Chapter 1: The Madman

“At last, we’ve reached Changfeng City.”
Seeing the sprawling ancient city ahead, its towering walls rising from the earth, Lu Yan’s eyes stung with tears.
He had been in this world for half a month now, following the great exodus of refugees. During this time, he had narrowly escaped death more than once, surviving by the slimmest of chances.
Once, in a desperate struggle for a few wild vegetables, he had nearly been beaten to death by other refugees.
He often lamented that he must be one of the unluckiest transmigrators in existence.
Indeed, he was originally from Earth—a failed web novelist, working by day, writing by night. Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion, but one evening he’d passed out at his keyboard, only to awaken in the body of a youth in another world, one who bore his same name.
This boy’s homeland had been devastated by natural disaster: scorched earth stretched as far as the eye could see, the crops withered, not even bark or wild greens left to eat. To stay meant certain starvation—migration was the only hope.
The boy had fled with his family, but fell seriously ill along the way and died. Thus, Lu Yan had taken his place, inheriting most of his memories, which allowed him to avoid suspicion over the past weeks.
“I wonder if the ruling clans of Changfeng will take us in?”
The speaker was an old man everyone called Uncle Wu. His skin was dark and cracked, his hair white as snow, his frame so gaunt he seemed little more than skin and bones. Though only about fifty, he looked older than a seventy-year-old on Earth.
His voice was heavy with worry, his eyes lost and helpless as he gazed at the uncertain future.
“Hard to say,” replied Lu Yan’s father, Lu Qingshan.
Lu Qingshan was about thirty-five, square-faced, a hunter by trade. Years of hunting had kept him strong, even after weeks of flight and hardship—at least, compared to these other refugees.
Lu Yan looked around. Refugees pressed in on every side, a dark mass he estimated to number at least ten thousand.
A stench hung in the air, thick and nauseating, but Lu Yan had long grown used to it.
The refugees stared blankly toward the city, awaiting their fate.
It was not uncommon for refugees to be turned away. Some clans would not only refuse them, but send soldiers to drive them off. If anyone resisted, beheading was a typical outcome.
If Changfeng’s clan refused them, they’d be forced to move on to the next city.
But with their meager stores and failing bodies, most would die before reaching the next destination.
Rumble!
Suddenly, the ground trembled. A thunderous sound rolled from the direction of the city, growing louder until, in a flash, a troop of cavalry burst into view.
There were a hundred riders at most, but their charge was so imposing it felt like the advance of a mighty army.
“It’s the clan’s martial army!”
Someone shouted, and every heart clenched. Acceptance or rejection—their fate would soon be decided.
The cavalry halted in perfect formation, disciplined and precise.
“How tall those horses are, and how powerful the riders,” Lu Yan thought, awed.
The warhorses’ backs stood over two meters high; the riders atop them wore crimson iron armor and carried long spears, their builds massive as bears.
Lu Yan guessed each was at least one meter ninety tall, a stark contrast to the emaciated refugees.
He met the gaze of one rider—and every hair on his body bristled. His heart pounded as though a savage beast had fixed its eyes on him.
He remembered visiting a zoo in his previous life, standing close to a Siberian tiger, but that was nothing compared to the presence of this warrior.
He hurriedly lowered his head, not daring to meet the rider’s eyes.
A middle-aged cavalryman rode forward, eyes sharp as an eagle, his bearing that of a wolf. “By order of our patriarch,” he declared, “those who have come here are now subjects of the Liu clan. In a moment porridge will be distributed, and your dwellings assigned thereafter.”
What?
Ten thousand refugees stared in disbelief, then joy erupted on every face.
Not only were they accepted, but porridge and housing would be provided—they were saved.
Soon, large vats were rolled out from the city, the aroma of porridge wafting through the air. Lu Yan’s stomach grumbled in anticipation.
“Line up for porridge,” a cavalryman bellowed, his voice booming out for miles. “Any who cut in line will be executed without mercy.”
Lines snaked across the ground as the refugees queued up. Lu Yan joined his parents. After two incense sticks’ time, he received a bowl of porridge.
The thin gruel, made of coarse rice, was nothing like the white porridge of Earth, but to Lu Yan it tasted divine.
Recently, he had survived on dry rations, wild greens, and grass seeds—food so vile it made him long for even a taste of this porridge. He’d been so constipated that relieving himself required the strength of an ox.
“Father, Mother, please eat.”
He saw his parents, Lu Qingshan and Wang Cui, still holding their bowls uneaten and called to them.
