Great Qian, Central Province.
A barren mountain, an ancient temple.
Zhang Qingyuan sat on the steps. Evening was almost upon him, and his bundle held only one mixed-grain flatbread. He still had half a jin of flour, but without a pot, even making dough-drop soup was a luxury beyond his reach.
Thinking back on the three months since his transmigration, Zhang Qingyuan felt utterly depressed.
When he first transmigrated, he thought he had arrived in ancient times. Having read historical webnovels far and wide in his previous life and attained the lofty realm of a TikTok historian, his confidence soared.
Whether this was the Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, or Qing dynasty, he could use his foreknowledge to latch onto a powerful patron and reach the pinnacle of life.
But after asking around, he discovered that this dynasty was called Qian, taking its name from "Great indeed is the primal power of Qian."
They might as well have called it Great Yuan...
Only then did he realize this was a parallel world resembling ancient China. It was a feudal dynasty, yes, but his foreknowledge was gone.
But that's fine. I still have knowledge beyond this era. I can invent things just like the transmigrators who came before me and still reach the pinnacle of life.
Uh...
After thinking for a long time, he discovered that he apparently knew neither how to make glass nor the process for making perfume. As someone from the countryside, he had seen a curved-shaft plow, but this world already had those.
It also had strong liquor, with distillation techniques already well developed. Though it could not yet reach the purity of alcohol, it was more than sufficient for this era, and people in ancient times did not particularly enjoy strong liquor anyway.
Strike out that entire idea about inventing things!
Take the imperial examinations?
Sorry, he could not even properly understand classical Chinese.
Just as Zhang Qingyuan sank into confusion, he saw someone strike out with a palm, sending a fire dragon across a distance of three zhang and killing another person three zhang away.
Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, he stared in a daze...
This is a martial arts world. A high-martial world!
After extensive inquiries-mostly listening to storytellers for free from beside the walls-he finally learned that martial arts flourished here, with countless clans and sects.
Learn martial arts, strengthen his body, become a great hero!
After asking around, he discovered that the nearest major sect was at least three hundred li away. Shaolin Temple was only eighty li outside the city, but Zhang Qingyuan did not want to become a monk.
Besides, the original owner of his body had been a beggar who fled to Central Province as a refugee. He had not even managed to join the Beggar Clan. If he wanted to learn martial arts, he did not even have the travel money.
Fortunately, Heaven never barred every road. At a stall selling secondhand clothes, he bought a shabby Taoist robe cheaply.
With that robe and the eloquence he had developed as a real estate agent in his previous life, he set up a stall in the east of the city.
The original owner had been seventeen and very handsome, though not with the starry eyes and swordlike brows of a righteous hero.
Willow-leaf brows, phoenix eyes, and an oval face sculpted by a gentle breeze.
With that silver tongue and his property-selling patter, he actually earned his first pot of gold.
It was nothing approaching wealth and splendor, but he could at least guarantee food and clothing.
After finally saving up two taels of silver, he spent one and a half on several secondhand fortune-telling books to polish his image further.
Whether he could actually understand them was beside the point. The main thing was to package himself, enrich himself, and improve his professional skills so that he would look more professional.
A few days ago, he had saved up another three taels. Just as his leisurely days were about to corrode his soul, he resolutely left the city and embarked on his journey to learn martial arts.
Alas.
Only after leaving the city did he understand that exile in ancient times really was a punishment.
Alone, on foot, laden with bundles large and small, he often traveled dozens of li without seeing a soul. He had to ask directions wherever he went, worry about bandits blocking the road to rob him, and guard against becoming a buffet for wild beasts and wolves.
Fortunately, Zhang Qingyuan had plenty of perseverance. In his previous life, his parents had even enrolled him in an "ancient martial arts self-defense" class in elementary school. Though his paltry skills were useless in this world, throwing a few moves somehow gave him great confidence.
Today was his seventh day out of the city. How lucky-there was a ruined temple.
