Chapter 1: Beginning

"... The firepower of the cannons they brought was insufficient, there was no way..."

In a private hospital room, a middle-aged man by the bedside was reading aloud earnestly.

Zhao Jin, lying on the sickbed, was already extremely weak. Now, even turning his eyes was very difficult. Zhao Jin wanted to tell the friend who was reading that he didn't like this book, nor did he want to hear the other read on. He only wanted to hear this friend talk more about life, to reminisce about the old days.

From brawling in the orphanage to striving hard in society, after weathering storms, his career had finally begun to show some promise. Then a sudden serious illness struck. After several unsuccessful surgeries, he was brought to the brink of death. Zhao Jin, who had always been buried in his work, discovered how alone he was. An orphan had no parents. Busy with his career, he had not started a family, so there was no talk of a wife or children. In the end, only this good friend from the orphanage came to visit and keep him company every day.

Zhao Jin could feel the little vitality he had left draining away. He was unwilling. He felt his time in this world had been too short. It was too unfair. Zhao Jin wanted to cry, but now he could not even shed a tear. Struggling, Zhao Jin said, "I don't want to die..."

To outsiders, these words, spoken with all his remaining strength, were merely a slight fluctuation in his breathing, and then everything returned to stillness.

Zhao Jin saw his friend stop reading, a sorrowful expression on his face. He vaguely heard someone shouting, the sound of hurried footsteps, and then everything returned to darkness...

"My son, if anything happens to you, your mother won't go on living either!"

The voice seemed to sound from afar, yet also right by his ear. It felt as if he had been dead for a long time, yet also just a moment ago. Zhao Jin suddenly realized—he was still alive.

It was indeed pitch black before his eyes, but that was because his eyes were closed. Zhao Jin opened his eyes. He could open his eyes—wasn't he supposed to be unable to move at all?

He seemed to have become a small child, his body feeling very weak. Amidst wild joy and shock, Zhao Jin finally registered what was different.

"Xiao Jin is awake, Xiao Jin, you're awake!" A middle-aged woman's face appeared in Zhao Jin's field of vision. Her complexion was somewhat dark, and she looked quite plump and prosperous. Her face was covered in tears, yet it bore an expression of wild joy.

Seeing this face, a feeling of intimacy welled up spontaneously in Zhao Jin's heart. He weakly called out, "Mom," and after shouting, he couldn't help but burst into loud sobs. He was alive again.

"Mom?" The woman was slightly taken aback by this form of address, but she quickly recovered. She reached out as if to touch Zhao Jin's face, then pulled her hand back. Standing up, she faced the door and shouted at the top of her lungs, "You wretched man, the child is awake, and you still haven't gone to fetch the doctor!"

Only then did Zhao Jin notice that the woman he had called "Mom" had disheveled hair, but it was still tied up in an ancient-style hair bun. The clothes on her body were also ancient costume, and the furnishings in the room were all very similar to those in historical dramas.

What was going on? Did this child share his name? Zhao Jin was utterly astonished, but he immediately stopped caring. No matter what the situation was now, the most important thing was that he was alive. With a loud "Wah," he burst into tears, his face streaming.

The woman hurriedly sat down by Zhao Jin's bedside and quickly said, "Xiao Jin, don't cry. Quickly forget what just happened. What do you want to eat? Mother will go make it for you."

Zhao née He, He Cuihua, his own mother, the daughter of a butcher. These impressions surfaced in Zhao Jin's mind. He was very afraid of his mother. His mother greatly detested cowardly and timid children, and because of this, he was often scolded.

The tears on his mother's face and the wild joy in that instant he awoke—he had never seen such things before. The current concern and cautiousness made him feel even more unaccustomed.

He Cuihua abruptly stood up, opened the door, and roared into the courtyard, "You wretched, good-for-nothing bastard, still squatting there in a daze! Get out and find the doctor, quick!"

The sudden movement and loud voice startled Zhao Jin, and his crying instantly stopped. A familiar feeling rose from the bottom of his heart. This was his real mother, that fiery, irascible woman. Unknowingly, the memories of that Zhao Jin and this body's past had already merged. He felt somewhat blurred, unsure whether that orphan's life and the final moments on the sickbed had actually happened or were just a dream he'd had.

The moment his crying stopped, it frightened He Cuihua, who was shouting at the doorway. She hurriedly looked back. Outside the door, the sound of hurried footsteps approached. A fat, burly man appeared at the doorway, craning his neck to look toward the bed. He said gruffly, "Why'd he stop crying? What's wrong now?"

Zhao Jin almost shouted "Dad," but recalling He Cuihua's unfamiliar reaction to his earlier "Mom," he hesitated and softly called out, "Father."

Zhao Zhentang, a Company Commander of the Xuzhou Guard, his own father, a hereditary military householder. His main livelihood now was... beheading...

