A Heavenly Winning Hand

It was the fifth year of Yonghe, the seventh month, just as early autumn began.

The summer heat had yet to dissipate along the northern bank of the Huai River, and the crops had not fully ripened. Yet across the vast plain, almost everywhere the eye could reach, there were only ragged crop stumps. Green sap still seeped from some freshly cut stalks, but they were destined never to see the morning dew coat the fields. That very day, the blazing sun and hot winds would evaporate it, leaving them as yellow and withered as all the stubble around them, stripped of life.

Clearly, someone had defied the seasons and harvested the crops early-and this was no isolated occurrence.

On reflection, the scene was hardly difficult to understand. Thirty years had passed since the gentry crossed south. Great Jin clung to its refuge in the south, while Later Zhao established its dominion in the north: an age of northern and southern confrontation. Caught between them, Huaibei suffered constant warfare. Building defensive enclosures, abandoning farmland, fleeing disaster, massacring cities-none of these was unusual. What was harvesting crops early compared with escaping calamity and war?

Besides, by the fifth year of Yonghe, there was an even stronger reason than before-Shi Hu had died!

Yes, Later Zhao's legendary tyrant had died in the fourth month. His death hardly prompted universal celebration, of course. After all, Later Zhao ruled two-thirds of the realm. Who in Huaibei dared openly question Great Zhao's authority?

And so, over the next two months, storms swept the north. Jie people, Xianbei people, Di people, Qiang people, Han people; Shi Zun, Shi Bin, Shi Jian, Shi Min, Zhang Chai, Fu Hong, Yao Yizhong, plus a whole slew of men surnamed Murong. Names tumbled over one another, peoples changed sides, one advanced and another retreated, this man died and that man perished... Perhaps the local gentry in Hebei could discern a thread or two, but to the gentry of the Huai River region, it was utterly bewildering.

It was at this moment that Chu Pou, appointed by the Great Jin Court-the seat of legitimate rule-as grand commander of military affairs in Qing, Yang, Xu, Yan, and Yu Provinces, officially led the imperial army on a northern expedition. He personally reached Pengcheng in Xuzhou and secured the mouth of the Si River, immediately shaking the entire realm!

Huaibei, the first region affected, was particularly stirred. The gentry of the Huai River region, long unable to endure Later Zhao's tyranny, brought their entire households to join him. The local commoners, who had always depended on these families, could only harvest their unripe crops and follow. Amid the chaos, thousands of people from the Huai region arrived in Pengcheng every day.

Liu Acheng, who had fled from Qiao Commandery, was one of them.

No one knew how old Liu Acheng was. Perhaps he was thirteen or fourteen and looked older, or sixteen or seventeen and had grown slowly. In any case, he looked like a half-grown boy, though he had already wrapped his head to pass as an adult. No one really knew where he came from, either. All they could say was that he was probably from Qiao Commandery. They had fished him out of an earthen well there, after all, and he had traveled with them from Qiao Commandery ever since. He claimed to be from there himself, but everyone could tell that his accent was not quite right.

Even whether this body was called Liu Acheng was uncertain. He only knew that his name in his previous life had been Liu Cheng. When they first pulled him out, everyone called him something that sounded like Acheng, so he naturally assumed he was still Liu Cheng.

The truth? Nobody knew. Perhaps he was not even surnamed Liu!

In short, he dared not think too deeply about it, nor did he dare ask. Later, it ceased to matter anyway. They were fleeing disaster, after all. In a few days, they covered nearly three hundred li from Qiao Commandery to Pengcheng under punishing heat. Not only did he go numb, but the traveling party around him became increasingly chaotic. By the time they reached the outskirts of Pengcheng and received grain from Grand Commander Chu's men, the transmigrator had become completely separated from his original companions among the tens of thousands of refugees...

Yes, Liu Acheng was, of course, a transmigrator.

The process of his transmigration was nothing remarkable.

A thirty-three-year-old urban office worker, nearly wrung dry by the nine-to-nine, six-days-a-week grind, had finally become a department supervisor before reaching the life-or-death cutoff at thirty-five. Then, braving the pressure to marry and buy a home, he summoned the courage to return to his hometown on the Huaihai Plain over the May Day holiday. One afternoon, when even drizzling rain could not dispel the heat, he joined friends and relatives in entering a famous local historical site: Cao Cao's underground troop passage, which had probably been built by a late-Tang military governor, authenticated by Song-dynasty scholars, and restored with modern cement.