“I’m not hungry, child,” Wang Cui replied, offering her bowl to him.
“That’s right. You’re not yet recovered, and you’re still growing. You should eat more,” Lu Qingshan added.
Though Lu Yan in his past life was still single, he was an adult and understood the love and sacrifice of parents.
“I’m full, please eat. We’ll need our strength when our lodgings are assigned,” he smiled.
Though he’d had no affection for the older couple when he first arrived, over the past half month, every scrap of food was always set aside for him first; they shielded him from every danger. Without their care, he’d never have survived his illness.
A heart is made of flesh—after these weeks, he had come to regard Lu Qingshan and Wang Cui as truly his parents.
They wanted to insist, but he would not yield, so finally they ate, scraping every last drop from the bowls.
“Bold one! You’ve already received porridge and now try to sneak back for more? Think you can deceive me? Die!”

A roar boomed out like thunder.
A cavalryman charged forward, his spear flashing like lightning, piercing a middle-aged man and lifting him overhead.
The man thrashed like a freshly caught fish, despair filling his eyes.
With a twist, the rider’s spear vibrated with terrible force—the man’s body burst apart, flesh and viscera raining down.
Even though Lu Yan had seen countless dead along the road, the sheer brutality of this scene nearly made him vomit up his porridge.
Starvation had claimed many on their journey, but never had he witnessed such bloodshed.
“Incredible. So this is martial power? Just the force of a vibrating spear can shatter a grown man’s body—what kind of strength is this?”
He forced down his nausea, mind reeling. No film or drama on Earth, no matter the special effects, could compare to this impact.
From his inherited memories, he knew that this world revered the martial path—masters could hunt tigers bare-handed—but he had never seen it with his own eyes until now.
This was his first direct glimpse of a true martial expert.
“Husband, why did you kill him?”
A gaunt woman threw herself to the ground, wailing, “He only wanted another bowl for our child! How are we to live now?”
“One more cry and you’ll join him,” the cavalryman snapped, menace in every word, a beast hungry for blood.
The woman fell silent, clutching her child and trembling.
The other refugees dared not make a sound. Any thoughts of sneaking another bowl vanished instantly.
The distribution continued. When all was done, bowls were collected, and an officer came to register each household.
The process was simple: name, age, place of origin, and any special skills.
Those skilled in smelting, forging, or medicine were given special assignments.
From his inherited memory, Lu Yan knew this was the Great Chu Empire.
The central court was weak, its control limited to a few provinces; elsewhere, feudal lords and clans waged endless war, each a law unto themselves.
The great clans stood above all, commoners less than livestock, their lives and deaths at the whim of their masters.
Resources were plundered in constant conflict, making weapons and medicine precious. Those with these skills were highly valued.
“Lu Qingshan, Lu Chuan, Lu Daniu, Wu Si, Wu Hai…”
“You fifty households, follow me. You’ll be settled in Kaoshan Village.”
An officer called out names. Those named gathered their families and approached.
…
Kaoshan Village, nestled against Ox-Lying Mountain, lay a dozen miles from the city.
An officer and two cavalrymen led the way as fifty households followed. Half an hour later, the village came into view.
Lu Yan puzzled over something—an old village like this should be full. How would they fit fifty more families inside?
He wasn’t the only one with doubts, but no one dared question the stern-faced officers.
A wooden palisade ringed Kaoshan, over two meters high to keep out wild beasts at night.
The gates stood open; a dozen villagers watched from within.
Soon, the newcomers were led inside.
“We’ve arrived. There are some matters to announce…”
The officer was interrupted by a shrill cry.
“Don’t come! Don’t come! None who enter will leave—you’ll all die here!”
A haggard woman, hair in wild disarray, face twisted in terror, shrieked at them.
“Where’s that lunatic? Take her away!”
The officer’s face darkened.
A cavalryman readied his horse, but several villagers rushed out. Two men dragged the madwoman away, while an old man dropped to his knees, trembling.
“Spare us, sir! My daughter is mad, she raves nonsense all day. We’ll take her away at once.”
“I’m not mad! They’re all dead—this is a village that eats people, haunted by vengeful ghosts!”
The woman’s cries, her twisted face, her wild, terror-stricken eyes sent chills through the crowd.
One of the men clamped a hand over her mouth, silencing her.
“Remove her! If it happens again, you’ll all be executed,” the officer warned coldly.
“Yes, yes, thank you, sir.”
The old man kowtowed again and hurried away with the others.
