Chapter 1

"When I woke up, this world had completely changed." Muttering to himself, Bai Lang curled into a ball and looked around. He didn't recognize anything—not even where he was. By all rights, he should've been lounging at his computer back home, enjoying a rare day off. So what was with this rundown temple and the stinking straw? And what was with the tattered clothes on his back, which smelled absolutely awful?

It seemed he'd become a little beggar. But what on earth had happened? Bai Lang stood up and confirmed that he really was a child now. Fortunately, he was still a boy, and his limbs were all intact; nobody had "crippled him to make him beg." He headed for the entrance to take a look. There was no one else around, anyway. What he saw outside convinced him that he'd transmigrated. His current situation alone was proof enough: somehow he'd ended up here, and his body had become younger. That was more than enough to prove that supernatural forces existed.

Beyond the dilapidated temple lay open fields, with a range of mountains stretching across the background. The main road was empty, though people were working in the fields.

Just as Bai Lang was wondering what to do, a little beggar came running in from outside. "Hurry up! The Changle Gang's opening a charity hall today and taking on little odd-job boys! You want to sit here and starve to death? Come on, come with me!" The little beggar was a head taller than Bai Lang and had rather rugged features—though that was probably because he was so thin that his eyes looked especially large. He grabbed Bai Lang, and before he knew it, Bai Lang was being dragged along at a run.

As he ran, Bai Lang realized he couldn't remember the other boy's name. Aren't you supposed to inherit the memories when your soul transmigrates? Judging by how he talks and acts, he doesn't seem like a stranger. We must be pretty close. Could I have transmigrated physically instead, replacing someone who looks exactly like me? But it was best not to get lost in thought while running. Sure enough, Bai Lang immediately misstepped and went tumbling forward.

Instinctively, he shifted his center of gravity. To Bai Lang's surprise, he moved quickly and smoothly. After one foot missed its step, he somehow managed to push off with it in midair and plant it firmly ahead. His other foot followed, while a swing of his arms brought his shifting weight back under control. It was the sort of recovery a gymnast might manage. Bai Lang knew that before transmigrating, he never could've pulled it off; he'd have landed flat on his face.

After that, Bai Lang didn't dare let his mind wander. He'd better focus on getting where they were going first. Then he noticed another stroke of luck: even after running at full speed, his breathing was still steady. He wasn't wheezing like a bellows. The old, sedentary office drone he'd been would've been on the ground gasping like a dog by now.

They ran hard for nearly half an hour. Bai Lang was amazed by his current stamina, but he also glanced at the boy beside him with new respect. The other boy had run the whole way without slowing or even getting winded, though his face looked thin and terribly undernourished. Maybe this place really does have something supernatural about it. I almost forgot—he mentioned the Changle Gang. Could this be a world where martial arts actually exist? The Changle Gang... Could this be the world of The Smiling, Proud Wanderer? What other story could have a Changle Gang in it?

The small training ground was full of children. Some were beggars about the same age as Bai Lang, while others came from ordinary families and wore reasonably clean clothes. They were all watching a platform ahead. No one had taken the seat behind it yet, but they would probably start registering people there soon. Only then did Bai Lang think to feel around his body. At his neck, he found a small metal tag strung on a dirty cord. It was so grimy that he couldn't tell what color it had once been. It wasn't gold or silver; it was a little copper plate.

The tag was tiny, about half the length of one of his fingers. To Bai Lang, it looked like a miniature dog tag. Curving lines and characters were inscribed on it, apparently in some kind of seal script, but Bai Lang couldn't make them out. For one thing, it was filthy; for another, he could barely read seal script at all. As he examined the tag, a voice rang out across the entire square. It wasn't especially loud, yet it seemed to echo right beside his ear. Based on the martial arts novels he'd read, Bai Lang figured this was a sign of someone whose inner power had reached the highest level.

What he saw was a man dressed like a secretary, accompanied by eight burly men lined up in a row. The secretary was already seated. He was the one who had just spoken. Everyone here is dressed in ancient-style clothes, but I have no idea what dynasty this is. The Smiling, Proud Wanderer never said. It definitely isn't the Tang dynasty, anyway. Bai Lang thought this as the secretary told everyone to quiet down and line up. There was no need to rush; they'd register everyone one at a time before beginning the tests.

The eight burly men handled the tests, which were simple: they felt the children's joints and squeezed their muscles. At least, that was what Bai Lang saw them doing. By the time the line reached him, he went up to the table. "Name?" The secretary looked up into his eyes. Bai Lang couldn't read the man's expression at all; his gaze was so piercing that Bai Lang had to lower his head slightly. "Bai Lang," he replied.

The secretary's brush flew across the page as he wrote down the two characters. It seemed the written language here wasn't any different. "Age?" Bai Lang was stumped. How was he supposed to know? Before transmigrating, he'd been almost thirty, but this body was nowhere near that age. Luckily, Bai Lang was quick on his feet. He estimated his height and immediately answered, "Twelve."

Though his head was lowered, Bai Lang could still feel a gaze like an X-ray scanning him from head to toe. Given the man's martial arts skill, Bai Lang couldn't rule out the possibility that he was sensing him with his inner power. After all, the secretary looked like a master among masters. The man grunted. Bai Lang could just make out the two characters for twelve as the secretary wrote them down. No more questions followed. One of the burly men picked Bai Lang up and examined his bones.

"No hidden injuries. All bones intact, and no signs of any bones having been broken and healed." The man's hands were very quick; in just a few breaths, he'd finished feeling Bai Lang's bones, focusing mainly on his spine and limbs. Bai Lang had passed. All that remained was to bathe and change. This time, Bai Lang wasn't with the little beggar who'd dragged him here. Come to think of it, he didn't even know the boy's name. Still, the other boy had passed too.

After changing clothes and receiving his numbered tag, Bai Lang became the lowest-ranking little errand boy in the Changle Gang. His tag didn't say 9527. It said 1024.