Memories of a Past Life

In his previous life, Jiang Yang had been a student at a prestigious high school. He excelled in both character and academics, his family was comfortably well-off, his parents doted on him, and he had both a cat and a dog. Life had been good.

Aside from his studies, he had lived without a care. How could he ever have imagined that transmigration would have anything to do with him?

When he suddenly arrived in this world, he had no idea whether his former self was alive or dead. He could only imagine how worried his parents, relatives, and friends must have been.

Fortunately, Jiang Yang had the resilience of youth and had always been cheerful and optimistic. Since he was here, he might as well make the best of it. After talking himself through it, he temporarily put the matter behind him, and the disciples accompanying him could not tell anything was amiss.

Jiang Yang vaguely remembered that he had been reviewing his schoolwork at the time. He had closed his eyes, opened them again, and somehow found himself in this world of cultivation.

The transmigration experience that haunted so many people's dreams had been anything but kind to Jiang Yang.

Not only had his comfortable life as a wealthy young master, carrying birdcages about at his leisure, vanished, but a struggle for survival awaited him instead.

Jiang Yang had been jolted awake by the freezing wind, utterly bewildered. He looked down at his ragged clothes and took a long time to accept reality.

The unfamiliar face reflected in the water alone had extinguished his last flicker of hope.

Yet that was only the beginning. Bad news followed bad news.

First, he knew neither the people nor the place. The body's original owner had left him not a scrap of memory; even the name Jiang Yang was carried over from his own previous life.

Second, he could not speak the language. This had nearly driven Jiang Yang to despair. Though this world's language bore a deceptive resemblance to that of his previous life, he had thoroughly had enough of communicating through gestures and guesswork.

But even that was not the worst of it. The most deadly problem was his situation.

With his clothes in tatters and his hands and feet blue from the bitter wind, Jiang Yang hardly needed to think to know he was a beggar. What decent family would treat its own child like this in the depths of winter?

Snow filled the skies day after day. He was a stranger in an unfamiliar land, unable to communicate, and tormented by hunger and thirst. All those disadvantages piled together made for a hellish start.

Unless something unexpected happened, he would inevitably freeze to death and collapse by the roadside.

Fortunately, Jiang Yang was Bi—not truly an eleven- or twelve-year-old child. Never underestimate a high school student—that was the peak of an ordinary person's intellectual life.

After briefly steeling himself, Jiang Yang ignored the little beggar he had woken, who had since fallen asleep again, and immediately left the ruined temple where he had taken shelter.

As the saying went, whatever trade you worked in, you should love it. Since Jiang Yang had inherited the original owner's body, he intended to inherit his profession as well.

That was right. Since he could not speak the language anyway, he simply planned to pose as a mute and beg. For the moment, he had no better option.

As for begging for food, Jiang Yang saw no reason to be embarrassed. He was nearly starving to death; putting on airs now would just be asking for trouble.

The good news was that, despite being a beggar, the original owner had all his limbs and no disabilities. His clothes were merely ragged and filthy, and his long-neglected hair was a fluffy, tangled mess.

In that bitter cold, Jiang Yang did not rush to start begging. Instead, he returned to the little river where he had looked at his reflection, broke through the thin ice, and endured the bone-piercing chill as he washed his hands and face clean.

Then he pulled out a length of straw rope and gathered his dry, tangled hair into a tie. He straightened his clothes, and after that bit of tidying, he looked reasonably presentable.

Basking in the mellow midday sunlight, Jiang Yang leaned against the foot of a wall, soaking up its meager warmth to dispel the chill in his body.

He did not rush to act. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. Though he could not understand the language, he still had a keen pair of eyes.

This was a typical ancient town, with thriving handicraft trades but backward productivity. Incomprehensible hawking rang out along the streets, oxen and horses pulled carts with turning wheels, and the loosely scattered yet steady flow of people continued like an unending stream.

The enticing aromas of food kept making Jiang Yang swallow, but he held himself back.

Though Jiang Yang knew nothing about begging, he understood the principles behind it. Some truths held everywhere.

Even begging required observation and analysis. Charging in like a hotheaded fool might earn him cold looks, but that was the least of it. Taking a beating for nothing would hardly be worthwhile.

The street vendors ran small businesses to feed their families, young and old. Even if they had the kindness, they might not have the means. Help one beggar, and another would follow. Where would it end? Were they supposed to keep doing business or not?

The established shops and restaurants with grand entrances did far more business, but they also had far more rules. Begging at their doors was an eyesore, and their doormen and workers had no authority to hand out charity. If they angered the manager or the diners, who would take the blame?

Jiang Yang observed, considered, and drew conclusions. This was a lesson school never taught. Had his present circumstances not been so wretched, it would actually have been rather interesting.

Poverty bred cunning; wealth nurtured conscience.