Before long, however, he became dizzy inside the narrow, damp, seemingly endless passage and was forced to duck into a side tunnel marked "No visitors."

There was nothing strange in the side tunnel. Its other end seemed perfectly normal, too: a small construction site operating in the rain. Workers in hard hats and rain boots were busy at work, apparently excavating something-or perhaps building something? Their reactions were equally normal. Seeing that Liu Cheng was clearly unwell, they dropped their tools and hurried over to help, supporting the visitor to a stone platform open on all sides so he could catch his breath and rest.

Only then did Liu Cheng realize that these men were building a "historical relic." They seemed to have dug a large pit first, then constructed carved stone platforms around it. The place where he was resting was one of those platforms beside the pit.

The visitor found this perfectly understandable. It was a historical tourist attraction, after all. At the time, he merely thought that these workers had it just as hard as he did, laboring even in the rain. Life was difficult for wage earners everywhere.

After resting a while, his breathing eased and his head cleared. Liu Cheng had no intention of remaining in the rain. He thanked those around him and stood up-only to slip on the rain-soaked stone platform and tumble backward into the pit, which had already accumulated a good deal of water, under the workers' watching eyes.

Only then did he notice that the stone platform bore an inscription naming some well.

So these men had not been digging a pit. They had been digging a well!

That was the transmigrator's final thought before crossing over. The next moment, a group of refugees hauled him out of an earthen well in a jumble of hands, and he had acquired a different body.

What followed was even simpler. Huai West had already returned to a literal state of barren land stretching a thousand li. With all the crops harvested early and rumors of war spreading constantly, the transmigrator-wearing a short coarse tunic, bound trousers, a ragged headcloth, and straw sandals-had no room even to think. He had to follow the people around him, carrying luggage for others, gathering leftover crops from the fields, and finding sour fruit beside the road. Mostly, though, he survived because green crops would spoil if left uneaten, making people willing to spare him some. Thus he reached Pengcheng in Xuzhou.

Fortunately, the Great Jin grand commander everyone discussed really existed. He really did accept refugees, and he really did distribute grain.

It was old grain, admittedly, mixed with plenty of sand and dirt, and one of his eight sheng of grain had gone toward paying for a sack. Still, none of that mattered much. To the transmigrator, these were genuine lifesaving supplies.

He used gathered firewood as rent to borrow an earthenware pot, cooked his meal, swallowed it, tied the millet sack beneath his clothes, and slept hugging a tree. Only after the sun rose the next morning could he listen to the voices around him and think a little... Whose child had died on the road, who had lost their parents, who had fought with whom, who had encountered tigers or wolves. Gradually, words like Great Jin, Shi Hu, grand commander, Murong, and fifth year of Yonghe emerged. Only then did the transmigrator realize that he had actually arrived in Eastern Jin!

There was no helping it. The era name Yonghe was simply too familiar-so familiar it seemed carved into his bones.

Kuaiji's Orchid Pavilion, a lifetime passing between looking up and looking down; Black Robe Alley by the Qinhuai River, swallows before the halls of Wang and Xie; the Murongs founding and restoring kingdoms... Oh, and Huan Wen's northern expeditions: "Even trees have become like this," "Even I cannot help pitying her"... There was Wang Meng picking lice, Fu Jian throwing enough whips to dam a river, Xie An snapping his wooden clog... But why had he never heard of this Grand Commander Chu, who had saved his life and wielded such impressive power?

This was the grand commander of military affairs in five provinces! He seemed to have plenty of troops, too. Surely his position was not an empty show?

In truth, it did not take the transmigrator long to figure it out. What other explanation could there be? This grand commander's northern expedition must have ended in utter defeat, becoming just another of the countless occasions when "the imperial army suffered defeat" in Eastern Jin's histories.

Oddly enough, for a transmigrator nearly reduced to begging, pondering matters of nation and realm instead of worrying about whom to borrow a pot from for his next meal proved useful. The reasoning was simple: if Grand Commander Chu's northern expedition was certain to fail, he needed to leave Pengcheng immediately. Better yet, he should imitate those crossing the Si River and keep fleeing south!

He could flee to Jiankang and settle in the spiritual capital of people from Huai West, sixteen hundred years removed. Would that not keep him safe until the Battle of Fei River?

How many years remained until the Battle of Fei River?

With that thought, he ran over to look. As the saying went, you would never know without looking, and one look could give you a fright. Even from a distance, Liu Acheng noticed groups genuinely trying to cross the Si River and continue onward. They were clearly more disciplined, with chickens, dogs, cattle, sheep, chests, carts, and even simple banners that appeared to have been issued by Great Jin's government troops. By contrast, the refugees remaining on the northern bank were a disorganized mess, nearly everyone thinking only about their next meal.