While he was fetching water earlier, the battered pot that had accompanied him for three months finally cracked under the strain.
To commemorate the pot, Zhang Qingyuan had even dug a hole and buried it on a whim.
Without a phone, computer, or internet, the only way to adjust his mood was to entertain himself. Burying a pot was a fine way to do that.
He found some dry grass, cleared a space inside the temple, brought over dry firewood, and built a fire.
He took out the flatbread. The next town was still thirty li away. He would eat half tonight and half tomorrow morning, then properly replenish his supplies at the next town.
Lovely!
Zhang Qingyuan was not the sort to wallow in self-pity. He could always find ways to make himself happy.
With darkness approaching, he sat beside the fire and idly took out a scripture.
When people were bored, they had to find something to do. However much they disliked reading, they would still flip through a book to pass the time.
He had just taken out the flatbread to toast over the fire when footsteps sounded at the entrance.
As the footsteps drew closer, Zhang Qingyuan warily clutched the flatbread in one hand and grabbed the half-brick he intended to use as a pillow with the other.
The newcomer entered, and Zhang Qingyuan relaxed his guard a little.
He was another youth, about the same age as him.
He wore hemp clothes and was travel-worn.
He was about the same height as Zhang Qingyuan and seemed somewhat downcast.
Hmm, the only thing that put pressure on Zhang Qingyuan was that this fellow was actually no less handsome than himself!
Though the newcomer looked exhausted, Zhang Qingyuan, as a handsome man himself, could tell at a glance that beneath that scruffy exterior lay the face of a puppy-like pretty boy.
Thick brows, large eyes, and a little baby fat-wealthy women in his previous life all loved this type.
The newcomer nodded to him, and he nodded back.
The youth's gaze drifted involuntarily toward Zhang Qingyuan's mixed-grain flatbread, putting Zhang Qingyuan on high alert.
"Mine." Zhang Qingyuan shielded the flatbread against his chest.
"Sorry." The pretty boy looked deeply embarrassed.
He walked over to the incense altar and sat down against the battered table.
Zhang Qingyuan took a bite of the mixed-grain flatbread. Though it had been toasted dry and hard, he still ate with relish.
Grrr!
The pretty boy's stomach growled, and he involuntarily swallowed.
The puppy-faced youth grew even more embarrassed, lowering his head sheepishly while his hands seemed to busy themselves with something.
He's blushing?
One could never be too careful, but after three months of experiencing the coldness of the world, this was the first time Zhang Qingyuan had met such an unassuming youth.
After a moment's thought, he broke the flatbread in half and held one piece out.
The puppy-faced youth accepted the unexpected flatbread with great embarrassment.
Zhang Qingyuan acted generously, though his heart was actually bleeding. "Eat. I'm Zhang Qingyuan. What should I call you?"
"Thank you, Taoist priest. My name is Zhang Junbao."
Hmm?
That name sounds so familiar!
Zhang Qingyuan thought for a moment, then asked, "What do you do for work?"
Zhang Junbao took small bites of the flatbread. Sorrow surged through him, and his eyes reddened involuntarily.
Holding back a sob, he said, "No... no job."
"It's just a flatbread. No need for all that." Zhang Qingyuan thought he was simply touched and continued asking, "What about before? Where did you live?"
Zhang Junbao sighed softly. "I used to live at Shaolin Temple. I was a lay disciple there."
Shaolin Temple, a lay disciple, Zhang Junbao?
Zhang Qingyuan suddenly felt as though a dead memory had risen to attack him.
He seemed to recall an old acquaintance who shared his surname, whose given name was Junbao, courtesy name Sanfeng, and sobriquet the Scruffy Taoist.
No way. Surely it couldn't be such a coincidence?
This isn't the late Song dynasty, much less the Yuan dynasty. How could I run into him?
Does every martial arts world have a grandmaster named Zhang Junbao?
A thousand thoughts raced through Zhang Qingyuan's mind, and his heartbeat quickened. It felt like finding a lottery ticket and waiting for the winning numbers to be drawn.
