Rebirth into Poverty

Rebirth into Poverty

On modern Earth, after thousands of years of technological civilization, the martial way had withered. People relied more on machinery, casting the martial cultivation methods passed down by their ancestors to the back of their minds. Only a small handful of people still struggled to hold on, guarding the final remnants of that heritage.

With the decline of the martial way, the legendary feats of shattering the void and achieving sainthood in the flesh had long since become mere myths found in cultivation novels.

Yet, one man had blazed a new trail, cultivating his way to the very final step of achieving sainthood in the flesh.

He was Tang Yuan, a successor of the modern Tang Sect.

Regrettably, in the end, a congenital physical defect cost him the chance to restore the glory of the martial way.

In a simple room, a thin, gaunt youth slowly opened his eyes.

This youth was, naturally, Tang Yuan. He had been but a single step away from achieving sainthood in the flesh, yet because of his innate physical disability, he had been unable to withstand the power of the breakthrough at the final moment, resulting in his death and dissipation.

When he awoke, he found himself inhabiting the body of a commoner martial child named Zhang He. This unlucky kid had just been beaten nearly into paralysis by a wealthy, handsome bully at the Martial Child Academy. Facing this situation of borrowing a corpse to return to life, he was initially shocked, but after a calm analysis, he accepted it with peace of mind.

Stories of borrowing a corpse to return to life were already numerous; he was merely one more. Life was like rape; if you couldn't resist, you might as well enjoy it.

The youth's ears twitched as he heard footsteps approaching from outside, his expression shifting slightly. With lightning speed, he lay back down, assuming a look of utter frailty.

It was definitely an Oscar-worthy performance!

The old wooden door creaked open, and a middle-aged woman wearing an apron carefully carried in a steaming bowl of black pottery.

A pungent, medicinal odor instantly filled the room.

"He'er, do you feel any better?" The woman set down the medicine bowl and reached out to test the youth's forehead.

The youth replied obediently, "Mother, I'm already much better. Don't worry about me."

The woman smiled faintly. "It seems this decoction is effective after all. That traveling apothecary didn't lie to me. Come, He'er, drink this medicine."

The youth's face twitched. As he hesitated over whether to drink it, the woman urged, "Drink it quickly. Once you've finished, you'll be well again and can return to the Martial Child Academy."

Return to the Martial Child Academy? Was he supposed to continue being bullied by those wealthy martial children?

The youth grumbled inwardly. It was no wonder he felt such resistance toward that academy. He was a commoner martial child; although commoners held the numerical advantage, numbers did not equate to power. A group of commoner martial children was always being beaten to the ground by a small clique of wealthy ones.

Zhang He was a tragic example. Because the wealthy children resented that commoners occupied a large share of the body-tempering fluid—leaving them with insufficient supplies—they grew dissatisfied, believing that giving such fluid to "trash" like commoner children was a massive waste.

The wealthy martial children banded together to oppose the commoners, suppressing them in every possible aspect.

Zhang He was a tragic case in point, having been beaten nearly into paralysis by the wealthy children on the training grounds.

"Drink your medicine." The woman urged him again. She brought over the bowl, which had a layer of murky substance floating on top; it was impossible to tell what it was. A strange odor wafted from it.

The youth frowned slightly. He felt a genuine aversion to this pungent-smelling concoction, yet he could say nothing, for whenever he saw his 'mother's' earnest gaze, he could no longer bring himself to refuse.

He had no choice but to take the bowl and drain it in one gulp.

"Rest for a while, then get up and eat something. You need food to have strength." Seeing that he had finished it, the woman smiled, tucked in his quilt, and carried the bowl out.

A look of distress flashed in the youth's eyes.

"I've been playing the invalid for six days, drinking this medicine made of gecko urine three times a day. It's truly... torture!"

A crisp, girlish voice drifted in from outside the door.

"Mother, how is Brother?"

"Shh, don't disturb your brother. He's still resting."

"Oh." The little girl agreed obediently, whispering, "Mother, Nannan is hungry."

"Be good, Nannan. The food is in the pot; you eat first." The woman said in a low voice, "Save that white flour pancake from last night for your brother, you hear?"

"Mm." The little girl replied. "Mother, aren't you going to eat?"

"Mother has already eaten. You go ahead. By the way, things have been restless outside these past two days, so don't go running off to play, understand?"

"Mm."

After a series of rustling sounds, the rhythmic 'thump-thump-thump' of chopping echoed from the courtyard. That was Zhang He's mother, preparing pickled vegetables for the small restaurant outside.

The family's livelihood relied entirely on the mother making pickles for that small shop.

He had complicated feelings toward this mother. Being reincarnated into this youth was something he hadn't expected. In the six days since he woke up, the woman had been by his side, caring for him day and night. Though he rarely spoke, he could feel the selfless love this mother held for him.

Having long forgotten the feeling of maternal love, experiencing it once more left him feeling somewhat unsettled.

His stomach let out a roar. The youth climbed out of bed, a hideous, pitch-black birthmark visible on his forehead, looking incredibly ugly. He put on his clothes and pushed the door open.

