Chapter 1: A House of Kindness Bears No Fortune
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
Year Two of Ji You arriving in the lands of Great Xia, Northern Frontier, Yuyang County
As the sun sank behind the western mountains, its myriad rays interwove with the evening mist. Farmers returned home along countryside paths beneath the twilight, and cattle and sheep followed them into their pens.
In a humble clay-tile house north of the city, a tanned farmer, a young girl with hair tied in twin buns, and a refined youth dressed in simple but fine white garments sat around a rickety wooden table, their eyes eagerly awaiting dinner. The flickering flame of an oil lamp on the table caused the dim room to sway as if alive.
Moments later, a woman clad in a coarse skirt emerged from the darkened courtyard carrying a ceramic dish and a wicker basket, which she carelessly placed on the table before retreating to the kitchen with a cold expression.
“Young Master, you eat first,” the farmer said, pushing the dish and basket toward the youth. He had mastered the local usage of the word “eat” to perfection.
The ceramic dish contained salted radish shreds, and the wicker basket held four cornbread-sized wild vegetable buns. The barren lands of Yuyang County offered this unchanging fare for every meal year-round.
The youth, Ji You, picked a bun from the basket, inspecting it for a while before asking, “Old Qiu, have you ever tasted meat?”
The girl’s curiosity was piqued as she tugged on her father’s sleeve. “Dad, what’s meat?”
“Something worse than these buns. One bite will leave you with stomach pains for an entire night,” he replied.
“Hiss!” The girl winced as if already feeling the cramps, her little face scrunching up.
Ji You tore the bun in half, handing one piece to the girl and stuffing a chunk into his own mouth, chewing contentedly.
Once upon a time, Ji You had been a philosophy undergraduate at Linchuan University, passionate about singing, dancing, rapping, basketball, hiking, photography, rock climbing, and gaming. He was witty and humorous—a far cry from his present self.
Two years ago, during a summer vacation in his first year, Ji You had joined an expedition through the uninhabited Yunling Mountains. A wrong turn left him lost, and he stumbled into this world. He passed out in the fields of Yuyang County, where he was rescued by local farmers.
When he regained consciousness, everyone called him “Young Master Ji.”
He later learned that a wealthy landlord’s family in Yuyang County bore the same surname, Ji. Coincidentally, he looked identical to their eldest son, even sharing the exact name.
Accepting the reality of his transmigration had taken Ji You days, but he hadn’t adopted a “come what may” attitude. Instead, he spent weeks combing the mountains in vain for a way back. Eventually, he gave up hope.
Around this time, Ji You learned that the Ji family was infamous in Yuyang County for being a wealthy and prominent household. At first, he thought he had landed an effortless, blissful life. But fate played a cruel trick.
Just a day before his arrival, the Ji family had offended a local immortal sect and faced their retribution. The household was either killed or scattered in flight. The county’s inhabitants mistook him for the sole survivor—a displaced young master who had inadvertently wandered into the mountains.
Fortunately, Elder Ji had not been a heartless tyrant. His fair treatment of the servants ensured that Ji You was taken in by Old Qiu, the former steward of the Ji household.
Old Qiu had been rescued from starvation by Elder Ji decades ago. Now, though the family estate was no more, Old Qiu still addressed Ji You as “Young Master.” He took Ji You into his home, feeding and sheltering him for the past two years.
Old Qiu’s wife, however, resented Ji You’s presence. With Old Qiu reduced to farming, their meager harvest barely sustained their family of three. Adding another mouth to feed was an unwelcome burden.
“Two days from now, the county will send collectors to gather taxes. We’ve been eating better than most households, but we’re still short by quite a bit,” Old Qiu muttered through a mouthful of cornbread, addressing his wife in the kitchen.
Every autumn equinox, the citizens of Great Xia were required to surrender sixty percent of their crops to sustain the empire and the immortals, leaving the populace impoverished. Every winter, the land was littered with the bodies of the starved.
Such misery was commonplace in Great Xia. Any peasant who survived the winter was deemed a marvel. Some families, unable to feed their elders, would consign them to “retirement pavilions”—little more than tombs for the living.
Li Shu Ping emerged with a bowl of wild vegetable soup. “Borrow? From whom? Who has surplus grain these days?”
“I have one last relative. I’ll ask them for help.”
“Didn’t you say you were an orphan taken in by the Ji family at eight? What relative could you possibly have?”
“An old father-in-law,” Old Qiu mumbled.
Li Shu Ping froze before bursting into fury. “I’ve had nothing but hardships since marrying you! Now you want me to ask my own family for help?”
“When I was steward for the Ji family, I gave you good days for a time…” Old Qiu’s hand reached toward the basket, but Li Shu Ping slapped it away. “Stop eating! Save it for the Young Master. He’s still growing!”