No. I have to leave right now!

Once he understood this, Liu Acheng did not hesitate. He shouldered his old millet, without knowing how many sheng remained, and headed toward the Si River.

Now, Pengcheng stood where the Bian and Si Rivers met. The city lay southwest of the three-way junction, while most refugees gathered to the northwest. A few who had come from Qing Province stayed on the eastern side. Anyone wishing to head south could not cross the Bian River toward Pengcheng, because the grand commander was inside the city and the Bian River was clearly under military lockdown, with passage strictly forbidden. The best route was therefore to cross the Si River directly and follow its opposite bank south.

In fact, numerous pontoon bridges spanned the Si River to accommodate the main army. But a transmigrator with only a few sheng of millet could not cross by himself.

The reason was simple. The earlier party had already crossed, and soldiers now guarded the bridgehead. He dared not gamble on these soldiers being benevolent protectors of the people. He had to wait for another reasonably orderly refugee party and slip across with them.

The opportunity soon arrived. That afternoon, another large but relatively orderly refugee party appeared. Able-bodied men marched at the front and rear, women and children in the middle, along with carts, chests, chickens, dogs, and pack animals. Without even collecting grain, they stepped straight onto the pontoon bridge. Liu Acheng dared not delay. He immediately circled around to the latter half of the party, lowered his head, and followed.

After crossing the Si River's pontoon bridge, he breathed a sigh of relief and began considering what to do next.

Unexpectedly, he had walked only a few dozen paces, still among the party, when hoofbeats sounded behind him. Turning, he saw a short, sturdy youth in a hemp shirt riding toward him, a bow at his side and a sword on his back. Before even reaching him, the youth barked, "Who are you? I've never seen you before. Why have you slipped into our village party?"

At these words, the people around him stopped and surrounded him.

Liu Acheng knew he had been caught red-handed. Besides, the other boy plainly looked like a young thug, while he was alone with only a few jin of millet. How could he afford to be stubborn? Copying what he had observed over the past few days, he clasped his hands and bowed before the horse, then spoke in the manner of a television drama, using words that felt awkward even to himself. "Liu Cheng of Qiao Commandery. I have wandered a thousand li and now find myself alone. With no other choice, I sought your village's protection to cross the mouth of the Si River. I am truly grateful."

The short, sturdy youth instead froze. "Your surname is Liu?"

"Yes."

"From Qiao Commandery?"

"Yes."

"But Qiao Commandery has no proper ancestral seat of the Liu clan... Aren't all the Lius around Huai West members of our Pengcheng Lius?" The youth continued frowning, apparently genuinely puzzled. "Your accent isn't right, either, is it?"

Something stirred in Liu Acheng's mind. Before transmigrating, he had read a few supposedly sophisticated transmigration webnovels. He had even copied their readers by buying books such as The Aristocratic Politics of the Eastern Jin, flipping through a few pages, and leaving them on his office desk for appearances. He had also watched prominent history commentators tear into one another on social media and forums. How could he not know that Eastern Jin belonged to the great clans—or, at the very least, that one needed a gentry identity to possess any rights?

Judging from the other boy's manner, he was clearly a member of a refugee commander's family from the so-called Liu Clan of Pengcheng: bona fide lower-ranking gentry.

In fact, he should have realized it earlier. Such an obviously organized, disciplined refugee party must have been led by one of those refugee commanders peculiar to Eastern Jin. How could someone outside the gentry become a refugee commander? And without that background, how would they have the insight to abandon the main crowd and head straight south?

At this thought, a bold idea rose within him. Liu Acheng summoned all the skills he had acquired navigating office life. Without putting on airs, he merely lowered his head and sighed, then looked up with a smile. "To tell you the truth, brother, I too descend from the Liu Clan of Pengcheng. But first, my family moved to Qiao Commandery more than three generations ago. Second, when the Jie bandits plunged the realm into chaos, my father and grandfather wandered even farther north. Only with the death of the Jie bandit Shi Hu did we find an opportunity to return south, yet I became separated from my family while still in the north... In my present state, would I not disgrace my ancestors by daring to call myself a member of the Liu Clan of Pengcheng? If I could someday return to Qiao Commandery and establish myself, I would be perfectly content."

Yes, Liu Acheng had decided to falsely claim Pengcheng ancestry!

