Enlistment

At that moment, Gu Chang'an was hiding at the end of a remote alley in the south of Nanning County, seated inside a dilapidated house piled with broken tiles and rubble.

He wore a coarse gray linen robe, his hair bun loose, and a few smudges of dirt on his face. But his expression was unusually bright.

He knelt on the ground, an old linen cloth spread before him, on which lay an array of items: several hundred copper coins, a few dry cakes, and half a strip of dried meat.

Sun Wenhao alone had carried nearly three hundred wen on him.

Counting the copper coins, Gu Chang'an's eyes lit up like a child who had just unearthed treasure, muttering under his breath:

"Five hundred and seventy-two wen in total, plus my original three hundred... that's already close to nine hundred wen!"

He gestured in the air, barely able to contain the joy spreading across his face.

Once the conscience was gone, the profits really did roll in.

Gu Chang'an stared down at the small pile of copper coins, a flicker of barely concealed surprise in his eyes.

This money was enough to buy a household registration.

That slip of paper would transform him from a "refugee" into a "commoner."

At the very least, he could stand openly in the sunlight, no longer a lowly wretch subject to expulsion and slaughter at any moment.

Most importantly, it would raise his status.

And each day, the increase in his physical stats would also improve.

He carefully picked up the coins, one by one, and stowed them in a small pouch sewn from rags. Then he tucked the pouch into his chest, pressing it tight under his tattered robe.

The heavy weight against his chest thumped rhythmically, feeding his fragile, greedy sense of security.

But after a moment, the fire in his eyes dimmed.

Gu Chang'an lifted his head to gaze at distant Nanning County, his brow furrowing slightly:

"Now that Feng Debao and his two men have just died, if I rush to change my household registration, it'll likely stir up unnecessary trouble."

If he hadn't been relatively strong and caught them off guard, he'd probably be lying dead in that ruined temple.

He sighed, ultimately suppressing the impulse, and silently resolved:

"Forget it. I'll wait until the dust settles before making my next move."

That night, he dared not sleep. He leaned against the wall, gripping his firewood knife tightly.

His eyes stayed fixed on the doorway until morning light seeped through the cracks in the temple gate. Only then did he slowly exhale.

The next morning, he quietly returned to the ruined temple.

The dust inside was undisturbed, the bloodstains gone, and the five corpses that had lain there were nowhere to be seen.

It seemed the bodies had been cleared away.

No notices appeared on the streets, no wanted posters, no one mentioned the matter—as if the lives of those five beggars hadn't even stirred a ripple.

Gu Chang'an's heart settled, and he finally felt grounded.

This was an age of chaos; death was nothing unusual.

Especially in South City—a few beggars dying stirred no waves at all.

To be safer, he never set foot in that temple again.

Instead, he spent two wen to rent a corner of an abandoned ancestral hall in South City.

South City was crawling with refugees, a tangled mess of people coming and going. The authorities couldn't manage it, and others couldn't be bothered to ask.

At least this abandoned hall was a bit safer.

In the days that followed, Gu Chang'an continued to go out of the city daily to chop firewood, but he cut back significantly.

He'd learned his lesson. He no longer carried firewood on his back and ran, nor did he flaunt his earnings. He made about ten wen a day.

It wasn't a small amount, but it wasn't conspicuous either.

And he was perfectly content with that.

Steady development was the real way forward.

Five days later.

The commotion over the five missing men had completely died down.

Gu Chang'an finally let go of the weight on his mind.

Maybe it was time to go change his household registration.

He walked a few li, rested by a stream, and took out a hard, dry bun, chewing it bite by bite.

By now, a month had passed since his transmigration.

His information panel had changed to:

[Name: Gu Chang'an]

[Lifespan: 1 year 5 months]

[Identity: Woodcutter (Refugee)]

[Realm: None]

[Physique: 42 (+1/day)]

[Technique: Iron-Splitting Blade Art (Yellow Tier, Low Grade, Beginner)+]

42 points of physique—already twice that of an ordinary person in this world.

It had been long enough now. Time to go change his household registration.

Gu Chang'an had barely stepped through the city gate, the shadow of the wall still clinging to him, when a hoarse shout stopped him in his tracks.

"Yo, Gu Chang'an—what's this, no firewood to chop today?"

The voice carried mockery and interrogation.

He turned slowly. It was Zhang Qiang of the Firewood Gang.

That sallow, caustic face was caked with grime and anger, a bear's back and a tiger's waist, a woodcutter's axe slanted at his hip, his gaze sharper than the blade.

Zhang Qiang wasn't a Ranked Martial Artist, but he was far beyond any mere refugee.

"A few days ago, I caught a chill, my body..."