Madam Qiu, though often sharp-tongued, had a soft heart beneath her words. Ji You felt a tinge of gratitude as he reached toward the wicker basket, but before his fingers could close, Li Shu Ping’s voice rang through the house.
“Eat well and grow strong,” she declared. “Spring plowing isn’t far, and you’ll be pulling the plow.”
“How could the young master work in the fields?” a voice objected indignantly.
Li Shu Ping tore apart her steamed cornbread before speaking again. “The Ji Clan is no more. Without labor, what shall we eat? Only you still cling to treating him as a young master. If not, why else would the Fang family break off the engagement?”
Ji You once had a childhood betrothal to Fang Ruo Yao, the county prefect’s daughter. However, three days after Ji You was admitted to the clinic, a horse carriage from the Fang family arrived. The county magistrate, Fang Zhong Zheng, personally brought his daughter and coerced Ji You into signing the annulment papers while he was still bedridden. A handprint sealed the agreement.
But Ji You wasn’t heartbroken—after all, she wasn’t his wife yet.
Not long ago, word came from the county: Fang Ruo Yao had been selected by the Divine Sect of Great Xia’s Heavenly Script Academy to study cultivation in the capital city. In the world under the Azure Clouds, cultivators were revered, even by royalty. But cultivation wasn’t accessible to everyone.
The laws of Great Xia were clear: commoners were forbidden from private cultivation. Violators faced execution, along with the eradication of their families. Fang Ruo Yao’s path to becoming a legitimate cultivator was an extraordinary rise to power. Once the news spread, Ji You became the laughingstock of the town once more. However, this ridicule stemmed not from the present Ji You’s actions but the poor reputation of the Ji Clan’s former young master.
Li Shu Ping’s mention of Fang Ruo Yao wasn’t meant to mock Ji You but to urge him to accept reality. The Ji Clan was no longer the prominent family it once was.
Ji You broke off a piece of his cornbread and fed it to Qiu Ru, Madam Qiu’s daughter. With a calm tone, he said, “By autumn next year, I’ll surely rise to success. When that time comes, Qiu Ru will eat and drink to her heart’s content.”
“I want to eat and drink to my heart’s content!” Qiu Ru’s bright eyes lit up as she took a determined bite of her cornbread.
At only five years old, Qiu Ru had no memory of the Ji family’s former glory, nor had she experienced any prosperity. She couldn’t even recall the taste of meat. Despite her frailty at birth, she had grown robust over the past two years, surprising even the county’s most renowned physician, Chen. He insisted her health was extraordinary, though her family had no idea how. Old Qiu, her father, often attributed it to karma, urging Madam Qiu to treat Ji You kindly.
Li Shu Ping sighed inwardly at Ji You’s optimism. [The family doesn’t even have enough to eat, and yet this young master dreams of future prosperity. Has he lost all sense of reality?] However, in the hardships of their lives, there were still silver linings, like her daughter’s inexplicable health.
“I’m done eating,” Ji You announced suddenly, rising from his seat.
Old Qiu blinked. “How could you be full with just that? Eat more.”
“It’s fine,” Ji You replied. “There’s no surplus at home. Save the rest for later.”
At the hour of the boar, the night was dark, the moon hovered over the treetops, and all was silent. Ji You left the Qiu household, walking along the dimly lit path toward the city. Above, a crimson streak slashed across the sky like a bleeding wound, staining the night with a faint pink hue. This was no rare celestial phenomenon; legends claimed it had existed since ancient times.
“What does ‘Heaven’s Doom’ mean?” Ji You mused aloud. “Does it mean the heavens have died?”
He recalled the strange syllables he had heard through the telepathic communicator on the day he transmigrated, a puzzle that continued to baffle him. Lost in thought, Ji You arrived at the gate of his family’s ancestral mansion. He pushed it open and stepped inside.
Though he had been staying with the Qiu family, Ji You actually lived in the Ji Clan’s ancestral home. The once-grand estate had been stripped of all valuables during the clan’s flight, leaving only dilapidated ruins behind.
Entering the second courtyard, Ji You noticed a scholar in plain clothes perched on a willow tree in the adjacent yard. The man’s jade-like face and sharp brows were illuminated by the flickering light of an oil lamp. Holding an ancient scroll, the scholar read silently, his silhouette blending with the crescent moon above. Upon noticing Ji You, he extinguished his lamp and leapt gracefully to the ground.
Such occurrences seemed routine to Ji You, who paid no mind and returned to his room. After lighting a candle, he meticulously shut the windows and drew the black curtains.
“Time for a Huazi,” he muttered, opening a drawer. He pulled out an incense stick called the Huaxian Yin, known for its calming effects that aided meditation. After inserting the incense into a burner, Ji You removed his boots, sat cross-legged on his bed, and inhaled deeply. Within moments, a faint aura of spiritual light surrounded him.