Thinking of this, a scene suddenly surfaced in Zhao Jin's mind: Zhao Zhentang wielding a great blade and bringing it down, a criminal's head falling to the ground, blood spurting out. He was subconsciously so frightened that he shuddered.

Zhao Jin had suddenly stopped crying just now. Zhao Zhentang and He Cuihua had thought he had lost consciousness again and fainted. Seeing that although his face was pale, his body was still trembling, but he remained conscious and seemed to have no major problem, the two of them finally breathed a sigh of relief.

After Zhao Zhentang breathed that sigh of relief, his eyes widened again. Glaring sternly, he said, "And you're supposed to be a son of the Xuzhou Guard. Look at that cowardly, spineless look of yours!"

He had only scolded this one line when He Cuihua instantly flew into a rage. She reached out and shoved Zhao Zhentang out the door, pointed at him, and cursed, "You wretched man! What's so great about your Xuzhou Guard? Aren't you all just a bunch of dirt-poor farmers? Go get the doctor for Xiao Jin, now! If anything really happens to Xiao Jin, I'll fight you to the death!"

Zhao Zhentang, caught off guard, was pushed staggering backward several steps by He Cuihua and nearly fell to the ground. He had just managed to steady himself when the door was slammed shut in his face.

"What does a woman like you know? Didn't your pig-slaughtering father teach you the Three Obediences and Four Virtues?" Zhao Zhentang muttered angrily under his breath. Turning around, he saw his pet monkey on the wooden rack in the yard, leisurely nibbling on a fruit, completely unstartled by the commotion. Zhao Zhentang spat and cursed, "Sooner or later, I'll chop that macaque of yours down with one stroke too!"

The monkey didn't even lift its eyelids. Zhao Zhentang was helpless. Just then, the courtyard gate was pushed open, and a thin man strode in. This man's brows and eyes were extremely similar to Zhao Zhentang's, but his complexion was sallow. Though he wasn't walking fast, he was somewhat short of breath, looking very frail. The man wore a blue cotton robe with two patches on it, but it was washed and starched fairly clean.

As soon as this man saw Zhao Zhentang, he complained, "Elder Brother, Xiao Jin is only ten, still a child. Why did you take him to watch an execution? Our Zhao family has only this one single heir. What if he was frightened into..."

"You wretched thing! He Cuihua scolds me, and now you scold me too! If I didn't go carry out executions and behead people, where would the money come from to treat your illness? Where would the money for meat and clothes come from? How many people in the Xuzhou Guard can't even find a place to sell their hard labor? I want to pass these good days down through the generations, and instead, you two never stop lecturing me!" Zhao Zhentang might hold back in front of He Cuihua, but he had no patience for this thin man.

Right in the middle of his cursing, the tightly shut door was flung open again. He Cuihua stood at the doorway, hands on her hips, and roared, "What are you yelling about in the courtyard? Hurry up and get the doctor! And you still have the nerve to say this to Zhao Zhenxing!"

Once his wife roared, Zhao Zhentang's temper vanished. He turned and headed out. Zhao Zhenxing nodded and greeted, "Sister-in-law," then turned to follow. Before the two of them had even left the courtyard gate, they heard He Cuihua shouting loudly again from behind, "Go with Zhao Zhenxing and buy three jin of mutton. Go to Guiyuan Hall and weigh out a jin of fine pastries. We need to build Xiao Jin up properly."

After the two men left the courtyard, Zhao Zhenxing breathed a sigh of relief and said with a smile, "If he can eat meat and pastries, it seems Xiao Jin is fine now."

"That worthless little brat, can't even stand the sight of a little blood. Once he's better, I'm definitely going to teach him a good lesson!" Zhao Zhentang muttered.

Zhao Zhenxing turned his head, about to speak, but then paused. He looked carefully and asked, "Elder Brother, why are your eyes so red?"

Zhao Zhentang quickly lowered his head and rubbed his eyes fiercely, cursing under his breath, "Got some sand in them. Why are you making such a fuss?"

Seeing his elder brother putting on a brave front, Zhao Zhenxing smiled and shook his head, not pressing the matter further.

Zhao Jin heard some of the conversation happening outside, and missed some of it. Whether it was the stout woman's roars or the burly man's scolding, Zhao Jin could feel the deep love and concern within them. This feeling was both familiar and strange; in his previous life as an orphan, he had never experienced it.

Zhao Jin finally recovered from his unbelievable, joyful shock. He knew he was now in Xuzhou, but what era was it now? He had no clue in his mind.

"Mother, what year is it now?" Zhao Jin asked softly.

He Cuihua, who was busy tidying up the room, trembled upon hearing this question. She hurried over, her face full of worry. After carefully examining Zhao Jin for a moment and finding nothing wrong, she finally breathed a sigh of relief. Reaching out to gently stroke Zhao Jin's forehead, she said, "You really were scared out of your wits. This year is the thirty-eighth year of the Wanli reign!"