Life Like Dust

Clear River City, Qing Province, Wu Dynasty.

The rain had just cleared, and the sunlight tore through the clouds, carving silhouettes onto a cluster of low-lying buildings.

A dilapidated, weather-beaten adobe house managed to snatch a few stray beams of light, funneling them toward the bed and gently wrapping around a thin, frail figure.

[As the Child of Luck, your cultivation will be divinely assisted. You must become a Bright Force martial artist within one month, otherwise...]

It felt as if sixty thunderbolts had detonated in his mind simultaneously, triggering a pain so intense it felt like his lineage was being severed.

Hiss, since when did even a voice become so lethal?

Hong Ming felt as if his skull had been pried open, leaving him completely unable to perceive the existence of his own brain.

Only two muffled voices drifting in from the bedside slowly filled the void in his memory.

"Doctor Zhang, money is truly tight at home lately. Could you see your way to letting us settle the fee in two days?"

"Old Hong, this house call was already a losing business for me; I have a family to feed as well!"

"Please, just show some flexibility. In two days, I will personally bring the consultation fee to you."

"Sigh, fine, fine. The cost of the herbs can wait two days, but the five-wen consultation fee must be settled now."

"..."

The two voices—one servile, one helpless—both carried the weight of hardship.

The commotion outside acted like an invisible hand, pulling Hong Ming's consciousness back onto the right track.

Hong Ming struggled to pry open eyelids that felt weighted with lead, straining to squeeze out a sliver of vision to see the world.

His sight remained blurry for a moment before gradually sharpening.

What came into view were several beams overhead, grayed and blackened by the passage of time.

The wood grain had completely faded, the surface curled with mottled debris, and in several places, it had cracked, as if it might collapse at any moment.

Beyond the scent of medicine, his nostrils were filled with a persistent, bland, musty odor, along with a faint, lingering trace of a fishy, salty smell.

"Where is this?" A flicker of confusion crossed Hong Ming's eyes.

Rotting beams, damp mud walls, a cramped and dim room...

Every scene before him signaled that this place was entirely foreign.

Just then, a clear, urgent voice rang out: "A Ming, you're awake? Father, Second Sister-in-law, Third Sister, come quickly, A Ming is awake!"

The voice was like a thunderclap, dispelling his confusion and cleaving through the chaos in Hong Ming's mind.

It caused the previously fragmented memories to surge forward like a tide, rapidly stitching together the complete truth: he had awakened the wisdom of his past life!

Having died from sudden cardiac arrest due to frequent overtime in his previous life, he had become the eldest grandson of the Hong family, a household that had been destitute for two generations.

What was that voice in his head?

Just as Hong Ming was about to investigate, he heard a flurry of hurried footsteps—it was his grandfather, his aunt, his eldest aunt, and his youngest aunt.

His grandfather, Hong Zheng, saw that Hong Ming had awakened, his eyes brimming with joy as he hurried over, leaning on a jujube-wood cane.

He reached out a rough but warm palm to touch Hong Ming's forehead, asking with deep concern: "A Ming, are you alright? How do you feel? Does your head still hurt?"

Hong Ming looked toward the sound, seeing a wrinkled, aged face.

The man's cloudy eyes were fixed intently on him, the worry in their depths spilling over uncontrollably.

"Grandfather, I'm fine." Hong Ming's throat felt dry, yet he managed to squeeze out the words quite naturally.

Hearing this, the wrinkles on the old man's face smoothed out slightly, and he muttered with a sense of relief: "It's good that you're fine, it's good that you're fine..."

His grandson's awakening had finally allowed his tightly wound nerves to relax.

"A Ming, in the future, you'd better stop hauling cargo. You don't earn any money, and you just ruin your health. By then, all the family's money will have been squandered by you."

His eldest aunt, Hong Cuihua, couldn't help but interject, her tone laced with sarcasm.

