Sage Mode is so hard to master.

Entering Sage Mode isn’t difficult when one focuses the mind intensely.

The hard part is maintaining Sage Mode while moving—or fighting.

On the very first day Chu Yang entered the Wet Bone Forest, he successfully formed the facial markings.

It took three days to move freely within it.

It took five days to fight normally.

To the Slug Sage, this pace was unprecedented—but Chu Yang was still unsatisfied.

If he couldn’t guarantee instant entry into Sage Mode during battle, it was meaningless.

For this reason, Chu Yang specifically sought out Hashirama Senju for advice.

Hashirama Senju: “Just like this… then like this… finally like that.”

Chu Yang: “????”

Hashirama Senju gestured while speaking words that felt both familiar and strange to Chu Yang.

He clearly believed his description was extremely detailed—even vivid.

Until Chu Yang stared at him, utterly baffled.

“ Feijian always said I wasn’t cut out to be a teacher…” Hashirama Senju scratched his head and laughed awkwardly. “I think practical combat will help Itachi understand better.”

Chu Yang sighed deeply. So this was going to be a beating session.

But to master Sage Mode faster, Chu Yang could only nod in agreement.

In combat, no other ninjutsu or senjutsu could be used—meaning Hashirama Senju’s signature Mokuton was off-limits.

Purely in taijutsu, Chu Yang’s current gap with Hashirama Senju wasn’t that large.

The problem was, Hashirama Senju wouldn’t give Chu Yang any chance to enter Sage Mode—he suppressed him from the very first move.

A Sage Mode Hashirama Senju fighting a Chu Yang with no Sage Mode and only taijutsu? The outcome was obvious.

Chu Yang was knocked senseless.

Forget entering Sage Mode—he could barely defend against Hashirama Senju’s attacks, no matter how hard he tried.

Most of the time, he was just a living punching bag.

They fought from morning until dusk.

Chu Yang’s entire body was swollen.

Hashirama Senju looked refreshed. “I haven’t had such a satisfying fight in ages. The last time was against Madara. Since becoming Hokage, I’ve had no real chances to fight. Sometimes I even envy Madara—he could still battle Tailed Beasts.”

“How’s it going? After all that, feel anything yet?”

Bruised and swollen, Chu Yang looked up at Hashirama Senju and said bitterly, “Do I look like I’ve got any feeling?”

Hashirama Senju stared intently, then asked seriously, “Who are Itachi?”

Chu Yang sighed deeply. “Master, that joke isn’t funny.”

“Oh? Hahaha!” Hashirama Senju scratched his head and laughed to himself.

Hashirama Senju’s teaching method was simple and brutal.

But it was extremely effective—it pushed Chu Yang’s potential to its limits. After three days and nights of being beaten, Chu Yang finally learned how to enter Sage Mode instantly during battle.

………………

Harry Potter world.

After mastering the three Unforgivable Curses, Chu Yang resumed his research on spells.

As for wands, progress had temporarily stalled.

Chu Yang’s wand-making skill had reached an advanced level—he’d even found a formula to substitute wand cores—but he still couldn’t find a stable replacement core for other-world “himself” to use.

So Chu Yang decided to shift his research direction and planned to learn the secrets of wandless casting from Professor Flitwick or Headmaster Dumbledore.

Wands are European inventions; before the British wizard Isolt Sayre founded Ilvermorny, Native American wizards used wandless casting.

African wizards didn’t even begin using wands until the twentieth century.

Strictly speaking, wands aren’t essential for casting.

Wandless casting is extremely difficult—at least far harder than O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. exams.

The invention of wands lowered the casting threshold, making magic more controllable and simple, and was the key factor that allowed European wizards to dominate others throughout history.

Wands and wandless casting are like internal combustion engines and steam engines—the latter has been abandoned by time.

For most wizards, abandoning wands for wandless casting is as incomprehensible as a modern person giving up high-speed rail to ride a steam train.

Even as powerful as Dumbledore, he would never use wandless casting in battle.

But for Chu Yang, what mattered more than the high learning barrier and drawbacks of wandless casting was enabling his other-world “selves” to use magic.

As for the drawbacks of wandless casting, Chu Yang could gradually overcome them using knowledge from various worlds—he wasn’t worried at all.

Headmaster Dumbledore had been very busy lately.

Since Chu Yang passed on the information about Voldemort’s seven Horcruxes, he’d rarely been seen at Hogwarts.