"Do you have a master named Jueyuan?"
Zhang Junbao looked up and exclaimed, "You know Master Jueyuan?"
"Yes, I've heard a little about him. We exchanged greetings when I went to offer incense at Shaolin Temple."
Zhang Qingyuan spun the lie without hesitation, but Zhang Junbao was a little puzzled. A Taoist priest going to Shaolin Temple to offer incense-was that proper?
Still, he did not pursue the question. Half a flatbread, and an acquaintance of his master-the distance between them had plainly shrunk considerably.
"Where's your master?"
"Master passed away." Zhang Junbao could no longer hold back, and his tears poured out.
Zhang Qingyuan stood, walked over to Zhang Junbao, and patted his shoulder. "It's all right. Cry it out. If you've suffered any grievances, tell me. Talking about them is better than bottling them up."
Zhang Junbao cried for quite a while before finally calming down. Choking back sobs, he said, "I'm an orphan."
"I know."
"Master Jueyuan found me when I was little and brought me to Shaolin, where I became a lay disciple."
"Mm."
"All these years, Master treated me like his own son."
"Master Jueyuan was a good man."
"I grew up at Shaolin, helping Master with odd jobs."
"I understand."
"Because Master's position wasn't high, I couldn't enter the Arhat Hall or Dharma Hall to learn martial arts."
"That's fucking rotten."
"Fortunately, Master knew some basic martial arts and practiced with me when he had time."
"Mm."
"Last month, the head of the Arhat Hall selected disciples. All disciples could participate, whether novices or lay disciples. Even the Fireworker Monk could enter the tournament. The winners could enter the Arhat Hall, or even the Dharma Hall."
"Good news."
"I thought my chance had come, and Master encouraged me to do my best. In the tournament, I defeated everyone with my unarmed martial arts, but..."
"They went back on their word."
Zhang Junbao shook his head and said quietly, "But the chief of the Dharma Hall said I had secretly learned martial arts.
"I hadn't secretly learned any martial arts. I hadn't even practiced internal cultivation.
"Only later did I learn that the last person I fought was a guest-reception monk who had practiced Shaolin internal cultivation for two years, and I had defeated him..."
"So they said you'd secretly learned Shaolin internal cultivation?"
Zhang Junbao nodded despondently, grief and indignation mingling in his heart.
He felt deeply wronged and understood the logic of the adult world even less.
He had clearly performed perfectly, so why had he been slandered?
"I really didn't secretly learn Shaolin internal cultivation. I explained, and Master helped explain too, but they simply wouldn't believe us. They even wanted to imprison me on the rear mountain and punish me according to temple rules.
"Seeing that they were about to act, Master volunteered to take my punishment to protect me. He took his own life to keep me safe, and I was expelled from Shaolin."
"Alas!"
Zhang Qingyuan sighed. "The prejudices in people's hearts are a great mountain. They refused to believe that a youth who had only practiced unarmed martial arts could defeat a carefully trained guest-reception monk with several years of internal cultivation through unarmed techniques alone.
"They would rather believe that the youth who defeated the guest-reception monk had secretly learned profound martial arts, which was why he could be so formidable.
"Just as people refuse to believe that a bandit is called Zhang Muzhi. They prefer to call him Zhang Mazi, and they would rather believe he really has pockmarks on his face."
"You understand me?" Zhang Junbao looked up.
Zhang Qingyuan nodded. "Completely."
In an instant, the complicated emotions of being understood turned into tears that spilled from his eyes once more.
Zhang Qingyuan patted his back. The poor boy had been so wronged.
"Don't worry. From now on, stick with me. We brothers will support each other, and we'll definitely make something of ourselves!"
Zhang Junbao nodded firmly and voiced his agreement.
As for finding a master to learn martial arts?
Hell, I've already got Zhang Junbao. What the fuck do I need another master or martial arts lessons for!