Chapter 1: The Bailiffs Come Calling

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The Great Yu Dynasty, Year Seven of the Tianyuan Era, spring.

Nanxi Village, Qingsong Town.

Chen Ping struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids felt heavier than Mount Tai, and he could not lift them even a fraction. Yet every sound from the outside reached him with perfect clarity.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The door of the Chen family courtyard shook beneath a furious pounding. Baozheng Wang shouted from outside, “Old Chen, open up! The county yamen constables are here!”

The commotion had already roused everyone in the courtyard. One by one, they emerged from their rooms, initially intending to demand who could be so rude. But the moment they heard that constables had come, their faces turned deathly pale.

The entire Chen household consisted of simple, honest farmers. They paid their grain and taxes on time every season and had never had dealings with the authorities. For constables to appear at their door without warning could only mean that some great misfortune had befallen them.

The children all turned their eyes toward their aged father, Chen Qinghe.

Chen Qinghe appeared calm on the surface, but his heart was in turmoil. He instructed his eldest son, Chen Duoguang, “Go open the door and see what this is about.”

Though Chen Duoguang was already in his thirties, he was timid by nature. He nudged his second brother, Chen Duoshou. “You go.”

With a loud crash, the door was kicked open.

Well, there was no need for anyone to go now.

Two constables and Baozheng Wang entered the courtyard. Seeing the whole family gathered there, they paused in surprise. Everyone was home, yet they had pounded on the door without answer. It seemed they had indeed come to the right place.

Chen Qinghe glared at his useless sons and daughters-in-law. Then, forcing a smile onto his deeply wrinkled face, he hurried forward and asked, “Gentlemen, have you come to collect grain, or...?”

The slightly plump constable wore a grim expression. He said coldly, “We’re here on official business. Is Chen Duohai at home? Bring him out!”

Chen Qinghe’s heart sank. He knew trouble had arrived. Chen Duohai was his fourth son, an honest and simple man. How could he have provoked such fearsome figures into coming for him? Still, he asked cautiously, “He’s here, he’s here. But may I ask what crime my fourth son has committed?”

“Enough nonsense. Bring him out at once!” the other constable barked impatiently.

The eldest daughter-in-law, Madam Zhou, had teeth chattering with fear. She hurried toward the inner room, shouting, “Fourth Brother, what have you done? The constables have come to arrest you! If you’re a man, face it yourself. Don’t drag the whole family into this. What a calamity!”

Inside the room, Chen Duohai’s wife, Madam Xiang, heard this and flushed with anger. “Sister-in-law, how can you curse our husband like that? What could he possibly have done?”

Madam Zhou pointed toward the courtyard and said irritably, “It must be something serious, or the constables wouldn’t have come. I’ve delivered the message, so hurry outside!”

With that, she rushed away as though fleeing an epidemic.

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Chen Duohai and Madam Xiang looked at each other, utterly bewildered.

They had naturally heard the commotion outside, and Madam Zhou would not have dared to lie about something like this. There was a reason the couple had not gone out.

Their son, Chen Ping, had accidentally fallen into the river. Fortunately, Chen Duohai had been farming nearby and had leapt into the icy water to pull the boy out. After urgent resuscitation, the child had begun breathing again, and his heartbeat had steadied—but he remained unconscious.

Chen Duohai had no choice but to carry his son home. He and his wife changed the boy into dry clothes, slapped his cheeks, pinched his philtrum, and tried every method they could think of, but the child still would not wake. The couple were frantic and were discussing whether to go into town and summon a physician.

But before one crisis had passed, another had arrived.

Chen Duohai gave a bitter smile. “I’ll go out and see what this is about.”

Worried about her husband, Madam Xiang followed behind him.

One of the constables fixed him with a hard stare. “You’re Chen Duohai?”

Chen Duohai nodded blankly.

The fat constable narrowed his eyes, a sharp gleam flashing within them. With a wave of his hand, he said, “Come with us.”

The constable’s expression filled Chen Duohai with dread. Stammering, he said, “I... I haven’t broken the law. Why... why should I go with you?”

The fat constable sneered. “We suspect you’re involved in a murder. You’ll return with us and assist in the investigation.”

Everyone present was stunned by his words.

“What? Murder? I... I’ve never killed anyone! I’ve been framed!”

The two constables had no interest in hearing such a feeble defense. They stepped forward, forcibly subdued him, and dragged him away.

The Chen household instantly descended into chaos.

Chen Qinghe grabbed Baozheng Wang as he was about to leave and demanded an explanation. Only then did he learn that someone had died in the village. The body had been found beside the river.

The dead man was Zhu Fengshan, a good-for-nothing idler. His parents had passed away when he was young, and despite being well into his thirties, his laziness had kept him from finding a wife. He was the sort of bachelor who lived by the creed that one man’s hunger meant no one else had to eat. Whenever he had a little money, he spent it on drink, drifting through life in a perpetual stupor.

Ordinarily, if such a man died, no one would have found it particularly strange. It was entirely possible that he had simply drunk too much and fallen into the river.

Unfortunately, several days earlier, Zhu Fengshan had clashed with Chen Duohai. Drunk at the time, Zhu had encountered the attractive Madam Xiang and begun harassing her with lewd remarks. When Chen Duohai learned of it, he had taught Zhu a lesson—pinning him to the ground and rubbing his face against it... against the rough, uneven earth.

More unfortunately still, villagers had seen Chen Duohai near the place where Zhu Fengshan’s body was discovered.

There was a motive, and there was an eyewitness. That was why the constables had come to arrest him.

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“It’s impossible... Baozheng Wang, you know what Fourth Brother is like. He wouldn’t have the courage to kill anyone. This must be some kind of misunderstanding.”

Chen Qinghe’s old eyes reddened as he pleaded with Wang to speak a word on their behalf. Being implicated in a murder could cost a man his head.

Wang sighed. “Brother Chen, believing in him won’t do any good. The evidence is practically conclusive. You should... prepare yourself.”

Upon hearing this, Madam Xiang was overcome by panic. Her vision went black, and she fainted.

...

At that moment, Chen Ping finally opened his heavy eyelids. He glanced around at his surroundings and was utterly bewildered.

He was in a low, dilapidated southern room. The plaster had long since fallen from the walls, leaving them uneven and pitted in many places. The furnishings were sparse: battered tables and chairs exuded a strong air of antiquity, and even the door hung crookedly on its hinges.

Where am I?

Chen Ping began to question his entire existence. He pinched his thigh and, feeling the pain, confirmed that he was not dreaming. And then... his mind filled with question marks.

A raging tide of memories that did not belong to him surged into his mind, leaving him no choice but to accept them.

Chen Ping, seven years old, born in Nanxi Village, Qingsong Town, Qianzhou, within the Great Yu Dynasty. His father was Chen Duohai, and his mother was Madam Xiang...

After merging with the memories of a seven-year-old child—well... there really was not much to remember—Chen Ping quickly understood his current situation.

He had been reborn.

Damn the heavens, this is unfair!

The protagonists in transmigration stories usually found themselves in the residences of princes and ministers. At the very least, they were born into wealthy and influential families. Yet he had become a peasant boy.

If there were an award for the unluckiest transmigrator, he would take first place without the slightest competition.

The worst part was that, from what he had just heard, his cheap father had become entangled in a murder case. Would the story now proceed with a widowed mother and orphaned son clinging to each other for survival?

How terrifying!

Chen Ping felt his scalp prickle.

His father had died right at the beginning, and he was supposed to don mourning clothes and play the dutiful son?

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