Chapter Two: Origins

“Brother! You’re finally awake!” The young man stared at him in astonishment for a moment, then, without further ado, threw himself forward and hugged him tightly around the neck, his entire body trembling violently with excitement.

Who is he? Where am I? Do I know him? He…?

A chaotic tide of thoughts crashed through his mind, leaving him vacant and bewildered, completely at a loss as to how to respond, until the other’s overzealous embrace nearly strangled him.

“Cough, cough…”

“Oh, I was so overjoyed I forgot… Brother, you’re still hurt! Let me get you some water right away! Lie down!”

The youth, though in ragged clothes and with the disheveled look of a beggar, acted with a certain roughness. Yet, as soon as he realized his mistake, he released his grip in embarrassed haste, propping his still-breathless brother up half-seated against the wall, before hurrying to a battered table in the room to pour a bowl of water from a clay jug.

Finally calming his coughing, he shook his head slightly and surveyed the dim little room.

To call it a room was generous—it was more like the half-ruined remains of a once-standing house. One of the earth walls had collapsed halfway, allowing an unobstructed view of the wild weeds flourishing outside. Where a door should have been, a rotted plank stood bravely, offering little defense against the wind.

His throat bobbed with surprise at the sight of the place, which looked like the hovel of a poor peasant in a period drama.

Aside from the small table with its jug and a few old chests, only the tattered straw mat atop the earthen platform served as anything resembling furniture.

“Brother! Drink some water, please—you’ve been unconscious for two days, I was so worried!” The youth, who kept calling him brother, returned with the bowl, his face shining with genuine joy, though his eyes were rimmed red and heavy dark circles betrayed many sleepless nights.

“Here, slowly now…” The youth gently tipped the water toward his parched lips.

Only then, as if suddenly awakening, did he realize just how dry his throat was. He seized the bowl and drank deeply of the cool, sweet liquid.

The ache throughout his body eased a little, but when he looked down, he could not suppress a startled cry.

This body was gaunt, all skin and bone, covered in bruises and scars—nothing like the strong, muscular physique of a special forces officer!

“Brother, wait, I’ll get you another bowl!” Seeing him drain the water, the youth grew even happier, taking the empty bowl and hurrying back to the table.

“Wait…” he rasped, forcing out the words. Now that his thirst was slaked, he was desperate to solve the troubling mystery before him through this unfamiliar yet eager young man.

The youth paused, set down the bowl, and returned to his side, perching on a block of wood and gathering his tangled hair behind him.

“I know you must have a lot of questions. These past few days, I—”

“Why is my body like this? And who are you?” He forced out a hoarse shout with all his strength, which immediately triggered a fit of violent coughing and left him limp and weak.

The youth, mouth open to speak, was struck dumb by these words. Staring in astonishment at his exhausted, bewildered brother, he could not reply for a long moment.

“Brother… you… you don’t remember?” The youth reached out to touch his forehead hesitantly, and tears welled up in his eyes. “How could they beat you like this! You don’t even recognize me?”

Unable to hold back any longer, the boy collapsed onto him, sobbing openly in grief and frustration.

He stared blankly at the weeping youth, and suddenly a stab of pain pierced his mind as fragments of memory, belonging to the body’s original owner, flashed rapidly before him.

He saw a kindly middle-aged couple smiling at him—the man holding a book, the woman spinning thread. He saw the youth running toward him, laughing, with wild fruits in his hands, only to trip and fall, covering himself in mud from the fields.

Then, the scene shifted. A bloody whip lashed down on him; the youth, crying out, tried to shield him, but was kicked aside by a fierce-looking constable, and another pinned the boy to the ground with a fire-hardened stick.

Another stroke of the whip, and he jolted awake from the memories, sweat beading on his forehead. These vivid scenes were deeply etched into the mind of the body’s former owner.

Watching the boy sob uncontrollably, he found himself wanting to comfort him.

“Xiaofeng!”

He moved his throat, and a name burst forth, unbidden, like a wild horse.

The youth trembled at the sound, then, tears still trembling in his eyes, gazed at his brother in astonished joy, hugging him again and stammering between sobs, “Uuh… thank goodness… I thought… I thought… they’d beaten you… silly…”

Seeing this, his heart swelled with pity and tenderness. He wrapped his right arm around the boy, gently patting his back.

“Then… what year and month is it now?” he asked once the youth’s excitement had calmed. He urgently needed to know what era he had been reborn into.

“The second year of Yuankang under the Great Liang, the ninth day of the seventh month…”

The boy, still sniffling, looked up in a daze.

“Great Liang?” Qi Jun racked his memory. Xia, Shang, Zhou, Spring and Autumn, Warring States… he quickly ran through the dynasties in his mind.

“Could it be the one established by Xiao Yan during the Southern and Northern Dynasties?” He settled on what seemed the most likely answer.

He straightened, about to say more, when the sound of the door being pushed from outside interrupted him.

The battered wooden plank fell to the ground, and a village woman poked her head in, carrying a bamboo basket covered with a tattered cloth.

“Aunt Zhao!” The youth turned, clearly recognizing her.

“My brother’s awake!”

The boy couldn’t wait to announce it. The woman’s eyes lit up with delight when she saw where the boy was pointing.

“Auntie, look after my brother for a moment—I’m going to tell the elders!” Without waiting for a reply, the youth dashed out gleefully.

“Qi Jun! You’re finally awake—Heavens be praised!” The woman wiped her eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed without heed for the dust.

Qi Jun… At last, he knew the name of this body’s original owner. Not a bad name, he thought.

“The day Xiaofeng carried you back, you were covered in blood. Everyone was terribly worried!” The woman clutched her chest as she spoke, still shaken. “Now there’s only you two brothers left in the Qi family. If anything happened to you, how could we answer to your poor departed parents?”

She wiped her tears, lifted the cloth from the bamboo basket to reveal some greens and a few eggs, and continued, “You’re a scholar, frail of body; Xiaofeng is still so young. You mustn’t clash with them again! It’s a miracle you survived.”

“Yes, I understand…” he replied, though he was still puzzling over the chaotic memories. Who were “they”? That part was still a jumble…

As he agreed aloud, his mind worked quickly through the tangled clues, and he soon grasped the general outline.

At the moment he was struck by the bandit’s bullet, Captain Zheng Duofeng of the special forces team “Dark Wolf” had died a martyr in his own time and space.

By some twist of fate, he was now reborn in another world as “Qi Jun.”

Qi Jun, a scholar, born to an impoverished home, orphaned of both parents, with only a younger brother left in all the world.

“This is a tough start,” he thought ruefully. “And I still have no idea what era I’m in…”

The woman, seeing him deep in thought, waved a hand before his face and called his name, drawing him back from his reverie.

“Don’t dwell on it—waking up is what matters!” She smiled, pushing the bamboo basket toward him. “When I heard Xiaofeng laughing and crying, I hurried over! I’ve made a few corn cakes—you and Xiaofeng eat them to stave off hunger.”

It was plain the woman’s own household was not well off; these were likely the best foodstuffs she could offer.

“Auntie, this…” Qi Jun tried to push the basket back, but the woman was insistent, pressing it firmly into his arms.

Just as he was about to refuse, his stomach let out a series of embarrassing growls. He could only smile awkwardly, cup his hands in thanks, and accept Aunt Zhao’s kindness.

“Take it, child. Who in Dongling Village doesn’t remember your parents’ kindness? Everyone holds your family in their hearts! If only…” At this, Aunt Zhao wiped her tears again.

Qi Jun was about to ask more when a sudden commotion arose outside.