Hard to Survive, Hard to Survive!

Hard to survive, hard to survive! Da Shun, Jianghuai Marshlands, Yi Xing City.

The polished bluestone slabs reflected the moonlight like mirrors. Withered leaves fell, yet did not pile up, instead drifting and spinning along the ground.

Wind surged in from the river stretching ten thousand miles, then flowed away through the open space above the roofs, slipping in thread by thread through the cracks in the door.

As though weeds had been stirred by the wind, twisting yet standing tall, the deathly silent youth inside the earthen-brick house showed a trace of life again.

Hungry! So hungry!

Liang Qu opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused. His stomach hurt as though knives were twisting inside it, and he curled into a ball atop the bed planks.

"Liang Qu, he was also called Liang Qu? His mother died in childbirth, his father died of a cold a month ago—what kind of standard opening was this? Just one boat and one house."

"No, the boat was stolen too. LaiTou Zhang bullied me for being young. Damn, he looked revolting. Was he a toad spirit?"

Forcing himself to endure the hunger as he sorted through the chaotic fragments of memory, Liang Qu looked dazed.

Jianghuai Marshlands fed countless fishermen, and he had somehow become one of its little fishermen?

Yellowed filthy water, shrieking sirens, nasal membranes burning with pain, and the huge bright patch cast upon the water by a powerful flashlight.

It was not a dream.

He truly had fallen into the water and drowned while trying to save someone...

That's right. After staying up all night to rush a manuscript and working overtime until midnight, where would he have gotten the energy to save anyone? The instant he plunged into the water, he had transmigrated, clear as day.

"What a pity I didn't have children. Otherwise, I could at least have gotten them bonus points on the college entrance exam and let them win at the starting line."

Liang Qu collapsed onto the bed. He felt an exhaustion rising from the deepest part of his heart, as though the traces left by the past twenty-odd years had fallen away like autumn leaves and never existed at all.

He had gained nothing, loved nothing, accomplished nothing.

Life truly had no meaning.

Gurgle, gurgle.

Fine, perhaps it still had meaning. He was fucking starving.

Hunger drove Liang Qu to survive. Transmigration had cured his severe nearsightedness. It was like wiping away a layer of water mist, leaving everything around him exceptionally clear. Yet when he looked around, there was only one bed, one stove, and one empty vat.

Dead memories attacked him once more.

"Scram, scram, scram! You jinx, and you still want to borrow grain? Even my Liu Zi can't eat his fill."

"You know it too, the autumn tax is coming soon—"

No, he had to find some water first.

The stomach pain constantly stabbed at his brain and nerves. Liang Qu bared his teeth, dragged himself down from the bed planks, and struggled to brace himself against the yellow earth wall as he staggered outside. Yet after only a few steps, he was gasping so badly that he had no choice but to sit on the threshold and rest.

"This body is way too weak."

Cold Sweat beaded on Liang Qu's forehead, and his palms were too weak even to open. He could scarcely believe how frail this body was. Could it be that he had only just arrived and was about to die again? Icy terror gripped his heart like a giant hand.

That nonsense about not fearing death after dying once was all fake. Fear of death was carved into humanity's genes.

Clatter, clatter.

Wheel hubs rolled over the bluestone bricks, producing their distinctive sound.

Someone was coming!

His heart nearly leaped out of his throat.

"Don't mind him. Go around."

"What bad luck. Don't let a starving ghost latch onto us."

He could not make out what several cart drivers were discussing, only heard the wheels receding into the distance.

The words reached his lips, then were swallowed back down. The darkness of the street was endless, and Liang Qu felt a chill rise within him as the blood throughout his body gradually turned cold.

He wanted to find a well, but he no longer had the strength to take even one more step.

"A Shui, why are you sitting here?"

A Shui? Who was that? Me?

Turning his head, he saw a dark-skinned man standing beside him. Liang Qu blurted out, "Uncle Chen?"

His memories told him that the man in front of him was Chen Qingjiang, his neighbor.

Right. I was A Shui.

His names were the same in both lives. Since the character Qu carried the water radical, the villagers called him A Shui.

Liang Qu steadied his breathing. What had just happened made him unwilling to beg anyone for anything, so he gave a dry laugh. "I got tired walking and sat down to rest. What about you, Uncle Chen?"

"I just got back from selling fish in town."

"Town?"

"Yeah. The fish have been fat these past few days, so there's no worry about selling them. Of course I had to go to town. Selling to the Fishing Wharf would be such a loss. I didn't rent its boat, so I can sell to whoever I want. But you're perfectly fine—why are you sitting at your door to rest? Aren't you afraid of catching a chill?"

Chen Qingjiang curiously stepped closer, but when he saw that withered appearance, he shuddered in alarm.

How could it be like this? Amid his fright, he suddenly remembered that Liang Qu had lost his father. His household had probably run out of food long ago. Instinctively, he reached toward his chest, but hesitation soon appeared on his face.

There was a piece of flatbread with fatty meat inside. He had walked more than ten li, carrying his catch into the city to earn eight extra coins, just so he could buy it for his youngest son, who had been crying and fussing terribly, to taste something new.

It was already dark. The flatbread, tucked against his chest, had not even cooled through before he was about to give it to someone else. Saying it did not hurt would have been a lie.