Harry’s mood had grown somewhat gloomy, but thankfully Ron and Hermione often kept him company.

With Dumbledore absent, Chu Yang could only turn to Professor Flitwick to teach him wandless casting.

As the Dueling Club champion, Flitwick’s spellcasting ability ranked second only to Dumbledore’s at Hogwarts.

Snape and McGonagall were also skilled in wandless casting, but they might not explain it as clearly as Flitwick.

It wasn’t their strength.

After class, Chu Yang didn’t join his classmates for dinner in the Great Hall. Instead, he went alone to the eighth floor, passed the Room of Requirement, followed the corridor all the way to the office near the West Tower.

He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” came Flitwick’s high-pitched voice.

Chu Yang pushed the door open and saw Flitwick brewing coffee.

“Would Itachi like a cup?” Flitwick smiled. He loved students like Chu Yang coming to see him after class.

When discussing spells, Chu Yang’s wild ideas often gave him great inspiration.

“No, Professor. I came to ask Itachi about something.”

Chu Yang sat down on the sofa with practiced ease.

“Having trouble understanding a spell?”

Flitwick sat across from Chu Yang, holding a freshly brewed cup, curious.

“Not a spell…” Chu Yang smiled. “I’d like to learn wandless casting from Itachi.”

“Wandless casting?” Flitwick paused, then frowned. “Why would Itachi learn that? It’s inefficient and difficult—like Stone Age tools…”

From Flitwick’s words, it was clear he looked down on wandless casting—like most wizards, he considered it outdated.

Seeing the topic veering off, Chu Yang quickly interrupted. “I’ve been studying magical history lately and am curious about the earliest days of wizards—how did European wizards cast spells before wands were invented?”

“Oh!” Flitwick brightened, smiling knowingly. “I used to be just like Itachi—curious about everything in the magical world.”

“Since Itachi want to understand wandless casting, I must first explain the relationship between magic, wands, and spells.”

Everyone’s own magic is like water in a large barrel; the magic needed to cast a spell is like water in a small bottle.

To precisely pour the water from the large barrel into the small bottle, we need a funnel—and spells serve as that funnel, helping us regulate the output of magic.

Even when we pour a little too much, the funnel helps adjust it so the water doesn’t overflow.

Without a wand, it’s like pouring water from a large barrel into a small bottle without a funnel; if Itachi’re too forceful, spilling is the least of your worries—Itachi might even knock the bottle over.

At that point, the entire spell fails, and in severe cases, magical backlash occurs, which is a terrifying thing for a wizard.

Here, Professor Flitwick’s expression turned extremely serious. “Yang, Itachi’ve read in your books about the consequences of a wizard losing control of their magic.”

“And most wandless casting mishaps are even worse—magic runs wild inside the body, like a balloon inflating endlessly. Itachi don’t need me to tell Itachi what happens then, do Itachi?”

Chu Yang immediately nodded. “I understand, Professor Flitwick.”

“Good.” Professor Flitwick’s face regained its smile, then began teaching Chu Yang the essentials of wandless casting.

“Without a wand, our bodies must take on the wand’s role. Without a wand to regulate, we must strictly control magic output with our mental force.”

“Mental force is the natural bottleneck of wandless casting. If your mental force isn’t strong enough, Itachi cannot precisely pour the water from the large barrel into the small bottle.”

“A person’s mental force grows stronger with age and constant meditation—that’s why Headmaster Dumbledore’s wandless casting appears so effortless compared to others.”

Professor Flitwick spoke at length, detailing every key point of wandless casting to Chu Yang.

That night, Chu Yang slipped out of school and went to the Forbidden Forest to practice wandless magic.

The entire process was indeed extremely difficult.

If an ordinary person’s total magic could fill one large barrel, Chu Yang’s magic could nearly fill the entire Black Lake.

His terrifying magic reserves made control nearly impossible—he couldn’t possibly do what Professor Flitwick described: pouring water into a small bottle.

Pouring that much water in would shatter not just the bottle, but the barrel, the tank, even the reservoir!

Chu Yang could only begin by training himself to finely control his magic.

Chu Yang’s advantage was his knowledge from other worlds.

He tried borrowing methods from the Naruto world’s chakra training to strengthen his control over magic.

………………

“Waiter! Bring the wine!”

“Right away, sir!”

