Transmigration Always Comes Out of Nowhere

Today was a good day. Wang Chuan thought so too. It happened to be his thirtieth birthday, and he had just finished a deluxe beef noodle lunch with extra toppings at a mall, bought for ten yuan through a Douyin group deal.

He had graduated from a medical school in a nonclinical major that was merely related to medicine. Inspired by the experiences of a senior schoolmate, he had decisively joined the ranks of medical sales after graduation.

Although Wang Chuan's school was not well known, the campus recruitment opportunities in his graduating year had been pretty solid. At the very least, quite a few well-known publicly traded companies had come looking for salespeople.

He had graduated early and was willing to work hard. After seven or eight years on the road, he, a man raised in an orphanage, owned a small two-bedroom apartment in this second-tier city and had a fairly substantial sum in savings.

As for why he hadn't bought a car—what a joke. What major company would make its salespeople drive themselves on business trips every day? That would be unprofessional.

All right, the truth was that the company wondered how a young fellow like him could rack up three to five thousand yuan in fuel expenses every month and whether he was filing false claims. Then this expense violated company policy, that one wasn't legal, and in the end only a third was reimbursed. Using corporate ride-hailing through Didi or Amap was more convenient. The company paid either way, and Wang Chuan was happy not to drive.

Lately, though, he had started considering buying a little car. He couldn't keep carrying bags and parcels himself every time he went back to the orphanage. It wasn't that he couldn't carry them, and it certainly wasn't because he believed that nonsense about people reaching their physical peak at around twenty-nine. Absolutely not. That was why he was considering a car.

Incidentally, the full name of the orphanage where he grew up was "Starting Point Orphanage," which had made it almost impossible for him to look at webnovels on Qidian the same way. To be fair, the orphanage had been founded in the nineties, much earlier than Qidian.

As for why someone who had come from an orphanage had a birthday, well, Old Madam Wang had said that whatever day he arrived was his birthday. Why make such a fuss? One more word and she'd spill the beans about how old he was when he finally stopped wetting the bed.

Speaking of which, Old Madam Wang had kept asking when he would find a partner. He had a bit of money now, and the orphanage had been doing better and better over the years. It wasn't as if he couldn't consider it.

For instance, those young nurses at those hospitals were quite pretty, and the young receptionists at those client companies were pretty too. Who should he choose? What a headache.

The author's snide remark: Take a look at yourself first. Wait until you're as good-looking as our esteemed readers before you start worrying about that.

Lost in these idle thoughts, Wang Chuan reached a staircase at the edge of the mall. It wasn't much of a staircase, just three steps.

Then our dear protagonist, Mr. Wang Chuan, went spectacularly airborne.

Wait, who had so little public decency that they threw a banana peel here?

That was Wang Chuan's last thought before he died. We were already nearly eight hundred Chinese characters in, yet we still didn't know what the voice of this young... middle-aged man, so full of expectations for the future, sounded like.

In his last hazy moments of consciousness, Wang Chuan dimly saw the flash of a phone camera and heard the muffled sound of an ambulance.

In Konoha Year 39, at a medicinal herb shop in Konoha.

The sun slanted westward, shining on the shop's sign. Three hands were painted on it, and the shop was named Sanshou Medicinal Herb Shop for that reason.

Nishu Tamagawa, five years old and nearly six, sat on the threshold of his family's herb shop with a look of utter despair. Don't ask why someone surnamed Nishu considered a shop named Sanshou his own. It was a sad story, and it would take time to tell.

Another sad story was that, after several years of learning about his surroundings, he had confirmed that he had transmigrated into the world of Naruto.

Yes, transmigration—the trope our esteemed readers loved to see. It was considerably less enjoyable for Tamaki, formerly Wang Chuan. Because of a banana peel and a thirty-centimeter-high step, someone else might have suffered a nosebleed at worst, but he had unfortunately fallen into transmigration. Worse still, he had landed in the world of Naruto.

Naruto told the story of an orphan protagonist who grew up and a male deuteragonist who was the sole survivor of his entire clan. In the end, both characters lost an arm. Truly unfortunate.