"Daddy, why doesn't Water Bro come play with me anymore?"

"Because Water Bro's daddy is gone, so he has no time to play with you."

"Why did he leave?"

"..."

Chen Shun was Chen Qingjiang's eldest son, only six years old, and usually loved playing with Liang Qu.

Chen Qingjiang thought of how, when he himself had been in his teens, Liang Qu had been about the same age as his own child and had also liked coming to play with him. In a daze, the figures seemed to overlap.

Ai. Chen Qingjiang took the flatbread from his chest and unwrapped the oiled paper.

"A Shui, eat quickly."

"Uncle Chen! This..."

Liang Qu's Adam's apple bobbed. He had thought he was at the end of the road, only for a path to life to appear in the blink of an eye. He wanted to say something, but the rich fragrance was simply too tempting. His trembling hands reached out and accepted it on their own.

Blood seeped from his cracked lips. The rust flavor mixed with the fragrance of wheat, oil, and meat fat as he stuffed the whole thing into his mouth.

His scant remaining saliva was squeezed out and mixed with the flatbread before sliding into his stomach. Liang Qu swallowed several mouthfuls, feeling strength return, and hurriedly thanked him.

"Eat. When you're done, hurry home. Don't wander around the doorway."

"Mm."

Chen Qingjiang dusted off his pant legs, got to his feet, and left, though his mood grew even heavier.

If it was already this bad now, would winter not be even harder? Should he discuss it with A Di and spare a few jin of grain? But Er Bao had been seriously ill recently—could they spare any? His straw sandals scraped against the muddy road as he gradually went farther away.

"Hah, that smelled amazing!"

Liang Qu finished the final bite of flatbread and watched Chen Qingjiang's retreating back, unable to call out.

In these recent years of peace, with no disasters, one shi of rice cost roughly one thousand coins.

Uncle Chen's family had five mouths to feed: one elder, two children, a wife, and himself. Each season, they needed at least four shi of rice. Altogether, they needed thirty-three coins a day just to have enough grain.

They fished in spring, caught fish in autumn, raised fish in summer, and fought through winter. In autumn, when grass was lush and fish were fat, Uncle Chen earned around eighty coins a day. It sounded decent, but in truth it was nowhere near enough.

Cloth, salt, and vegetables all cost money, and fishing taxes were harsher than farming taxes. There were all kinds of miscellaneous fees besides. To say nothing of faraway expenses, the docking fee at the wharf alone was two coins a day, and even four during flood season. By winter, income dropped sharply. If illness struck during that time... Chen Qingjiang was an experienced fisherman, and his wife A Di was hardworking. With the two supporting each other, life had not been too difficult.

The problem was that his youngest son had fallen severely ill some time ago, his whole body burning like a lump of charcoal. Their steady life had abruptly become strained.

That single flatbread with meat was likely something Chen Qingjiang had struggled to squeeze out for his child, yet it had now become Liang Qu's lifesaving grace.

True feelings were revealed in hardship.

The night sky was thick with dazzling, glittering stars.

What smog-choked little city could ever offer such fine scenery? Precisely because of this, it reminded him every moment—this was an entirely different world.

Leaning against the wall, Liang Qu felt loneliness surge over him like a tide. He did not know how to fish now, nor did he have any source of livelihood.

He could not imagine how he was supposed to survive, much less shamelessly speak of repaying the kindness.

As for selling modern technology for money... that would be difficult too.

A rough glance at the empty street showed that many residences had stepped horse-head gables, the classic kind where the walls stood higher than the eaves.

That indicated that the productive capacity of this era had reached a certain level. Brick-and-stone structures had replaced the ancient rammed-earth construction, and eaves no longer needed to extend outward to shield the walls from rain. In the end, to prevent fire from spreading, they became firebreak gables with walls higher than eaves.

If brick-and-stone structures were widespread, Da Shun's productive capacity was at least comparable to the Ming and Qing dynasties of his previous life.

The original owner of this body had been at the very bottom of society and had not seen many good things, but Liang Qu knew that white sugar, refined salt, horseshoes, steelmaking, and soap were basically beyond his reach.

Besides, this world was not simple. In his memories, there was a fierce man in the neighboring town who could punch through a man-high slab of granite. He was absolutely no ordinary person.

But even if it concerned him, it would be useless.

Why did ancient people prize male laborers? Just look at the boat that had been stolen. Without a strong man in the household, people could bully you to death.

If even a boat could be taken, what would happen if he saved up cash?

An orphan's survival in ancient times was harder than climbing to heaven. If he was not sold off, he could only wait for death.

Damn it, why did he start as a fisherman—and a fisherman whose boat had been stolen? Even being a farmer would have been better!

Hard, hard, hard! Just as that thought arose, a vast Long Qi suddenly pierced through Liang Qu's mind. Countless memories churned, as though he had swallowed an entire bag of mint candies in summer, coolness piercing straight to the crown of his head.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what was going on? Liang Qu was completely at a loss.

Fortunately, the sensation came quickly and departed quickly. Once the strange disturbance in his mind gradually settled, it was as though clouds and mist had scattered to reveal blue skies again.

A Great Cauldron of peculiar design emerged within his Sea of Consciousness. Endless mysterious patterns intertwined across it, leaving him dumbstruck.

Its name—Ze Cauldron!