In his memories, ever since his grandfather had secretly used her dowry to empty the family coffers to support his martial arts training, she had held a grudge against him.

"A Ming just woke up, why are you spouting such cold words?" The old man glared at his eldest aunt with dissatisfaction.

The eldest aunt stiffened her neck and remained silent.

Seeing the atmosphere turn awkward, his youngest aunt, Hong Xique, chimed in and asked Hong Ming: "A Ming, what about that batch of cargo now?"

As soon as these words were spoken, everyone turned to look at Hong Ming, waiting for his answer without blinking.

"Cargo?" Hong Ming was slightly stunned before he remembered.

Before he awakened his past-life wisdom, he had been hauling cargo for his employer. Wanting to finish the task early to get paid, he had taken a shortcut, only to be ambushed and robbed.

Fortunately, just before he lost consciousness, he had recognized the figure: "It was Liu Hu!"

Liu Hu was a local scoundrel, loathed by everyone for ten miles around, who spent his days idling and causing trouble.

Following a group of fox-friends and dog-companions, he did nothing but bully the weak and oppress the good, living a life far more comfortable than most.

Seeing Hong Ming remain silent for so long, the old man assumed something had gone wrong, his tone filled with deep anxiety: "A Ming, the cargo is lost—what did the employer say? Is he going to... demand compensation?"

He uttered those last two words with utter exhaustion.

It was not just him; everyone else's hearts were pulled taut as well.

His aunt clenched her fists, her expression turning stern, while his younger aunt's smile faded, replaced by unease. Even his eldest aunt, who had been firing barbs just moments ago, wore a look of palpable anxiety.

Hong Ming looked at the terrified faces of his family and knew clearly that they had neither the spare money nor the capacity to shoulder this compensation.

His grandfather ran a grocery store that could hardly be called profitable; it barely kept them fed.

His uncle was a mason who only found work every few days, making his income highly unstable. Between him and his aunt, who went out to wash laundry for others to supplement their household, they were only just scraping by.

His eldest aunt was married to a dock porter who sold tofu, which provided the most decent income, but with so many mouths to feed—both old and young—they were constantly in the red. How could they possibly have any surplus?

These were the difficulties plain to see, but in reality, they were burdened by three great mountains:

The government's taxes squeezed them layer by layer, the employer's commissions stripped them to the bone, and the local gangs were like a pot of boiling water, slowly cooking them alive while picking them clean every few days.

The world was harsh; the entire mortal realm was like a web of thorns, ensnaring all those at the bottom and torturing them until they were covered in wounds and blood.

For poor commoners like them, they could not withstand the slightest frost; any minor accident was a catastrophe.

If this new debt were added, it would surely be the final blow to an already impoverished household, leaving them no room to ever recover.

Thinking of this, Hong Ming spoke slowly, keeping his tone as calm as possible: "The employer took into account my usual diligence and the fact that I was injured while transporting the goods, so he didn't make me pay."

No compensation... Grandfather and the others let out a quiet sigh of relief, their hanging hearts finally dropping.

Seeing this, Hong Ming sighed inwardly. How could there be no compensation?

The employer had not held him responsible for the lost goods, but he had demanded he pay the full price!

Ten taels of silver—though there was no deadline for repayment, this sum was an astronomical figure for both him and the Hong Family!

Grandfather revealed a long-lost smile, his tone becoming much lighter: "That's good. A Ming, get some rest. Don't worry about your martial arts training; we can talk about that once you've recovered."

"Martial arts?" Hong Ming fell into a brief silence, feeling a sense of resistance.

Against his chest, something seemed to be radiating warmth—it was a sachet.

The sachet was far too exquisite for someone of his status to possess.

It had been given to him by the instructor Huang Chun, who claimed that as long as he wore it to meet him, he would be granted all the resources needed for his future martial arts training.

The price was...

Huang Chun had not said it explicitly, but Hong Ming knew: he was lusting after his body.