He settled on two kinds of targets. The first were generous wealthy gentry, the sort who liked scattering money as they walked. The second were women out in groups. Women naturally had a softer spot for children, making them easier prospects.

Although the first kind liked dropping gold coins, they were Bi rare. The second were far more common; a bustling market offered women who spent their days secluded in deep courtyards a precious chance to venture out.

Soon, Jiang Yang's eyes lit up as he spotted his target. He rubbed his hands together, rose, and decided to make his move.

Not far away, a lively group of women was coming down the street. A servant boy followed behind, leading an ox cart. Its curtained compartment was so crammed that half a bolt of cloth protruded at an angle.

At their head was a dignified woman whose black hair, threaded with a few strands of silver, was pinned up without a single strand out of place. Several girls of thirteen or fourteen followed her, chattering among themselves.

Judging by their clothes, they might not have belonged to some grand and powerful household, but the scale of their shopping clearly marked them as a prosperous local family. Jiang Yang gained a little more confidence.

Whether they were willing to give was one thing. Whether they could afford to give mattered most. Choose the wrong direction, and all your efforts would go to waste.

Jiang Yang waited for the right moment, slowly approached, and positioned himself sideways across the group's path.

He neither reached toward them nor crowded close. He simply stood obediently to one side of the road, held out a hand, made a few inarticulate sounds, and pointed at his mouth. Then he opened his eyes as wide as he could and looked at them.

The round-faced girl beside the woman was visibly startled. Clutching her handkerchief, she recovered enough to say:

"Oh! Madam, it's a little mute..."

The woman remained quite calm and instinctively called, "Shuisheng!"

"Here!"

The servant boy leading the ox cart answered from behind.

But then her gaze happened to sweep briefly over Jiang Yang, and she suddenly raised a hand.

"Never mind. Cui'er, give him some small change and send him on his way."

"Yes, madam."

The maid called Cui'er took seven large coins from the purse tucked into her sleeve, gathered them in her palm, and beckoned to Jiang Yang.

"Hey! Little beggar, come here."

Jiang Yang was still doing his best to look adorable with his eyes wide open. Though he could not understand what they were saying, their movements alone told him he had probably succeeded. When she beckoned, he hurried over and stopped three feet in front of her.

Seeing that he was not as rash as the beggars she usually encountered, Cui'er felt much more at ease. She promptly held out the money and said:

"Here. My mistress is kind enough to give you this. Take it and buy yourself something to eat."

As his clean little hand reached out, Cui'er got a clear look at Jiang Yang's face. All her aversion vanished, and she even grew bold enough to turn back and joke with the other girls.

"Oh, he's quite fair and clean-looking. Hardly looks like a little beggar at all."

Jiang Yang did not know what they were laughing about, but that did nothing to diminish his gratitude. He accepted the money with a smile, hurriedly bowed with clasped hands in thanks, and prepared to withdraw slowly.

Just as he was about to leave, a fair little hand secretly slipped a flaky pastry into his grasp. Jiang Yang accepted it and looked up, only to catch sight of a slender figure's retreating back.

Jiang Yang opened his mouth to thank her by instinct, then abruptly caught himself and shut it again. He could only offer his gratitude silently in his heart.

After tucking the large coins, still faintly warm, close against his body, Jiang Yang found the foot of a wall and crouched down. Carefully, he pinched off a flake of pastry and placed it in his mouth.

The crisp crust was dusted with a little sugar, its delicate sweetness making Jiang Yang narrow his eyes in satisfaction. He held it in his mouth, reluctant to swallow.

His first attempt had ended in victory. As Jiang Yang savored the pastry, he began reviewing what had happened.

Perhaps the original owner had been born with a likable face, perhaps his well-behaved manner had won him their favor, or perhaps it had been his pitiful gaze. Whatever the reason, he had stirred the woman's compassion and successfully earned his first pot of gold.

In the days that followed, Jiang Yang had a firmer footing, but he did not let himself slack off.

Even in safety, one had to prepare for danger. Though his success rate was remarkably high, he could not spend his entire life as a beggar, and begging itself was fraught with uncertainty.

With half a flatbread, Jiang Yang lured over a dim-witted little beggar. He planned to spend half of each day learning to speak from him. Information mattered; if he could neither speak nor read, he would spend his whole life blind despite having eyes.

Immersed in the language, he quickly picked up some short, commonly used words within just a few days.

While learning to speak, he repaid the favor through both instruction and example, teaching the little beggar beside him how to beg properly—or rather, how to beg efficiently.

The bigger beggar led the smaller one all over town. Hearing "Mute big brother! Mute big brother!" beside him was rather pleasant.

Just as Jiang Yang thought his begging career was about to flourish...

Who could have known that, before three days had passed, immortals would descend?