Chapter One: The All-Nighter Writer Is Gone

Tumen Village, thatched hut.

The hut was tiny, cramped and dim, with the air thick with the pungent aroma of medicinal soup and the choking smoke of damp wood burning. Originally lying on a straw bed, Gou Ye, after a bout of urgent coughing, pounded his chest and slowly sat up, leaning his body against the wall to gently catch his breath.

In his previous life, Gou Ye was one of the countless obscure online writers, whose daily labor consisted of endless typing, hoping that one day he would become a sensation across the internet, buy a house, a car, marry a beautiful wife, and travel the world together. But his erratic routine and overwhelming workload finally took their toll; one night, as he burned the midnight oil writing, his life simply ended.

His departure was abrupt, with many goals left unfulfilled. The hardest to let go was the new novel he had been about to publish, which embodied all his dreams and expectations.

"Damn it! If only that novel had been released, it would have swept every major chart!" That was Gou Ye's last thought before his soul faded into unconsciousness.

Upon opening his eyes again, he found himself in this unfamiliar place, reborn in the body of a sickly youth who shared his name.

Gou Ye, this frail youth, owned nothing but this lone straw hut and three acres of farmland. Four years ago, on a certain night, marauders from a neighboring island suddenly raided the coastal towns, and his village was one of the unfortunate victims of this disaster.

Gou Ye's parents sacrificed themselves to protect the villagers, distracting the invaders with drums and gongs, and were ultimately slain when their strength gave out.

Left without support, Gou Ye endured hardship after hardship, bearing illness alone and hoping his immune system would someday conquer the disease.

Fortunately, the villagers, all warm-hearted, continued to help and rescue him, allowing him to survive to this day. Grateful for the kindness his parents had shown by leading away the raiders, everyone helped raise little Gou for four years.

Now, four years later, Gou Ye had reached eighteen—no longer a child in these times. He could attempt to earn a degree, farm land, or run a small business. If all else failed, he could become a laborer.

Although there was no declaration that laborers were people of status, the daily wages were enough for basic expenses like food.

Yet, Gou Ye, weakened by years of malnutrition, was as thin as a chick, unable to carry or lift anything, skilled only in reading. Without a father’s guidance, he had never even attempted the scholar’s exam. Lacking a teacher, he was an autodidact, a stray scholar.

A recent bout of cold had suddenly overwhelmed his fragile immune system.

Though the villagers pooled money to hire a doctor, it was all in vain. Gou Ye, breathing more out than in, seemed likely to die at any moment; not even the gods could save him. The villagers shook their heads in resignation and left the hut one by one.

Only a girl of similar age remained. Her name was Yun Niang.

She had come here as a child fleeing famine with her mother, and had often received help from Gou Ye’s parents.

During Gou Ye’s illness, it was Yun Niang who cared for him.

Seeing him rise from the bed and lean against the wall, Yun Niang’s tears fell as she rushed over to check on him.

“Gou Ye, Gou Ye, are you feeling better? Don’t scare me! I really thought you were dead just now—I don’t want you to die!”

“Yun Niang? Yun Niang?!”

Gou Ye, having absorbed all the memories of this sickly youth during his unconsciousness, was now recalling the past.

“I’m right here. Yun Niang is always here!”

Yun Niang hugged Gou Ye tightly.

“This is a bit too enthusiastic—just woke up and already being pressed into someone’s arms! Ah! I can’t breathe!”

Though his breaths grew rougher, Gou Ye had no intention of refusing. The girl before him, with willow brows, almond eyes, tearful gaze, slim but shapely figure, was so warm and comforting.

“Well, looks like it’s another journey down the path of poverty.”

He sighed bitterly in his heart, complaining, “What kind of trick is this, heavens? Why force me to walk the road of a poor wretch all over again?”

Suddenly, a pair of small hands touched Gou Ye’s head.

“Gou Ye, your fever’s gone, thank goodness!”

Yun Niang jumped up with excitement, the vigorous movement nearly suffocating Gou Ye.

“Stop, stop!” Gou Ye shouted, fearing that even if the fever was gone, Yun Niang might shake him to death.

“Gou Ye, do you know how worried I was?” Yun Niang was so afraid he’d die—if Gou Ye died, she couldn’t go on living.

Feeling Yun Niang’s warmth, Gou Ye, the perennial bachelor, was moved.

“Bah, she’s only fifteen!” The old lecher quickly banished his indecent thoughts. Whatever the case, he was alive again, and everything could be worked out.

“Gou Ye, are you hungry? I’ll cook you something.”

The young girl, realizing her loss of composure, blushed and fled, leaving Gou Ye sitting dumbly on the bed.

Soon, Yun Niang brought a fragrant bowl of noodles to Gou Ye.

“Gou Ye, eat while it’s hot! You love my noodles the most!”

