A man was a man when he had money; without money, even a man struggled!
Zhang Yuan's family was fairly well-off. With his parents' support and the money he made from part-time jobs, he had never really had to worry about money.
He had no bad habits and never spent extravagantly, so it had been a long time since he had experienced the misery of going hungry because he had no money for food.
Zhang Yuan subconsciously felt his pockets and was pleasantly surprised to find that every one of his belongings had accompanied him to this world.
But in the middle of this busy city center, he didn't dare take them out so brazenly. It was bad enough that items with styles completely different from this world might attract thieves; if they drew the attention of curious mages who liked to get to the bottom of things, that would be even worse.
I need to find somewhere to stay, Zhang Yuan thought. Hmm? My "spawn point" seems pretty good. An abandoned hut, with hardly anyone around. Having already noticed a few curious glances from others at his "strange clothes," Zhang Yuan hurried back to the hut where he had awakened.
After entering, he casually shut the broken wooden door and slid the bolt into place. Finally feeling a little safer, he eagerly turned out all his pockets. After confirming that he had emptied them completely, he began counting the small amount of property he possessed in this world.
A wallet containing a pile of scrap paper and expired cards, a fully charged cellphone, a Swiss Army knife, an unsharpened kukri he had bought for amusement, a pen, a string of utterly useless keys, a handful of Euro coins, a bottle of alcohol disinfectant, a pack of five medical masks, and some cold medicine.
This must be the only benefit the pandemic brought: it made travelers keep medicine on hand. Zhang Yuan consoled himself with the thought.
Using the scissors on his Swiss Army knife, he cut the brand labels off his overcoat, making it slightly less conspicuous. Then he turned his attention to the coins. He had no idea whether this place used the same gold, silver, and copper currency system as the games and novels.
Even if he couldn't pass them off as currency, perhaps he could sell them as works of art. Zhang Yuan began making his own little plans.
As for the risks? Starving to death was the greatest risk he faced right now. Being driven to death by a lack of even a single coin was hardly better.
Besides, who knew how many civilizations Faerûn had given birth to, or how many undiscovered ruins lay underground? A few novel objects wouldn't be too conspicuous. Of course, if he took out a smartphone and publicly played short videos, that would be a major disaster. Having made up his mind, Zhang Yuan carefully put all the miscellaneous items back on his person, pushed open the door, and headed straight for the city center.
His immediate priority was to figure out exactly where he was—and whether he was even in Faerûn. If he had crossed into the wrong plane, he would be completely lost.
After reaching the edge of the square in the city center, not far from the bakery that sold meat-pie bread, Zhang Yuan pretended to stroll aimlessly and made his way over to several people who were chatting.
"Food prices have gone up again lately. I heard it's all because of those big green bugs. A lot of farmers have abandoned their farms, leaving their fields to grow wild," complained an old man in gray homespun clothes.
"Yeah. I hear we're still doing fairly well, since Baldur's Gate is one of the few port cities on the Sword Coast. At least we can buy food from elsewhere. Places like Beregost and Nashkel have it much worse," said another man, a young fellow dressed in green.
Fortunately, the language-proficiency function that had come with the system's initialization allowed Zhang Yuan to understand what they were talking about without difficulty.
The Sword Coast? Beregost? Baldur's Gate? The other shoe had finally dropped. He had finally confirmed his guess: the land beneath his feet was indeed Faerûn, and the city he was in was none other than the famous Baldur's Gate!
Since this was Baldur's Gate, could he make use of some of the information he had obtained from the game? And what point in the timeline was it?
Suppressing the countless thoughts racing through his mind, Zhang Yuan decided that he should first accomplish one major task—make money!
Since he had decided to sell those coins, he naturally had to find a suitable buyer to get the best possible price. After thinking it over, he realized that neither a mage nor a general store would be a good choice for selling such "craftwork."
Zhang Yuan's brows knitted into a knot. He racked his brains for quite some time before finally remembering a quest he had done in the game. It happened to involve dealing with a collector.
The key clue had come from an adventurer captain, who was also the owner of the Baldur's Cloak and Helm. Of course, "former owner" would be more accurate, because by the time the protagonist encountered that unlucky adventuring party, they had already become lifelike stone statues.
The collector in the game lived beside the square in the city center. But Baldur's Gate in reality was such a huge city—how could the game's scenery possibly represent it?
The exact address was impossible to estimate. What's more, there was no way to know whether such a person even existed in reality.
The problem had come full circle: how could he obtain firsthand information from this unfamiliar world?
As a shut-in, Zhang Yuan certainly wasn't enthusiastic about dealing with people. But as an overseas student who had lived in a foreign country for several years, he wasn't lacking in experience interacting with strangers.
Ignoring the nonhuman species mixed into the crowd, Zhang Yuan looked at these blond, blue-eyed people and felt that it wasn't much different from being at Hans's house. It was just that this smell... hmm.
He quickly took out a mask and put it on, while also keeping farther away from the buildings. Having read amusing accounts of medieval European history, he was genuinely afraid that someone might suddenly dump a chamber pot from a second-floor window and smear his face with night soil.
As Zhang Yuan followed the crowd and pondered how to strike up a conversation with someone, he suddenly stopped. The corner of his eye had caught sight of an interesting spectacle.
Not far away, a big teenage boy stood beside an easel with his arms spread wide, apparently arguing about something—or perhaps defending himself. His face wore the sort of aggrieved expression often seen on idealistic young men who felt misunderstood.
As Zhang Yuan approached, he gradually began to hear the boy's argument.
"This is a newly emerging Impressionist style! I went to Waterdeep specifically to study it!" The animated youngster tried to sell his artistic philosophy to a well-dressed, tidy young man standing opposite him, whose face was expressionless.
When Zhang Yuan finally reached them, he could clearly see this "Impressionist masterpiece." Baldur's Gate, though not exactly magnificent, was still a grand city. Yet in the painting, it had been turned into a pile of toy blocks assembled by a child.
Only the ruler-like sawtooth marks on the walls barely suggested the concept of a city wall. To be honest, if the words "Remembering Baldur's Gate in Winter" hadn't been written beside the signature, he wouldn't have been able to tell what the painting depicted.
While Zhang Yuan was silently mocking it, the well-dressed young man took out several dark copper coins, tossed them beside the palette, and said impatiently, "I don't want the painting anymore. Consider these copper coins payment for your effort."
The painter's face flushed red, and the veins on his forehead bulged as he argued, "How can art be measured in wages?"
What followed was even harder to understand: something about "the several mainstream schools of Impressionism" and "the mainstream trends in modern art."
Listening to this, Zhang Yuan shook his head inwardly. He really is young and naive. His level of knowledge still needs improvement. A little painter like you expects the customer to adjust his aesthetic standards to your level? I'm cringing for you.
Ignoring the artistic youth's endless chatter, Zhang Yuan took three steps in two and arrived in front of the young customer. In a clear voice, he said, "Please forgive my abruptness. Might you be interested in viewing a painting of mine?"
At these words, the customer, who had been about to leave, stopped. His rather narrow, sharp eyes fixed on Zhang Yuan as he studied this inexplicable foreigner with interest. Then he said, "Black hair and black eyes are quite rare. Your clothes are unusual too. But art isn't about being strange and unusual, you know."
Whether out of refinement or curiosity about a "foreigner," the gentleman still showed sufficient patience toward Zhang Yuan, who had approached him uninvited.
Having gotten his opportunity, Zhang Yuan had no intention of playing coy. He decisively took an item from his pocket.
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