Chapter One: Escaping Prison—The Beginning of My Journey

Let it be spoken and let it be heard, rain falls like silk upon bean trellises and melon vines. One might tire of earthly words, preferring instead the poetry sung by ghosts at autumn graves.

...

Shen Shi felt as if his face had shattered.

He barely managed to open his eyes, only to shut them again at once; even the slightest movement sent sharp pains coursing through every nerve in his face, radiating across his entire body, every inch aching as if torn apart.

After lying still for a while with his eyes closed, the pain eased somewhat.

Bearing the agony that wracked his whole body, Shen Shi struggled to sit up. His fingers told him, unmistakably, that he was lying on straw—there was no mistaking that texture.

Slowly gathering his strength, Shen Shi opened his eyes once more. Before him, a mottled brown locust with patterned wings twitched its antennae, its black, beady eyes glancing at Shen Shi with apparent disdain. It showed no fear, continuing to twitch its feelers.

Shen Shi grew furious.

He felt that the locust regarded him as nothing but a loser, and this contempt stoked his anger. He reached out and snatched the insect.

“Hey! You’ve come around? Don’t waste it—here, this is tastier than chicken drumsticks in a place like this,” came the voice of an old man.

Without thinking, Shen Shi shoved the locust into his mouth and chewed fiercely.

It tasted surprisingly good, with a faint salty flavor and juicy flesh.

As he chewed, Shen Shi tried to stand. All around him was unfamiliar—a blackened wall, weathered wood, and a pervasive smell of mold.

Opposite him sat an old man, mouth agape, drooling as he stared at Shen Shi, hungry as a rutting hippopotamus.

Where am I?

The question came unbidden.

“You rascal, you’ve really done it—killed a cow to eat. Don’t you know there's a royal decree forbidding the slaughter of cattle?” the old man rambled on, not caring whether Shen Shi was listening.

From the old man’s ramblings, Shen Shi quickly understood his situation—or rather, his predicament.

First, he was a subject of the Great Song, living in Tu Bu Li Village, Jinhua, Zhejiang, a member of the Shen family, aged fifteen by the calendar, seventeen by traditional reckoning.

...

It was said that the Shen family’s ancestors were military officers, once illustrious but later fallen from grace. Such decline was not uncommon in the Song dynasty.

As the saying goes, adversity brings change. The Shen family was no exception. After Shen Shi’s great-grandmother lost her husband, she decreed that all the men of the household should abandon martial pursuits and devote themselves to scholarship—study for the imperial exams.

It couldn’t be said that her decision was wrong, but switching from arms to letters was no easy feat.

For three generations, not one member of the Shen family managed to pass even the preliminary exams. The former Shen Shi was among them.

Failing the exams was unfortunate, but not surprising given their family history. The trouble was, after Shen Shi failed, he drowned his sorrows in drink and meat—beef, no less. He was caught red-handed by the authorities.

Slaughtering a cow for meat—such a crime! In an agrarian society, farming and grain production were the foundation of the state, and draught cattle were vital tools. Sometimes a single ox was more valuable than a grown man. Thus, the wanton slaughter of cattle was forbidden. Ownership, sale, death, and the reasons for a cow’s demise all had to be registered with the authorities.

For a group of failed scholars to slaughter a cow and drink—who else would be arrested if not them? The original Shen Shi fell into a fever in prison and died; Shen Shi transmigrated.

“Wait a moment. I didn’t kill a cow,” Shen Shi recalled the memories of his predecessor. He did eat beef, but never killed a cow himself.

“You didn’t kill a cow?” the old man asked.

“Indeed, I did not,” Shen Shi affirmed.

“Didn’t kill a cow…”

The old man scrutinized him, finding no sign of deceit. After a moment, he said, “All right, all right. I haven’t done a good deed in years. I’ll give you a book—escape through this passage.”

He stood, moved the straw behind him, revealing a hidden tunnel.

“What are you—” Shen Shi began, but before he could finish, a jailer called out, “Chen Ablin, Chen Ablin, it’s time to go.”

The old man shoved the book into Shen Shi’s arms, hurriedly pulling him toward the passage. “Go! Don’t lose your life over a cow!”

“But I—”

“Enough! If you stay, they’ll make you a scapegoat!”

Without giving Shen Shi a chance to protest, the old man sealed the passage behind him. Shen Shi was left bewildered, as his eyes began to display—

...

Zhuge Wolong, Grand Academician of the Celestial Pavilion...

Was this not the Song dynasty, but the world of Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio?

With this possibility, Shen Shi would not linger in the cell. He slipped away through the tunnel at once.

His first task upon escaping was to look for a horse. According to the narrative, Kunlun’s qi cultivator, Autumn Leaf, should be nearby dealing with some business…

He was overthinking it. First, he wasn’t Ning Caichen; second, even if he were, the timing wouldn’t be so conveniently aligned.

Shen Shi found nothing, not even a path down the mountain. Unbeknownst to him, he drifted into sleep.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. His cheek felt warm and damp, as if a puppy were licking him. Startled, Shen Shi opened his eyes.

A small creature, resembling a rural puppy, was licking his face.

He described it as “resembling” because he wasn’t certain. The little thing had a pair of long ears, almost like tiny wings, a plump face, golden fur gleaming like silk, a protruding belly, and two large, spinning eyes. Shen Shi stared at it in astonishment, but his eyes no longer displayed any text. The little creature, curious, stared back at him.

So he decided to treat it as a puppy.

Suddenly, the pup spat out a wild fruit, nudging it toward Shen Shi.

Seeing the fruit covered in slobbery saliva, Shen Shi shook his head, refusing the gesture. He wasn’t desperate enough to drink dog drool.

Night had fallen, and there was no way down the mountain. Shen Shi studied the little creature, who seemed utterly fearless, amusing him.

It weighed barely a pound; Shen Shi gently lifted it off his stomach and set it on the ground.

“Your belly isn’t a seat, little one!” Shen Shi stuck out his tongue, unable to resist stroking its chubby face and making a funny face.

“Grrr—” The creature let out a contented sigh, gurgling as it mimicked Shen Shi’s expression, its pink tongue flicking in and out.

“So cute. Yet it’s even less like a dog now.” Shen Shi pinched its cheek, his palm filled with a soft, pudgy sensation.