Unexpectedly, the short, sturdy youth neither dismounted to treat him courteously nor challenged his story and killed him over a disagreement. He merely frowned again. "No wonder... Still, we share a surname. How does that saying go? I've forgotten! Anyway, one fewer person makes little difference, and one more makes little difference. Follow us! Find a group of able-bodied men. Don't crowd in with the women and children!"

With that, he turned his horse and rode straight back to the group of able-bodied men behind them.

Liu Cheng was briefly caught off guard, but once he recovered, he could not help feeling secretly delighted... After all, he was utterly alone. Being accepted by such an organized party after losing his original companions naturally improved his chances of survival enormously. Besides, the other boy had not actually disputed his claim to Pengcheng ancestry, had he?

If he had not disputed it, that meant he had accepted it as a given!

Did this count as getting a transmigrator's cheat?

Thinking this, Liu Cheng naturally clasped his hands once more toward the departing youth, then headed back and squeezed into the party. Once the women and children had passed, he found a group of able-bodied men and hurried to introduce himself and explain his circumstances.

This party was indeed exceptional. Not only was it well organized, but it also enjoyed the favor of Great Jin's government troops. When they camped on the eastern bank of the Si River that night, soldiers actually approached them of their own accord to arrange matters. They counted heads and issued grain at one dou per person, one shi per ten people. When the sacks were opened, there was no sand or gravel whatsoever, nor any deduction to pay for sacks. The party's mess leaders simply collected half and carried it to the center of the party, while the remainder was divided equally.

And when supper came, they actually ate from communal pots. Adult men received a bowl and a half, women and children one bowl. His earlier anxiety over grain vanished instantly.

That was not all. After the meal, an older man with a wrapped head-the mess leader from earlier-came to ask Liu Cheng whether, having eaten a bowl and a half, he would gather firewood or cut grass along the road when they set out tomorrow. If he failed to bring enough fuel, his supper the following night would be halved. Would he accept that? Far from becoming angry, Liu Acheng was delighted and immediately agreed. Unable to resist, he followed the talkative, fluent old man to his fire and kept asking about the party's origins.

Just as Liu Cheng had imagined, the party was like this because it had someone at its heart to hold it together.

Liu Zhi, courtesy name Liangren: because people in this age were especially careful to avoid personal names, everyone called him Liu Rengong, whether to his face or behind his back. Liu Rengong himself had never held office, despite being old enough to have one foot in the grave. His father, Liu Xigong, whose personal name the old man did not know, had genuinely served a term as governor of Yanmen and another as governor of Dai Commandery before Great Jin moved south. Renowned as a martial hero, he had been a true pillar of the Liu Clan of Pengcheng.

For that very reason, everyone, high and low-including Great Jin's government troops-recognized Liu Rengong as a legitimate refugee commander and dared not treat him lightly.

The short, sturdy youth he had met that day was Liu Rengong's youngest son. His personal name was Liu Jian, but nobody used it. Everyone called him Liu Huzi or Liu Ahu. Rough-tempered and fond of bows and horses, he had caused trouble since childhood and was now responsible for protecting the party.

By contrast, his two elder brothers were called Liu Sheng and Liu Pei. Since they had not yet reached the age when people needed to avoid their personal names, everyone knew only their formal names and did not use childhood nicknames.

"Grandpa Liu San, there's something I don't understand." As Liu Acheng grew increasingly reassured, he recalled his reason for deciding to head south and became curious. "That Jie bandit is dead, and the grand commander's northern expedition is so impressive. Surely it must succeed? And Lord Ren has such extensive holdings in Pengcheng, with so many people supporting him. According to you, seven or eight enclosures, several thousand households, more than ten thousand people all respect him. Why not stay here and build a great career? Why head south?"

"Who knows?" The mess leader surnamed Liu, known as Grandpa Liu San, whom the transmigrator had been pestering, was stumped by the question. He merely twirled his filthy beard beside the fire in silence. "Rengong must have his own ideas."

Liu Acheng nodded, then promptly flopped down beside a mound of earth, leaning against somebody's sheep to sleep. After all, he had never expected much valuable information from these villagers. Learning about the refugee commander's family was already quite an achievement... The road was long. Later matters could wait until later.

"I've heard that once we reach the south, we'll all be on the White Register. People on the White Register don't pay taxes or perform compulsory service." Just then, a listener behind the sheep, a man not surnamed Liu, suddenly interjected. "If we stay in the north, we might have land, but with war, floods, droughts, and locusts, we can't farm it. Eight years out of ten, it lies abandoned. Better to follow Lord Ren south and find somewhere else to clear land, and see whether we can survive."