The waiter, dressed in coarse linen, cheerfully carried out a jar of autumn white dew from the backyard.

Following the voice, he walked to the window-side table, poured a cup for the guest, and left the jar on the table.

“Mr. Chu, wait a moment—the food and wine will be here soon.”

“Alright, thank Itachi.”

“Haha, Mr. Chu is always so polite.”

The waiter’s face glowed red—being thanked by a scholar like Mr. Chu was clearly a matter of great pride.

He had been about to exchange a few more words, but urgent calls came from elsewhere.

“Waiter!”

He sighed, gave Chu Yang a helpless smile, and turned to serve another table.

Chu Yang nodded in return. As a former modern man, he was accustomed to saying “thank Itachi”—it held no special meaning.

Having been in this world for nearly a year, Chu Yang had grown accustomed to his identity as a schoolteacher; his speech and mannerisms had changed utterly since his arrival.

Chu Yang was a genuine college graduate—teaching a group of brats was more than enough for him, and he did it exceptionally well. He was known not just in this town, but throughout the surrounding villages.

Yet his professional success could not heal his gradually drying soul.

Ancient entertainment was truly scarce! No TV, no movies, no computers—nothing at all!

The only diversion was listening to songs in brothels—but even that was useless if done daily; his body might endure it, but his purse couldn’t.

Being a schoolteacher only ensured Chu Yang had food and clothing—it couldn’t save the girls suffering in dire hardship.

Chu Yang felt deeply regretful.

So visiting the tavern to listen to storytellers became one of his few hobbies.

Just as the dishes arrived and Chu Yang had swallowed his first sip of wine, the storyteller—over forty years old—gently slammed his wooden clapper onto the table. *Bang!* “Last time, we spoke of Emperor Taizu Zhao Kuangyin and Emperor Taizu Zhao Guangyi, brothers who turned against each other, splitting the great Song Dynasty into Northern and Southern Song.”

“Hehehe…”

Chu Yang couldn’t help laughing.

Everyone in the tavern turned to stare at him, but the storyteller was already used to it.

Every time he reached this part, the eccentric Mr. Chu would laugh—often with mockery.

Seeing all eyes on him, Chu Yang stood and bowed apologetically to all around, calming the crowd.

The storyteller cleared his throat and continued: “With the Song Dynasty split, the largest guild in the land—the Beggar’s Guild—also split into Northern and Southern Beggar’s Guilds.”

“The Northern Guild’s leader, Qiao Feng, and the Southern Guild’s leader, Hong Qigong, were both peerless heroes. Seven days ago, they agreed to duel at Yanmen Pass, to determine which guild held supremacy.”

“At first, they fought with the Beggar’s Guild’s ultimate techniques. Both used the Dragon-Subduing Palm, sharing the same origin, evenly matched. The sky above Yanmen Pass echoed with dragon roars; the residual force of their palms shattered towering trees a hundred paces away.”

“Midway through the duel, the Liao army attacked Yanmen Pass. The two leaders, relying on the pass’s natural defenses, held off the entire army for a full day.”

“The young Northern Guild leader, Qiao, had stronger vitality and held out three more hours than the aged Hong. Only when border troops and numerous Beggar’s Guild disciples arrived did the Liao army retreat.”

“Seeing the battle lost, the Liao army left behind a field of corpses and fled in haste…”

As soon as the storyteller finished, cheers erupted throughout the tavern.

“Bravo! Kill them all!”

“Both leaders are truly heroic!”

“Kill every last Khitan dog!”

“Waiter! Bring another jar of fiery liquor to celebrate!”

Successfully repelling the foreign invaders left everyone in high spirits.

Everyone was laughing!

Chu Yang was chuckling too.

Being transported was bad enough—but to be transported into such a ridiculous world? Zhao Kuangyin and Zhao Guangyi turning against each other?

Qiao Feng fighting Hong Qigong? “Big Brother Chu, laugh a little quieter—Itachi’ll make people think Itachi’re a fool again.” A beggar boy suddenly appeared, plopped down opposite Chu Yang, and casually picked up chopsticks to eat.

“Little Huang, isn’t it funny? Guan Yu fighting Qin Qiong?” Chu Yang retorted.

“I told Itachi not to call me Little Huang! Only dogs are called Little Huang!” The beggar boy scowled at Chu Yang, then frowned. “Guan Shengye and Qin Gongye weren’t even from the same dynasty—how could they fight?”

