Volume One: Wandering Unfettered Amidst Indistinguishable Paper Leaves Chapter One: The Earth God’s Shrine

In the midst of a torrential downpour, a bolt of lightning, like a chain of fire, flickered briefly beneath the night sky, followed by a thunderclap that sounded as if the heavens themselves were shattering, echoing in all directions and shaking the earth.

Yang Ning opened his eyes. Once he took in his surroundings, he made an irrevocable decision—he was going to act.

If a problem could be settled with fists, he preferred not to trouble his intellect.

The scene before him was infuriating: three or four burly young men were beating a ragged, disheveled fellow. The victim lay curled on the ground, arms over his head, offering no resistance.

Yang Ning had no objection to fighting. In fact, he rather enjoyed the sensation of his fist landing on an opponent. But bullying with numbers was something he detested. Anyone who made him unhappy would find he could make them even more miserable.

“Stop!” Yang Ning shouted, his voice ringing out as he tried to assert dominance and intimidate the crowd.

But his voice fell short of the thunderous force he’d intended; it sounded weak and powerless.

Even so, it was enough to make the group pause and turn to look at him.

Only then did Yang Ning see clearly that the attackers were no cleaner than their victim. They too were unkempt, their clothes worn and filthy—each looked every bit the beggar.

“Little Mink...?” one young man with hair like a mop gawked at Yang Ning as he staggered to his feet, astonishment plain on his face.

Yang Ning felt a strange weakness in his body but set it aside. He said coldly, “If you’re men, settle it one on one. What’s the point of ganging up on someone?”

The wild-haired youth looked Yang Ning up and down, then strode over slowly. Suddenly, he grinned. “So you didn’t die after all?” He reached out, aiming to clap Yang Ning’s shoulder.

Yang Ning, seeing the outstretched hand, reacted instinctively. He seized the man’s wrist and, before his opponent could react, twisted his arm behind his back and pressed down hard. There was a crisp crack, and the man’s scream split the air.

Such empty-handed fighting was Yang Ning’s specialty. Dislocating someone’s arm took little effort.

The youth’s arm hung limp, his other hand clutching his shoulder, sweat beading on his forehead as his face turned deathly pale.

The remaining men exchanged glances. Two beggars, each wielding a stick, approached Yang Ning from either side.

Yang Ning smiled coolly, his gaze dropping. At his feet, he spotted a stick and with a swift movement, kicked it up into his hand.

With a shout, the two men swung their sticks at him from left and right.

Yang Ning sneered. His stick flashed like lightning. Years of military training had taught him to use anything as a weapon. Though his attackers came on fiercely, to Yang Ning they were hardly a threat. Were his body not still sluggish, he could have taken them unarmed.

Now, with a stick in hand, he certainly wasn’t at a disadvantage.

With two sharp cracks, he deflected their blows, sidestepped, and drove a heavy punch into one man’s face. With a scorpion-like kick, he struck the other in the groin. Both screamed—one collapsed, clutching his legs, the other dropped his stick and clutched his bleeding nose.

Yang Ning shook his head; these opponents were hardly challenging enough to give him any sense of accomplishment.

He looked up. Another man stood ahead, gripping a stick and staring blankly at him.

Yang Ning raised his own stick, pointing it at the last man. “Come on, it’s your turn.”

His body, though still a bit stiff and weak, felt better after the exertion.

The man glanced at his companions, his hand trembling on the stick. Suddenly, he dropped it to the floor and managed a nervous smile, “Little Mink, I... I’m not fighting you...!”

“Little Mink?” Yang Ning was taken aback. It was the second time he’d heard this name. “What Little Mink?” He stepped forward, stick in hand.

The man hesitated, then, seeing Yang Ning’s stick still pointed at him, pleaded, “Little Mink, it... it wasn’t my idea. I... I was forced...!” He pointed at the youth with the dislocated arm. “It... it was Monkey. It was all Monkey’s idea...!”

Yang Ning shot a glance at the wild-haired youth—Monkey—and then looked down at himself. His expression changed.

He’d found the others’ ragged clothes odd, but now realized his own were even worse—tatters barely covering skin streaked with grime.

He looked around. The place was dim, the walls mottled and stained. A pile of firewood burned nearby. Overhead, rain pattered through a thatched roof riddled with holes.

Heavens.

Yang Ning was sure he was dreaming—only this dream felt far too real.