"This young clansman of mine is asking why Lord Ren is heading south, not why you people are," Grandpa Liu immediately rebuked him.

The man who had interjected nodded and dared say no more. The others around the fire moved on to different matters, while faint snores drifted from elsewhere nearby.

Clearly, in this ancient feudal age, compounded by the uncertainty of a chaotic world, a shared surname formed a natural bond. Of course, the fact that few people would lie about such matters was probably another reason.

Several breaths later, however, Liu Acheng, lying there drowsily with his thoughts wandering, suddenly jolted and nearly sat upright. Refugees go on the White Register, and people on the White Register don't owe labor service or taxes and can clear land freely? Could anything this good actually exist?!

Poor him. In his previous life, he had been from Huai West, yet after struggling through half a lifetime, he still could not establish a home in Jiangsu, Zhejiang, or Shanghai. Now, having returned to a feudal age-an age of chaos known as the darkest era, no less-not only could he register as a resident outright, but he could also receive tax exemptions and preferential treatment? How could there be such a good deal?

But... but if it's true, then... what does that mean?

Now, ever since transmigrating, Liu Acheng had maintained a certain outward optimism. This was not merely because he was naturally broad-minded and willing to make the best of wherever he found himself. He had also weighed things clearly in his heart. He might have been reduced to owning nothing, but at the same time, he had gained an enormous advantage: this young body.

A body only fourteen or fifteen years old. Its face was not particularly handsome, but it had thick eyebrows, large eyes, and respectable features. There were scars and calluses, but after observing it over the past month, he had found no major problems. All its limbs were sound.

The body was the capital of revolution; age was the stake invested in a career. With a body and age like this, a person could always preserve limitless dreams. At the very least, compared with his previous unhealthy body, wrung dry by his boss, it truly gave him a tangible sense of rebirth, along with the relief that came with it.

And now that he knew he would owe neither compulsory labor nor taxes after reaching the lands south of the Yangtze, he could naturally imagine something more.

How did that saying go? I'm already in the age of Eastern Jin and the Sixteen Kingdoms. What is Eastern Jin most famous for? Besides the great clans, northern expeditions, and the Five Peoples throwing China into chaos, there are fortified manors! So forget northern expeditions, striking the waters midstream or turning tempered steel into softness around a finger. Forget joining the great clans, drinking a cup and composing a verse, feasting the eyes and ears. Can't I at least rally my spirits and work toward becoming a Wubao Lord?

Then I could have fertile fields, lovely ponds, mulberry trees, and bamboo, ignorant of Han and heedless of Wei or Jin. Untouched by heaven and earth, untroubled by sun and moon, free and happy-even an emperor within my own ten-li domain.

Wouldn't that be wonderful?

What was this?

This was a heavenly winning hand!

The transmigrator beside the fire grew so excited that he did not drift into sleep until the middle of the night.

----------I am the dividing line that returned from the dead----------

Emperor Gao, Emperor Taizu, Divine in War, Broad in Learning, Great in Sagacity and Filial Piety... cherished lofty ambitions in his youth... At fifteen, amid great upheaval in Hebei, his family collapsed, and he wandered alone to Jingkou. Troubled throughout the night, he thus conceived the ambition to sweep the realm clean.

-Old Book of Qi, Imperial Annals, Volume One: Emperor Gao, the Great Ancestor, Part One.

PS: The new book is up... First, Happy New Year to everyone! May your spring begin auspiciously and all your wishes come true. May you make a fortune in the Year of the Horse without having to care about KPIs!

As for me and this book, honestly, I started preparing a month early but only built up a reserve of fifty or sixty thousand words... I've completely succumbed to new-book syndrome. Everything I write looks like a pile of garbage. One moment I feel it lacks explosive moments; the next, that it doesn't flow smoothly enough. I write only one or two thousand words a day, yet get so anxious and worked up that a bunch of blisters have erupted around my mouth. Then, in the last few days before New Year, my parents and my sister's whole family arrived, slowing me down even more... All I can do now is stop worrying about the broken jar and smash it outright.

If I can offer myself a little comfort, none of my books has ever taken off right from the start. Their initial results were all fairly ordinary, yet didn't I keep going with every one? And I've met so many friends along the way.

It's still the same old line I've been saying for seven or eight years: I'll write at my own pace, and you can read at yours. I hope to give you a simple storytelling experience.