“Big Brother Chu, your brain is getting worse!”

“Sigh, never mind—Itachi never had a good brain anyway. Who else would feed beggars every day?”

Chu Yang clicked his tongue. “I didn’t invite Itachi—Itachi sat down and ate on your own.”

The beggar boy said “Oh,” then grinned slyly. “Then why do Itachi always set two sets of chopsticks and bowls when Itachi eat alone?”

Chu Yang’s expression turned suddenly sad. “When I was a child, my family raised a little yellow dog. I grew up with it—I treated it like a brother. At meals, I always set out chopsticks and a bowl for it…”

“Ever since it left home, I’ve kept the habit.”

The beggar boy paused, then asked instinctively: “Left home? Where did it go?”

Chu Yang grinned. “Went begging.”

The beggar boy instantly realized Chu Yang was teasing him. His dirty face flushed with anger—he jumped up to hit him.

“Relax…” Chu Yang quickly raised his hand to block. “I know Itachi’re eager, but don’t rush—why are Itachi taking it personally?”

“Itachi keep saying weird things no one understands!” The beggar boy pouted like a girl, but didn’t strike him—only glared with clear, lake-like eyes.

“Why are Itachi doing this~~~?” Chu Yang’s entire body broke out in goosebumps. He gripped the railing and gagged, turning to complain: “If I’d known Itachi were like this, I never would’ve pitied Itachi.”

The beggar boy’s eyes flickered with amusement, but his face twisted into a tearful, humble expression. He lowered his head. “Big Brother Chu… do Itachi look down on me? I was born different from normal men—I like different things…”

Chu Yang awkwardly scratched his head. He’d only meant to joke—he hadn’t expected Little Huang to be so upset.

He thought about it: even in his own world, sexual orientation was sensitive—how much more so in ancient times? Being different meant far greater pressure.

Looking at the beggar boy’s red-rimmed eyes, Chu Yang suddenly felt pity for him. “I was just joking—I have no prejudice against Itachi, I swear!”

The beggar boy still looked like he was about to cry, tears welling in his eyes.

Helpless, Chu Yang leaned close to the beggar boy’s ear.

The sudden closeness made the beggar boy’s cheeks flush red. He started to pull back—then heard Chu Yang’s voice.

“I’ll sing Itachi a song. After Itachi hear it, don’t be mad anymore, okay?”

The beggar boy had been about to retreat.

But Chu Yang’s soft singing made him freeze.

Chu Yang’s voice was ordinary—not beautiful, just barely on pitch.

Yet the straightforward lyrics and moving melody drew the beggar boy in completely.

The beggar boy had mastered music since childhood; fewer than ten people in the world could surpass him.

But he had never heard a song like this before.

Direct, yet deeply moving.

The longer he listened, the more astonishing it became.

To help the beggar boy understand, Chu Yang removed all English lyrics and replaced them with hums—soon he reached the chorus.

“Which rose doesn’t have thorns?”

The powerful lyrics struck the beggar boy’s heart again and again.

His gaze toward Chu Yang changed—now filled with surprise and admiration.

In his eyes, every scholar was rigid and outdated.

But this man—unlike any scholar he’d met since running away from home.

He’s a bit like his father.

He has his own moral code, stands apart from the crowd, and is seen by the world as heretical.

Thinking of his father and the days since he ran away from home, the little beggar could no longer hold back his grievance, and tears flowed unbidden.

This time, he truly wanted to cry.

Chu Yang stopped singing the chorus after just one round, because everyone around kept staring at him and the little beggar.

“What did this guy say to make a little beggar cry like this?”

“He must’ve said something cruel, whispering right by his ear—so vile.”

“Wait, isn’t that Mr. Chu? The one who teaches children their first lessons?”

“Seems like it really is him…”

“The morals of society are declining!”

Chu Yang’s forehead was slick with cold sweat; he whispered, “Little Huang… uh, how about this? If Itachi stop crying, from now on Itachi call me Akatsuki Chu, and I’ll call Itachi Brother Huang.”

The little beggar wiped his tears and laughed, “It’s a deal! From now on, when we meet, Itachi call me Brother Huang!”

“Alright, alright, alright.” Chu Yang nodded quickly, and before leaving, he couldn’t help asking, “Have Itachi eaten? If Itachi have, let’s go quickly.”

