Chapter One: The Unexpected

Zhang Xuan was raised by his grandfather, who poured his heart and soul into ensuring Zhang Xuan grew up well. In his final year before graduation, his grandfather fell ill. With no money for treatment, his grandfather passed away, leaving Zhang Xuan alone.

Later, Zhang Xuan succeeded in the provincial civil service exam and became a government official. Everything seemed to fall into place, as if fate had arranged it all. He believed that one could only rely on oneself, so he worked diligently at his job, saving every penny over four years until he had managed to put aside a small sum.

He dreamed of settling down in the small county town, imagining a peaceful and happy life. In his spare time, without letting it interfere with his main responsibilities, Zhang Xuan took on all sorts of part-time jobs—waiting tables, doing online tasks, testing online games, and more. Game testing was the most common; he spent countless hours reviewing browser games. He also played popular games of the time, from competitive shooters to strategy games inspired by the Three Kingdoms.

Life in the small county was fulfilling. Through game testing, he learned and grew, whether it was paper-making, iron-smelting, oil refining, or even feng shui—skills used within the virtual worlds. Though most of this knowledge was theoretical and gleaned from game mechanics, it was, in a sense, an accumulation of experience.

But fate is unpredictable. When bad luck strikes, even a sip of water can choke you, and a walk down the street can bring disaster.

Just after paying the down payment on his first apartment, agreement in hand and heart full of joy, Zhang Xuan strolled through the city streets. Without warning, a flowerpot fell from above, striking him squarely on the head.

He collapsed instantly onto the pavement, causing a commotion among passersby—someone dialed emergency services, others pressed his philtrum, pounded his chest, performed chest compressions. As the ambulance siren wailed in the distance, everything faded to black, as if all had returned to its beginning...

He didn't know how long had passed before he began to wake, groggy and confused, his mind replaying the moments before he lost consciousness. He looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

He was not in a hospital—of that he was certain. The room was unfamiliar: a wooden bed, a blanket so thin and coarse it could hardly be called a blanket. The material was unfamiliar, neither cotton nor anything synthetic, almost like hemp. The walls were made of mud, there was no television, no mobile phone, no computer, not even a single wire or outlet. The room was empty, not even a proper wooden table.

It felt like being transported back to his childhood, to the days when he and his grandfather depended on each other, though the house then was built of wood, not mud. Zhang Xuan tried to recall what had happened before, but his head throbbed and he slipped into unconsciousness once more.

He thought he heard voices calling him, someone pinching his philtrum, pressing his chest, but he couldn’t open his eyes to see what was happening. And then, nothing.

Eventually, he staggered up from the bed, dazed, convinced he was dreaming—a long, vivid dream. It seemed like the world of his childhood, but even bleaker. He shuffled to the door, which was ajar, and pushed it open.

Stepping outside, his certainty grew—this could not be the twenty-first century. Low, dilapidated buildings stretched before him, as if the aftermath of some ancient war. The houses were battered and broken, the few that remained upright still smoldered with dying embers.

Faced with this unfamiliar world, Zhang Xuan felt utterly lost and helpless. This must be a dream, he thought, and wandered back to the bed, hoping that when he next woke, everything would be back to normal. As he lay down, he looked at himself, suddenly realizing he was shorter—and sturdier—than before. His hands looked unfamiliar, so smooth and tender, nothing like those of a man nearing thirty, who had worked so many part-time jobs. He looked more like a ten-year-old child.

He searched the room for a mirror or anything with a reflection, but there was nothing—just the bed and that strange, rough blanket.

Defeated, he collapsed onto the bed, racking his brain for memories after he fainted, but everything seemed vague and powerless.

He didn't know how long he lay there before his stomach began to rumble with hunger. He wondered why this dream felt so real, even the sensation of hunger.

He sat up instinctively, reaching for his phone to order takeout, fingers searching for the familiar apps, but found nothing but empty air.

A sense of futility swept over him and he drifted back into a daze.

When he woke again, he hoped desperately that he would find himself back in the familiar world of the twenty-first century. But reality was harsh, full of disappointment—like the unattainable dreams spun by certain stars in distant lands, there for admiration but never to be grasped.

Ultimately, hunger forced him to get up and, for the first time, step through the door.

He had no idea where he was. Was this heaven or hell? Had he been sold to some remote mountain village? But it was already the twenty-first century—China had basically achieved a moderately prosperous society. How could there still be such backward places? Had he been trafficked to Africa or some other distant country during his coma?

But Zhang Xuan wasn’t a young girl in her prime, and he had no value for traffickers, unless someone wanted his organs. Would anyone really go so far as to buy a boy for childbearing?

Though the world is full of madmen, anything seems possible.

Leaning on the wall, he made his way out, feeling increasingly certain that all this was but a dream. The desolation around him looked like the remnants of war. Perhaps he was the sole survivor.

He took a few steps, gathered his courage, and ventured further, determined to discover what had happened here. Whether he could make it or not would depend on his own abilities.

“You’re awake.”