Lu Qingshan and the others exchanged uneasy glances, the chill lingering in their hearts.
“Ghosts? Nonsense,” the officer sneered.
“To be honest, Kaoshan Village suffered an outbreak of plague not long ago—many died, leaving empty houses. But the plague is under control, you have nothing to fear.
And the lands left behind by the dead will be assigned to you, to farm as your own. At harvest, you’ll need only pay half as tax.”
Land to farm?
The crowd’s joy swept away their unease.
As for the fifty percent tax—they ignored it.
With starvation looming, who cared about taxes? In these war-torn times, half the harvest wasn’t unreasonable.
“There are two more announcements.”

“First, out of mercy, the patriarch allows you to borrow grain—each household may take up to three pecks of coarse rice, along with potato seed. After the harvest, you’ll repay with an extra half share as interest. Those wishing to borrow, come register.”
A stir of excitement swept the crowd.
Three pecks—nearly forty pounds—plus wild greens and fruits, would easily keep a family alive for several months.
It was now early September, just the season to plant potatoes, which matured in a little over two months. If they could survive until then, they would live.
“I’ll register…”
“I’ll register…”
A representative from each household registered in turn.
“Soon the grain and seed will arrive. Now, the second matter.
The Liu clan needs soldiers to defend the land. We are recruiting young people between fourteen and twenty for training. Food and drink will be provided, you will be taught martial arts, and will receive a stipend of three hundred cash per month.”
Many eyes lit up at this.
Three hundred cash could buy one hundred fifty pounds of coarse grain—enough to feed a family for two months if used sparingly.
But most importantly, they would learn the martial path.
In this world, strength ruled all. Those who mastered martial arts could rise above their station.
Though soldiering was dangerous, it was better than starving.
The good news quickly dispelled the unease left by the madwoman’s outburst.
Many young people stepped forward eagerly.
“Father, Mother, I want to join,” Lu Yan said.
In his weeks here, and from inherited memory, he understood: the powerless lived and died at the whim of the strong.
He wanted to learn the martial path, to protect himself and his family—not be meat on someone else’s chopping block.
But training required money, unless one was exceptionally talented. He had none.
This was an opportunity he could not miss.
Without seeking his parents’ permission—knowing they’d never agree—he strode directly to the officer.
Lu Qingshan and Wang Cui tried to stop him, but it was too late.
“You’re too weak, your body not up to standard. Step aside,” the officer said after a glance.
Lu Yan had no choice but to withdraw, while his parents sighed in relief.
In the end, twelve youths were accepted and registered; soon they would leave with the officer.
An hour later, carts of grain and seed arrived. Each household received their share, along with a wooden placard bearing a house number. The doors of each house displayed the corresponding number—find your house, and you could move in.
Lu Qingshan received house number thirty-six.
Carrying their grain and seeds, they found their new home at the edge of the village. It was not large—mud walls, thatched roof, three rooms, a small hall, and a kitchen.
Rusty farm tools lay by the door, but the original owners were long gone.
Lu Qingshan and Wang Cui set to cleaning at once. Lu Yan tried to help, but they insisted he rest and recover.
By the time they finished, night had fallen. Wang Cui cooked a pot of coarse rice porridge.
The family gathered around the wooden table, eating with relish.
The porridge was coarse and unpalatable by past standards, but now it tasted sweet as honey.
A bowl of hot porridge warmed his body.
The despair and uncertainty of the road seemed to fade from his parents’ eyes, replaced by hope—hope for the future.
A house, land, grain, and seed—this was hope.
“Rest early, son. Tomorrow I’ll hunt in the mountains and bring you a hare to build your strength,” Lu Qingshan said.
That night, moonlight silvered the thatched cottage. Lu Yan lay on his wooden bed, his mind restless, unable to sleep.
Images flashed through his thoughts: the corpses along the road, the cavalryman’s terrible spear, the madwoman’s desperate screams…
For reasons he could not name, a sense of unease gnawed at him, dark as the midnight gloom.
“This world is full of danger. I must become strong. But what is this book in my mind? Why does it do nothing?”
Like many transmigrators, he had not come empty-handed. From his first day, he had discovered a book in his mind. Whenever he focused, it would appear before his inner eye—but no matter how he tried, it revealed no secrets or powers.
After many fruitless attempts, he had given up.
Tossing and turning in frustration, drowsiness finally overcame him and he drifted into sleep.
Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the night’s silence. Lu Yan sat bolt upright in bed.