The little beggar sneered, “If it weren’t for your sake, I wouldn’t even lift my chopsticks. This food is disgusting—I don’t know why Itachi come here every day…”

“Don’t go bragging,” Chu Yang rolled his eyes, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him out—the crowd inside the tavern was growing larger by the second.

The little beggar kept his head down, unusually obedient, as if Chu Yang had grabbed him by the scruff of a kitten.

“Hey, Brother Huang, I don’t look down on Itachi, but can Itachi stop acting like this? It scares me.”

They left the tavern and walked a little farther.

Chu Yang looked at the blushing little beggar beside him, panicked, and instantly let go—his scalp prickled.

The little beggar burst into loud laughter.

Seeing him laugh so happily, Chu Yang shook his head.

He pulled a cloth bundle from his robe—filled with the dried rations he’d bought on the street—and held them out to the little beggar. “Take them back and share with your companions.”

The little beggar spoke with a complex expression: “The first time I met Itachi, Itachi were giving food to beggars—and not just once.”

“In this world, few people care whether they live or die, like Itachi do.”

Chu Yang sighed deeply, his face etched with helplessness.

As a communist successor raised under the red flag and nurtured by the spring breeze, he couldn’t turn a blind eye—whether in his original world or here.

The little beggar said, “Akatsuki Chu, though your brain’s not sharp, your heart’s kind. Itachi give away all your money—except when Itachi come to the tavern to eat.”

Hearing this, Chu Yang coughed violently, shame creeping into his chest.

He had indeed given away a lot.

But not just to beggars—to the courtesans in the brothels too.

Sigh…

Listening to music in brothels—so destructive.

Whether because of guilt or not, after handing the rations to the little beggar, Chu Yang rushed home without delay.

The little beggar’s innocent gaze was too piercing…

The next day.

Amid the children’s clear, chanting readings, Chu Yang announced dismissal—the courtyard erupted into chaos, dust swirling like an army advancing.

Chu Yang nodded in satisfaction.

The flowers of the motherland are so robust.

Good.

“Each of Itachi, add three more sets of homework when Itachi get home.”

The brats fell silent, staring at Chu Yang in disbelief. When their master slowly nodded, they looked as if they’d lost a parent.

Three sets of homework! Children with weak nerves were already weeping.

Seeing this, Chu Yang was even more satisfied.

After school, with nothing to do, Chu Yang prepared to go to the brothel… wait, no—he’d go to the East City Earth God Temple to check on Little Huang.

Then he’d go listen to music.

But halfway there, a group of guys with hairstyles like “Funeral Love Clan” blocked the road.

The leader had three large bumps on his forehead, each the size of a green jujube.

Chu Yang’s scalp prickled.

“Brother, your folliculitis is severe…” Chu Yang said, concerned.

The brute with the three bumps stared coldly—not at Chu Yang, but behind him.

Chu Yang turned, following the brute’s gaze.

He suddenly saw a young man trailing behind him, wearing a fur coat, leading a chestnut horse laden with bags, his face screaming “I’m a nouveau riche.”

The young man grinned like a fool.

Damn, in this world, someone dares to flaunt like this—who else would Itachi rob?

The brute with the bumps had a cruel, vicious look—these two were clearly enemies.

Chu Yang quietly stepped to the corner and smiled, “Itachi two, settle your grudges, settle your vendettas—ignore me.”

The brute roared, “It’s this brat who ruined our plan! Grab him!”

The young man dropped his luggage and prepared to fight, but not before turning to Chu Yang and saying, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to drag Itachi into this.”

Hey, who’s your brother? Don’t go claiming kinship like that.

Chu Yang quickly told the red-clad, flamboyant thugs, “I don’t know him—don’t get the wrong person…”

Before he finished speaking, a steel blade sliced past his head—he instinctively hunched, and his topknot was severed.

Strands of hair fell one by one before his eyes; in utter terror, Chu Yang’s rage surged—he looked up and cursed, “F**k Itachi.”

The blade came down again—and this time, it wouldn’t just cut his topknot.

Chu Yang stared at the blade’s edge; everything in his vision slowed, as if frozen.

His consciousness drifted far away.

When he came to, he stood inside a grand, mysterious palace.

A circle of people surrounded him, each studying him with curious eyes.

Chu Yang looked at them—he’d never met them before, yet felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity.

After a long while,

Someone finally spoke: “Oh? This time it’s ancient costume!”

(End of Chapter)