The outer room served as both kitchen and dining area.

At a low table, a little girl wearing ragged clothes with her hair tied in two small buns was struggling to bite into a black pancake. In front of her sat a bowl of thin, watery vegetable porridge.

This was Zhang He's little sister, Zhang Yu. She was only seven years old, as fair and cute as a porcelain doll.

"Brother." Seeing her brother emerge, Zhang Yu's face lit up with joy. "You're finally out, hee hee."

The youth's gaze fell on the black pancake in Zhang Yu's small hand. He opened the pot, and inside the still-warm vessel lay a yellowish white-flour pancake and a small basin of vegetable porridge.

"That's the food Mother saved for you, Brother. Eat up," Zhang Yu said sensibly.

The youth took out the white flour pancake and vegetable porridge. Seeing Zhang Yu furtively swallow her saliva, then glancing at the black, coarse-grain pancake in the child's hand, he felt an involuntary pang of bitterness in his heart.

The youth pushed the white flour pancake toward Zhang Yu and said softly, "You eat it."

"No, Brother, you're sick; this was saved for you. I can't eat it." Although Zhang Yu was tempted, she shook her head sensibly.

Without a word, the youth broke the white flour pancake in two, snatched the black pancake from Zhang Yu's hand, and shoved the white one into her grasp instead.

"I can't finish it. One half each, eat."

Zhang Yu's face instantly lit up with joy. She opened her small mouth and took a bite of the yellowish white flour pancake: "Brother, it's so delicious."

The youth let out a long breath. He broke apart the black pancake, the chaff and dregs scattering onto the table, and shoved a piece into his mouth. A sensation that was coarse and difficult to swallow spread from his mouth.

Leaving the best food for himself... The youth sighed deeply. "From this day on, I am no longer Tang Yuan, but the son of man, Zhang He!"

He recited this silently to himself. After this decision, the strange feeling that had previously troubled him finally dissipated, replaced by a sense of resolve.

Tang Yuan was dead; only the son of man, Zhang He, remained.

BANG!

A dull thud suddenly echoed from outside. Zhang He started, dropped his pancake, and immediately rushed out.

By the well, Zhang He's mother lay sprawled on the ground, motionless.

"Mother!"

Zhang He's heart tightened as he ran over. Zhang Yu followed closely behind, and upon seeing her mother collapsed on the ground, she burst into loud sobs and ran after Zhang He.

Zhang He picked her up, only to see his mother's eyes tightly shut, her complexion a sickly greenish-black, and her breath emitting a strange odor.

"Brother, a bug! A bug!" Zhang Yu suddenly cried out.

An ugly, six-legged, greenish-black insect fell from his mother's body onto the ground, crawling toward Zhang He with its claws bared. Zhang He glanced at it and, without hesitation, stomped it to death.

Zhang He examined his mother's face and pulled back her eyelids, gasping in shock. "How could she be poisoned!" He immediately hoisted his mother onto his back and carried her into the house.

Zhang He looked at his mother's swollen hand, his expression turning grim. On the back of her hand were two tiny puncture wounds; it was clear she had been bitten by something highly venomous, and the little insect from earlier was undoubtedly to blame.

But the courtyard was clean and devoid of tall grass—where could such a thing have come from?

"Brother, how is Mother?" Zhang Yu asked, sobbing.

"Don't worry, Little Sister, Mother will be fine," Zhang He comforted her. "You stay here and watch over Mother. I'm going to find a cart to take her to the medical clinic."

"Brother, we have no money at home. The people at the clinic won't treat her," Zhang Yu said.

Zhang He stopped abruptly. He had just remembered that there were no savings left in the house; otherwise, he wouldn't have been stuck at home drinking those folk remedies while sick himself.

The mother's breathing grew increasingly rapid, and a sickly flush began to bloom amidst the greenish-black pallor of her face.

"This venomous insect is truly ruthless!" Zhang He had been the most formidable poison expert in the Tang Sect; one look was enough to gauge the severity of the toxin. Seeing her condition, he couldn't help but be alarmed, knowing that if things continued this way, his mother would surely face a grim fate.

Lacking silver needles, he found an embroidery needle and pricked several key acupoints on his mother's bitten arm, then pierced her wrist to squeeze out the blood.

The blood that emerged was black.

"Little Sister, you stay here and look after Mother." Zhang He wiped the sweat from his brow. This blood-letting method could only provide temporary relief; it could not purge the potent toxin from her body.

"If only my internal energy were still here, this petty poison would be a mere trifle!" Seeing the woman in her unconscious state, he felt a sense of helplessness for the first time. If he still possessed his cultivation, he could have easily neutralized the poison with a simple circulation of energy, but now, he was at his wit's end.

Wait—a flash of inspiration suddenly crossed his mind.

"Brother, where are you going?"

"Little Sister, stay here and watch over Mother! I'll be back soon!" Zhang He shouldered his carrying basket and loaded it with several jars and pots used for pickling vegetables. Feeling the dozen or so copper coins he had saved through extreme frugality, Zhang He headed straight out the door!