“Little Mink, you... you’re alive?” The battered man on the ground looked up, his face bruised and swollen but his eyes alight with joy.

At the sight of that face, Yang Ning’s head spun. In that instant, countless scenes flashed through his mind, intersecting and overlapping, and this face stood out in sharp detail among them.

What had happened? Where was he?

The man appeared to be in his fifties, gaunt and frail, his shirt open to reveal a chest as thin as kindling, ribs standing out clearly.

The surroundings were utterly unfamiliar. Yang Ning looked at his hands. The stick dropped from his grasp.

These hands... were not his own. They were callused, like his original hands, but smaller, more delicate.

Stunned, he felt his own face. He knew his own features well, but this face was thinner, the jawline not yet fully formed—nothing like his own sharp, well-defined countenance.

Yang Ning’s legs gave out and he collapsed, dazed.

The old man, battered from the beating, looked at Yang Ning with concern. “Little Mink, what’s wrong?”

Yang Ning suddenly beckoned to the man who hadn’t yet tasted his wrath. The fellow hesitated, but finally edged over.

“My name is Little Mink?” Yang Ning asked, fixing the man with a stare.

The man nodded immediately.

“What is this place?” Yang Ning pressed.

“This is the Earth God Temple, west of the city.”

“The Earth God Temple?” Yang Ning looked around again, thinking the local deity must be sorely put upon. “Why am I here? Which city is this ‘west of the city’?”

“Weize City!” the man replied. “A hundred li north is the Huai River. Little... Little Mink, don’t you remember? You came to the city half a year ago, then Boss Fang took you into the Beggars’ Gang. You’re a member now.”

“Wait a minute!” Yang Ning exclaimed, horrified. “Beggars’ Gang? What do you mean?” He glanced at their clothes, his heart sinking. “You mean, you’re all beggars?”

“So are you,” the man reminded him kindly. “We’re all disciples of the Beggars’ Gang.” He eyed Yang Ning with a trace of sympathy. “Little Mink, have you... have you forgotten everything because you’re ill?”

“Beggars’ Gang? Little Mink? Weize City?” Yang Ning pinched his own arm. The sharp pain made his expression even grimmer as realization dawned. “Damn it, is this... is this transmigration?”

“Transmigration?” The man asked humbly, “What does that mean?”

Yang Ning snapped, “Never mind. Tell me, that guy—” he gestured at Monkey, still clutching his shoulder and groaning, “Monkey, right? What was his idea?”

The man hesitated, glanced at Monkey, weighed his options, then said, “Monkey thought you were dying, so he tried to force Old Tree Bark out of the temple. Little Mink... I didn’t agree, but if I hadn’t, he’d have chased me out too.”

“Old Tree Bark?” Yang Ning looked at the elderly beggar. Memories flooded his mind, including scenes of Old Tree Bark feeding him. Standing, he went over to help the battered old man up, his tone much gentler. “You... you’re Old Tree Bark? You’ve been taking care of me?”

The old man’s eyes were filled with joy as he patted Yang Ning, his hands trembling with concern. “Little Mink, thank heaven you’ve woken up. The gods have watched over you...!”

Yang Ning cared nothing for divine providence right now—he only wanted to know what kind of world he was in.

“So you all thought I was dying and decided to throw this poor old man out in a thunderstorm?” Yang Ning felt his intervention was entirely justified. Looking at Old Tree Bark’s bruised face, his voice turned icy. “Come here, all of you, and apologize to Old Tree Bark. If he forgives you, that’s the end of it. Otherwise...!”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s all over...” Old Tree Bark said hastily.

Yang Ning ignored him, pointing at Monkey. “You—come here.”

Monkey, his arm useless and wracked with pain, dared not defy Yang Ning. He shuffled over and bowed his head. “Old Tree Bark, I... I was wrong, please...!”

“What was that?” Yang Ning said coldly. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Old Tree Bark, I’m an ungrateful wretch, I was wrong. Please, you’re a generous man, forgive me this once...” By the end, Monkey was drenched in cold sweat.

With Monkey leading, the others quickly followed suit, bowing and apologizing in turn. “Old Tree Bark, we were confused. Please don’t hold it against us. We won’t treat you like this again...!”

Accustomed to mistreatment, Old Tree Bark was flustered by their sudden repentance. “Get up, all of you. It’s all in the past...”

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