Gou Ye shook his head helplessly; this little girl’s feelings for him were obvious.

But with nothing but a broken hut and three acres, what could he offer her? Was she to marry into poverty?

“Gou Ye, what are you waiting for? Eat before it gets cold!”

Seeing Gou Ye staring at the noodles in a daze, Yun Niang urged him. “Mm, alright.”

Hearing this, Gou Ye came to his senses and began eating heartily.

Perhaps it was hunger, perhaps Yun Niang’s noodles were truly delicious, but Gou Ye didn’t even leave a drop of soup.

Yun Niang gently wiped the residue from his mouth. Seeing her smile, Gou Ye felt himself melt.

When Gou Ye stared blankly, Yun Niang couldn’t help but giggle.

“What are you laughing at?” Gou Ye wondered at her amusement.

“Ah, I was just thinking, when you recover, you should find some work.”

“Work?”

Gou Ye looked around; the hut contained nothing. The only things of any value were a few battered books on the table.

Those books, left by his father Gou Rong, had once inspired the original Gou Ye to dream of passing the scholar’s exam, then advancing to become a distinguished literatus.

Sadly, Gou Ye was too dull and lacked guidance; unable to grasp the exam’s subtleties, he remained unqualified.

But when it came to the matter of work, Gou Ye’s thoughts quickened.

In this era, resembling the Ming Dynasty, business was undoubtedly lucrative and the fastest way to improve one’s life.

You say pursue scholarly fame? Please. Haven’t you heard?

In the scholar’s exam room, you would see children of seven or eight, and elders well into their fifties and sixties. Some had taken the exam for decades without passing, fighting for fame until the grave.

Gou Ye had some aptitude, but the civil service exams were still beyond his reach.

“Yun Niang, do you know any jobs suitable for me?” Gou Ye asked tentatively.

Yun Niang tilted her head, thought carefully, and realized there was nothing Gou Ye was cut out for.

Seeing Yun Niang lost in thought, Gou Ye sighed; best to rely on his own modern wisdom to figure out a livelihood.

What could he do? After careful consideration, it seemed he could do nothing but write.

“Damn! Write! Yes, writing!”

Gou Ye wasn’t an engineer. Although he majored in computer science in his previous life, it was useless—he hadn’t made much money.

Life goes on, manuscripts never end!

At this thought, Gou Ye felt like crying.

So, he had crossed from modern times to the ancient world, only to be unable to escape the nightmare of writing?

“Yun Niang, have you ever heard of any good novels?”

Gou Ye considered that the history of this world seemed on track at least until the Yuan Dynasty. The novel industry ought to be thriving.

Indeed, when Yun Niang thought for a moment, she named several works Gou Ye had never heard of.

Even Yun Niang, who had little formal education, knew several novels; it seemed writing novels had great potential!

Gou Ye’s thoughts spun—he planned to write a martial arts novel.

Actually, Gou Ye preferred writing historical fiction, his old specialty.

But considering the difference in eras, he abandoned that idea.

If he accidentally violated some taboo, having his book banned and losing his pay would be the least of his worries—in this age, it could cost his life.

Having been given another chance, Gou Ye valued his life and had no intention of dying before his book was written.

“By the way, Gou Ye, I haven’t told everyone you’ve recovered yet. Wait here, I’ll go tell my mother and the others.”

With that, Yun Niang ran out, humming a little tune.

For the next half hour, the whole village could hear the girl’s excited shouts:

“Mother, Gou Ye is better!”

“Village chief, Gou Ye is alive again!”

“Aunt Wang, Gou Ye didn’t die!”

…

Soon after, Gou Ye’s shabby hut was overrun by villagers, leaving no space to stand.

“Gou Ye, are you really better?” The village chief was the first to arrive, feeling Gou Ye’s forehead to confirm the fever was gone, then inviting him to dinner at his home.

He was interrupted by Aunt Wang, who slapped his hand.

“Old Li, have you lost your senses? Gou Ye has just recovered, he’s still weak. Your house is so far—do you want him to fall ill again?”

“Gou Ye, stay put. Auntie will make you chicken soup!”

“Hey, Sister Wang, isn’t that old hen supposed to lay eggs? How can you bear to use it now?” the village chief exclaimed.

“Pah! Not like you, Li, always thoughtless. Gou Ye just recovered; he needs to be nourished. Chicken soup will help him regain his strength.”

Soon, villagers each offered something: vegetables, melons, fruits. Gou Ye was overwhelmed.

Yun Niang’s mother was the most extravagant, giving Gou Ye a large piece of cloth to make new clothes. Seeing him dressed decently at last, she nodded in satisfaction and left.

Yun Niang wanted to stay and care for Gou Ye but he refused.

“Little one, go home and sleep. You haven’t rested properly in days. This time, you must listen to me!”

Though reluctant, Yun Niang obeyed and left the hut.

…