"Spare me that," Zhang Qiang cut him off, displeasure deepening. "You little..."

"Master Zhang, this is... today's dues."

Gu Chang'an's heart tightened. He dared not argue, quickly fished out several copper coins, and offered them with both hands.

Zhang Qiang raised an eyebrow, took them, and the moment the coins hit his palm, he froze.

This money—must be six or seven coppers.

But Gu Chang'an seized that instant of distraction, ducked low, and slipped sideways.

Then, using the crowd as cover, he darted into an alley and vanished in the blink of an eye.

Zhang Qiang snapped back to reality, looked down at the two three-shu coins, and caught a faint odd smell among the copper green.

He frowned, nostrils flaring, and sniffed a trace of blood from the coins.

He squinted, rubbed the coins between his fingers, then suddenly smiled—not a vicious grin, but the satisfied smile of a predator who'd caught the scent of prey.

"That kid... definitely has something going on."

He muttered to himself, voice low but ironclad in certainty.

"On normal days, he can't even spare a few coppers. Today he hasn't even sold any firewood, yet he forks over seven or eight without a fuss... I'd bet he's come into some money."

Zhang Qiang licked his lips, his gaze cold as a blade.

"Whatever it is, Gu Chang'an, running into me Zhang Qiang is your bad luck..."

He tucked the coins into his robe and disappeared into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Gu Chang'an was completely unaware, his heart only weighed down.

This city, filth everywhere, the poor living like dogs—

once you have a bone, you never know when another dog will bite your throat.

He kept his head down as he moved through the crowd, no longer meeting anyone's eyes, only repeating in his mind:

I need to be stronger.

Afternoon.

Gu Chang'an stood before the gates of the South City Office.

He looked up at the faded, mottled plaque, a mix of emotions churning inside him.

Unlike the main office in North City, the South City Office was shabby.

South City was a mess of chaos, divided into six wards.

Most of the people there were refugees, thugs, bandits, beggars, prostitutes, assassins—a cesspool of filth.

He stepped inside. A damp, moldy stench hit him. The walls were peeling, and the clerk at the desk was lazy and oily.

Gu Chang'an stopped, cupped his hands, and lowered his voice: "Refugee registering for household."

The clerk didn't look up, just flipped through a tattered thin ledger and mumbled:

"Original hometown?"

Gu Chang'an's heart tightened.

Fortunately, he had inherited fragments of his predecessor's memories. He recalled briefly, suppressed his nerves, and replied: "Gu Chang'an, originally from Hedong Pingyang."

The clerk finally got up and shuffled into the inner room.

After a moment, he paced out, his expression cold.

"Found it. Pay up—registration for refugees, one thousand coppers."

Gu Chang'an paused, frowning. "I remember it being eight hundred."

The clerk finally looked up, casting a condescending glance at him, half-smiling, too disdainful to speak.

That look said: It's whatever I say it is.

Gu Chang'an fell silent.

In the end, he still fished out his money pouch, poured nearly all his savings onto the desk, and handed them over coin by coin.

The clerk took them, flipped through the pages with practiced ease, and muttered as he wrote:

"Gu Chang'an, male, eighteen, originally from Hedong Pingyang, now registered in Guangfu Ward, South City, Nanning County."

He slapped an ink-stained document onto the table and pushed it out.

"Here, you've got your household registration."

Gu Chang'an took it, his fingertips trembling slightly.

At this moment, he was finally a "person," no longer a "refugee."

Just as he turned to leave, the clerk suddenly said, "Wait."

Gu Chang'an looked back.

"Those registered get one mu of wasteland. You must cultivate it and pay taxes on time."

Gu Chang'an froze, then asked hesitantly, "...Can I refuse?"

With the drought now, cultivating wasteland was a complete waste of effort.

And the land tax was heavy—better to skip the wasteland altogether.

What you grew wouldn't even cover the tax.

Not even a dog would farm that land.

Besides, farming wasn't part of his plan.

And he didn't know how to farm either...

The clerk shook his head. "No. The government gives you land, so you must break it and pay the levy—that's the rule."

"If you don't want to farm it yourself, you can hire someone to manage it, as long as the taxes are paid in full."

"Good wasteland, close to the city, but that costs extra..."

Gu Chang'an looked down at his empty money pouch, gave a bitter smile, and clasped his hands. "This humble one will take the cheapest plot."

Seeing this, the clerk waved a hand. "Out the door, turn right, go get your land deed."

And he himself slipped the extra two hundred coppers into his sleeve, the motion smooth, not even blinking.

Another fat sheep.

He thought to himself, then lowered his head to flip through the register, waiting for the next person to squeeze.

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