Chapter 1: The Mouse Has Teeth, Yet Man Knows No Bounds (Please Add to Favorites)

When Yang Tian opened his eyes, he found himself lying on an ancient canopy bed, fragrant with the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. For a moment, he was dazed. Where am I?

On the writing desk, the feeble glow of an oil lamp flickered in the breeze drifting through the window, as though it might be snuffed out at any instant. Judging by the light outside, it was daytime.

Wasn’t I supposed to be dead?

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his head, making him clutch it with both hands as his mind spun. Only after a long while did he recover.

So I’ve crossed over to another world!

What he had just experienced was the influx of his predecessor’s memories—fragmented, chaotic images rapidly merging together.

Yang Tian, second son of the Champion Marquis of Qin.

Earlier that day, urgent news had arrived from the frontier—a calamity. The Champion Marquis and his eldest son, who had been guarding the border, had fallen to enemy blades. On learning of this, the former Yang Tian was overwhelmed with grief and rage, lost control of his martial cultivation, and died coughing blood on the spot. It was at that instant that Yang Tian from Earth crossed over.

A seamless transition.

To outsiders, the previous self did not die—he had merely fainted.

Now, having absorbed all the memories, Yang Tian felt his scalp tingle and cold sweat break out over his body. His predecessor was not so fragile; the deaths of his father and brother alone should not have been enough to kill him.

The fatal blow lay elsewhere: the court blamed the Champion Marquis for his own demise. Not only would there be no commendation, but instead, censure and punishment would follow.

The only reason his predecessor still lay in the marquisate’s bed and not the dungeons was that he had never regained consciousness.

For generations, the Champion Marquis’s family had rendered extraordinary service to Qin. Before passing judgment, the last surviving direct heir had to be awake, lest the family’s enemies find further pretext for reproach.

But the entire marquisate was already encircled by the imperial guard, with no one allowed to enter or leave.

This was a dead end.

Yang Tian quickly pieced it together. The deaths of the Champion Marquis and his son were certainly the result of a conspiracy. Loyal retainers had risked their lives to deliver a secret letter from the border—not explaining what had happened, only urging immediate flight.

But it was already too late.

The court’s envoys soon arrived, announcing that the Champion Marquis had perished due to his own reckless decisions, resulting not only in his own death, but the loss of tens of thousands of soldiers, the fall of a key border city, and a surge in the enemy’s morale.

Piecing together his predecessor’s memories, Yang Tian surmised that one of the Qin princes was behind it all. The Champion Marquis had defended the frontier for over twenty years, fought over a hundred battles, and never made a fatal error in strategy—nor did he ever decide alone.

To blame such a disaster on the Champion Marquis was nothing but a farce.

For over a century, the power of Wei had been held at bay by the efforts of three generations of Champion Marquises. Even the enemy, the state of Wei, acknowledged the Champion Marquis as one of Qin’s pillars and their own greatest nemesis—only by removing him could they hope to take Qin.

Thus, the Champion Marquis should have been honored and revered. But due to a major upheaval within Qin, all were caught in the storm.

The present monarch had fallen ill, temporarily appointing the Crown Prince, Qin Yong, as regent. The Crown Prince’s position was shaky; he lacked the authority to suppress his brothers. The throne lay ahead, and none of the princes were content to yield. Each employed every artifice—alliances, intrigues, suppression.

The Champion Marquis remained steadfastly loyal to Qin and the king—a stance of neutrality. In such times, this meant, in the eyes of the other princes, that he sided with the Crown Prince. If they could not win him over, he must be eliminated, lest he lend his strength to the regent.

Blinded by power, they cast aside all virtue. Removing the Champion Marquis would also create opportunities to promote their own men.

Thus, the Marquis had undoubtedly fallen victim to a calculated plot.

Yang Tian could imagine the court filled with accusations of the Marquis’s grievous errors, perhaps even charges of treason, all aimed at eradicating his legacy utterly—stripping hereditary titles, consigning direct kin to the dungeons, or even exterminating the entire clan.

That was why Yang Tian felt such despair.

The marquisate was surrounded; escape was impossible. Once the tree falls, the monkeys scatter—those who once called themselves friends would now keep silent, their support useless even if they spoke.

Admittedly, the Marquis’s house had never been skilled in forming alliances. Each generation married only once, with no more than three children; all sons went to war, and most died in battle. There were no sprawling family branches—power was thinly spread.

By this generation, aside from one elder brother, there were no cousins or kin. Now, he alone remained.

Most generals loyal to the state who refused to adapt met a tragic end.

It was a world that preyed on the honest.

A deep, cold sadness welled up within Yang Tian.

He had, by some miracle, been granted life again—he did not want to die. Yet, faced with the might of an entire nation, and his own ruined martial foundation, what could he do?

The end seemed inevitable: either execution of his entire house, or life in a lightless cell awaiting oblivion.

“Ding—”

Yang Tian unconsciously made a mechanical sound.

Nothing happened.

He realized that the only way to break the deadlock might be the golden finger—every transmigrator’s secret boon.

What was going on? Could it be that he’d been given nothing at all?

“System, show yourself—your host faces urgent matters!” Yang Tian called out anxiously, trying everything he could think of.

Silence.

Despair took hold.

Without a golden finger to aid him, how could he hope to survive the coming disaster, let alone rise above it?

“No—I can’t give up. There must be a way.” Sitting up, Yang Tian forced himself to recall all of his predecessor’s memories, searching desperately for a path to survival.

If there was no golden finger, he would have to save himself.

Fortunately, he had not yet been thrown into the death cells—there remained a sliver of hope.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

Yang Tian reflexively reached out, tense, as if to grasp something, then realized in his weakened state, it was futile.

“At last you’re awake. I was terribly worried and came to see you myself.” The man in the doorway wore a golden robe embroidered with serpentine dragons, his tone seemingly concerned.

He was the Crown Prince of Qin—Qin Yong.

Yang Tian said nothing, his expression a mask of sorrow and despair.

Neither the Crown Prince nor the princes were men to be trusted. With the Champion Marquis gone, he held no further value to any of them.

The Crown Prince would not risk conflict with his brothers to save him; more likely, he would use this incident as a bargaining chip.

“My friend, do take care of yourself and try to find solace,” the prince offered, feigning sympathy. Then, with a clear shift in tone, he continued, “As for the matter of the Champion Marquis—alas, forgive my powerlessness. Still, rest assured, I’ll do everything in my power to protect your life. But as you know, my own position is precarious—I may need you to do something for yourself as well.”

“Oh? There’s something I can do for myself?” Yang Tian asked, feigning confusion.

He truly had no idea what Qin Yong was after.

“Your family’s martial arts…” the prince hinted.

In that instant, Yang Tian understood—he had not yet mastered the memories of his predecessor, but this much was clear: the prince meant to wring every drop of value from him.

How shameless! He recalled an old saying: “Even a rat has teeth, but a man may lack resolve!” The words slipped out before he realized.

“What did you say?” Crown Prince Qin Yong asked in surprise.

But Yang Tian could no longer pay him any mind. It was as if he had fallen into a dream, and within that dream, he saw inside his mind a vast and boundless tome, its countless pages closed tightly together.

A shiver ran through him—a sudden flash of inspiration.

A new piece of information surfaced in his memory: the Book of China could be unlocked with fortune.