Among the named characters, the male lead's brother-in-law had it even worse. He had finally made it to the final battle, only to die before the story's end. It was truly miserable.

After carefully recalling the plot, Tamaki confirmed that none of his family's names had ever appeared in the original story. The protagonist, the supporting characters, and even the protagonist's brother-in-law had all suffered so badly. As a mere extra whose name had never even been mentioned in the original, Tamaki felt he needed to become a ninja.

A ninja was a profession that was not noble and could be utterly despicable, but most of the time offered better chances of survival than being a civilian.

He didn't know what the mortality rate was, but Konoha had fought four Shinobi World Wars in the sixty-eight years since its founding. A war sweeping across the entire Shinobi World every seventeen years on average—no matter how he looked at it, the survival rate couldn't be very high.

Moreover, a war every seventeen years on average—the higher-ups of the entire Shinobi World had calculated that, hadn't they? They were flat-out refusing to let people live to adulthood. Although, by the standards of the ninja world, people generally matured early, and some married and had children at thirteen or fifteen, Nishu Tamagawa was uncomfortable in every way right now.

Actually, it wasn't as though there was no way to improve his chances of survival. He could follow his eldest uncle Ichite Ki's example and inherit the family's medical skills. When he wasn't on the battlefield, he would only work at Konoha Hospital, and even when he went to war, he would be far behind the front lines. He just didn't know whether the Shinobi World had its own "Geneva Convention" advocating things like not killing medics.

He shouldn't follow the example of his father, Nishu Hayashi, whom he had met before the age of two in this life but could barely remember. His father had taken a dangerous reconnaissance mission, and even now the village hadn't said where he might have died. These days, only the small memorial shrine at home proved that he had once lived.

Later, his mother had taken the mission pay and compensation and pooled the money with his eldest and third uncles to open this herb shop, which mainly served civilians.

His mother in this life, Futate Shizuka, was alive and well. At the moment, she was seeing patients in a partitioned room inside the herb shop. Supposedly, she had only learned medicine after marrying into the family. She and his eldest aunt, Isshu Haruna, usually treated things like colds here; it didn't require much technical skill.

His eldest uncle had selected the prescriptions from the family's medical books to treat common colds, bruises, and other injuries. Tamaki was reading those books now as well.

His eldest uncle worked at Konoha Hospital. Tamagawa didn't know exactly what level the family's medical skills were at, but his uncle had reached the rank of Special Jōnin. According to him, the medical books were to be passed on to Tamagawa and his cousin Isshu Hikari, and when his third uncle had children, they would be called over to study together.

As for his third uncle's name, our clever esteemed readers had surely guessed it already. That was right: Sanshu Mori. He wasn't a medical-nin. According to him, it was because books gave him a headache. He spent most of the year away on caravan escort missions. The pay wasn't especially high, but he earned far more than most civilians, and the risk was low too.

Nishu Tamagawa had also wondered about the names of the three brothers in his father's generation, but he hadn't managed to get an answer from either his eldest or third uncle.

His thoughts had wandered off again.

Back to ninjas. Becoming a medical-nin really was a good path: guaranteed employment, status, high pay, respect, and a family legacy to boot. Besides, he didn't have a Kekkei Genkai, that ticket to high-end ninja employment. Honestly becoming a medical-nin was a pretty good option.

The only downside was that, after finally transmigrating, he still had to memorize books.

In his previous life, although he had graduated from a medical school in a nonclinical major that was merely related to medicine, he hadn't been spared a single subject he had to memorize: basic human anatomy, basic pharmaceutical principles, and basic medication contraindications.

He had been to the anatomy lab, seen the cadavers they called "general teachers," crushed bullfrog leg bones, and taken rabbits' lives. To sum it up, he hadn't been spared any of the basics he had to memorize, and not a single bullfrog or rabbit had been spared suffering. Incidentally, the bullfrogs, rabbits, and mice used in class never showed up in the cafeteria.

Still, he did have experience, after all. Although this body was five years old, his soul was twenty-nine years plus sixty-nine months old.