The Smiling, Proud Wanderer

"When I woke up, this world had completely changed." Mumbling to himself, Bai Lang curled up and looked at his surroundings. That's right, he didn't recognize anything around him at all. He didn't even know where he was—he should have been lounging around in front of his computer, it was his rare day off—but what was this dilapidated temple and the foul-smelling straw? And what was with this set of smelly, ragged clothes he was wearing?

It seemed he was a little beggar? But what in the world was going on? Bai Lang stood up and confirmed that he had indeed become a child, but thankfully, he was still a boy, and his limbs were intact, not having been "harvested" by anyone. He prepared to go to the entrance to take a look, as there was no one else around anyway. The scene outside solidified Bai Lang's belief that he had transmigrated—in fact, his current situation alone was enough proof. He didn't know why he was here, and his body's age had regressed, which was enough to prove the existence of supernatural powers.

The scene before him was a field outside the dilapidated temple, with rolling mountains in the background. There was no one on the main road, but people were working in the fields.

Just as Bai Lang didn't know what to do, a small beggar ran in from outside. "Hurry up! The Changle Gang is opening a soup kitchen today and recruiting errand boys. Do you want to sit here and starve to death? Hurry up and come with me." This beggar was a head taller than Bai Lang, and his appearance was quite resolute—though that was probably due to his thinness, making his eyes appear larger. Bai Lang was grabbed by the other boy and, unable to resist, was dragged along.

As he ran, Bai Lang really couldn't recall the name of the person in front of him. Shouldn't soul transmigration merge memories? Judging by his tone and demeanor, he doesn't seem like a stranger, he must be familiar with me, right? Could it be body transmigration? Am I replacing someone who looks exactly like me? However, it's best not to overthink while running. Bai Lang immediately missed a step and was about to tumble forward.

Instinctively, he began to adjust his center of gravity. To Bai Lang's surprise, his adjustment was both quick and precise. After missing a step, his foot that had slipped suddenly exerted force, landing forward firmly. His trailing foot followed suit, and he regained his balance by swinging his arms. This was the skill level of a gymnast. Bai Lang knew that before his transmigration, he would definitely have fallen flat on his face.

However, after such an incident, Bai Lang didn't dare to think too much and focused on reaching their destination first. At this moment, he discovered another good thing: he could still breathe steadily while running at this speed. The office drone he used to be would have been gasping for air by now.

This sprint lasted for nearly half an hour. While Bai Lang was amazed by his current stamina, he also looked at the guy beside him with surprise. This person hadn't even gasped or stopped running throughout the journey, as if his face wasn't gaunt from malnutrition. "Perhaps there is something truly miraculous here. I forgot, he mentioned the Changle Gang earlier. Could it be that martial arts actually exist here? Changle Gang, Changle Gang? Could this be the world of The Smiling, Proud Wanderer?" When thinking of the Changle Gang, where else could it be but The Smiling, Proud Wanderer?

On the small training ground before them, there were children everywhere. There were little beggars like him, and naturally, there were also children from ordinary families whose clothes were relatively clean. They were all looking at a platform in front. No one was sitting behind the platform yet, but it was estimated that registration would begin soon. Bai Lang only then remembered to pat himself down and found a dirty, small metal tag on a string around his neck—neither gold nor silver, it was a small copper piece.

The copper tag was very small, about half his finger's length. Bai Lang thought it looked like a miniature dog tag. It also had curved lines of text, which looked like some form of seal script, but Bai Lang couldn't decipher it—firstly, it was very dirty, and secondly, he really didn't understand seal script. As he was examining the tag, a voice echoed across the entire square. The voice wasn't loud but seemed to reverberate in his ears. Based on the martial arts novels he had read, Bai Lang believed this was a manifestation of peak internal energy cultivation.

He then saw a man dressed as a secretary, accompanied by eight large men lined up. The secretary was already seated. It was this secretary who had just spoken. "Everyone present is in ancient attire. I don't know what dynasty it is—it wasn't mentioned in The Smiling, Proud Wanderer, but it's definitely not the Tang dynasty," Bai Lang thought. The secretary's words were for everyone to quiet down and start queuing. There was no need to rush; registration would begin after everyone had been tested.

The testing was naturally done by the eight large men. The so-called test was simple: they just had to feel the children's joints and muscles—at least, that's what Bai Lang saw. The queue had reached Bai Lang. He walked up to the table. "Name?" The secretary looked up at him. Bai Lang couldn't discern any expression in the man's eyes; they were just so dazzling that he had to lower his head slightly. "Bai Lang," he said.

The secretary wrote with lightning speed, directly jotting down the two characters. It seemed the written language here was no different. "Age?" Bai Lang was immediately stumped. How would he know his age? He was almost thirty before he transmigrated, but this body didn't look like it was thirty at all. Fortunately, Bai Lang's mind was quick and adaptable. He estimated his height and immediately reported, "Twelve years old."

Although he had lowered his head, Bai Lang could still feel an X-ray-like gaze scanning him up and down. Considering the man was a martial arts master, it was possible he was sensing him with his internal energy—especially since this secretary looked like a master of masters. The man grunted. Bai Lang, still looking down, could see the man writing the characters for "twelve." There were no further issues. A large man directly picked Bai Lang up and began to examine his bones.

"No internal injuries, complete tendons and bones, and no signs of re-broken bones," the man said. His hands were very quick, and within a few breaths, he had finished examining Bai Lang's bones—the focus was on his spine and limbs. This meant Bai Lang had passed. Next was bathing and changing clothes. This time, Bai Lang didn't go with the little beggar who had dragged him along—speaking of which, he didn't even know the other boy's name, but the other boy had also passed.

After changing into new clothes and receiving his number tag, Bai Lang became the lowest-ranking errand boy of the Changle Gang. His number tag wasn't 9527, but 1024.