Chapter One: Feng the Great Swindler

A wooden plank bed, a tattered cotton quilt, two sets of clothes, a desk, some writing tools, and a four-legged stool with a badly injured, limping leg—this was everything he owned.

“So this is all my worldly possessions? Rather poor, I must say.”

Feng Yuan surveyed his surroundings with a slight frown, then closed his eyes to acquaint himself with his own circumstances and the nature of this new world. The person whose soul he had crossed into was also named Feng Yuan, a scholar by title, but penniless. His only item of value was the black robe on his body, which had not been washed in a year and had originally been white.

He was, as of two weeks ago, an orphan. “Half-a-month orphan”—that is, his parents had died just half a month ago, having slipped and drowned in the river. Now, he had no other relatives; all were dead. He was, in every sense, the last of his line. If not for this soul crossing, the original Feng Yuan would not even have had the chance to be the last—because, mere moments before the crossing, he had starved to death.

Yes, starved to death—not by suicide from grief after his parents’ passing, but literally from lack of money and food. Such a death was cruel indeed. As a transmigrator, Feng Yuan could deeply sympathize, for he too had often gone hungry as a child. He well knew the agony of hunger; to him, nothing in the world was worse. Worse still was seeing friends post pictures of midnight feasts on social media while he starved.

Whenever such people appeared in his feed, Feng Yuan would curse them, block them, and then order some affordable Shaxian dumplings for comfort.

“This country is actually called ‘The Prosperous Kingdom’? Am I not dragging down the nation’s reputation? How shameful!”

Feng Yuan opened his eyes in surprise. From the original Feng Yuan’s memories, he learned that this kingdom resembled ancient China—a feudal era of civil and martial governance.

“To think I, Feng Yuan, have crossed from socialism into the feudal age! It’s honestly a bit exciting!” he muttered to himself, a smile spreading across his face. Already, his mind began weaving scenes not suitable for children—three wives, four concubines, pleasure houses and nightclubs. One delightful prospect after another floated before his eyes, and the more he thought, the happier he became.

As a transmigrator, Feng Yuan felt no sadness or unease at suddenly finding himself in this strange world. Instead, he was elated, for he had no attachment to his previous life. Before crossing over, he had been nothing more than a street thug—an orphan raised in a welfare home, burdened with millions in debt he could never hope to repay, parentless and hopeless. Now, all that was behind him. He could start anew—reborn as a scholar, a refined gentleman, an identity he had once admired from afar. Now, he had acquired it for nothing, and could even enjoy all the benefits of feudal society. What could be more delightful?

“Ah, but hunger truly is unbearable!”

Feng Yuan clutched his belly, feeling emptiness and weakness throughout his body. Though he had crossed worlds, his hunger remained unrelieved.

“My first task is to earn money, then buy something to eat!”

Feng Yuan thought to himself, but he was so weak from hunger that he could barely move, let alone go out to make money. As a scholar, his only means of survival was selling calligraphy and paintings. Yet scholars selling their art were as common as grains of sand, and without fame, Feng Yuan’s work went unsold. In the end, hunger had claimed him.

And now, he hadn’t the strength to go out and sell art even if he wanted to.

“If only I could order delivery and have food brought up!” Feng Yuan thought, glancing at his flat, rumbling stomach. He was so hungry his heart was pounding with anxiety—classic low blood sugar.

“Feng Yuan! Get out here right now!”

At that moment, a coarse shout rang out from outside. Three men strode in—the leader a burly man of about thirty, nearly six feet tall, robust, with a bristling beard and fierce features. He wore a new blue silk robe, clearly a man of means.

Behind him were two lesser men, both in plain but new linen clothes—evidently doing well for themselves.

Feng Yuan recognized them immediately. The burly man was the landlord’s son from the village, Feng Fugui, notorious for his low character. He used his wealth to bully men and women alike, committing all manner of evil. His two followers were Feng Fugui’s cronies—Skinny Monkey and Ma San—who had aided in many misdeeds.

Feng Yuan, desperate for food, saw Feng Fugui and his eyes lit up—here was a meal delivered to his door!

“Well, if it isn’t Brother Fugui! What brings you here today?” Feng Yuan quickly got up from the bed, smiling broadly as he approached.

Feng Fugui was taken aback. Normally, Feng Yuan trembled in terror at his approach. Why was he smiling and greeting him now? Had he gone mad?

“Come, Brother Fugui, have a seat on the bed!” Feng Yuan said, grinning, and pulled him down to sit. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re here to collect the debt, right?”

When Feng Yuan’s parents died, they had borrowed a hundred coins from Feng Fugui for funeral expenses, agreeing to repay in ten days. Feng Yuan had no money, so the debt remained unpaid.

“Hmph! So you know. Hand over the money, or I’ll beat you to a pulp!” Feng Fugui threatened, waving his iron fist at Feng Yuan.

“Did you hear? Pay up or we’ll break your legs!” the two cronies echoed menacingly.

“A debt repaid is only right. Brother Fugui, I promise, you’ll get your money!” Feng Yuan replied earnestly.

“Hmph! Then hand it over!” Feng Fugui demanded, holding out his hand.

“Heh, no need to rush, Brother Fugui. I want nothing more than to pay you back, but the money isn’t here. I left it somewhere else. Unfortunately, I’m so hungry right now I don’t have the strength to fetch it. Even if I want to repay you, I just can’t,” Feng Yuan said, putting on a troubled expression.

“Where is it? Tell us and we’ll fetch it!” Ma San interjected.

“Ah, you don’t understand. When I get hungry, my mind goes blank—I can’t remember anything. Right now, I simply can’t recall where I put it. But if I could just have a good meal, I’m sure I’d remember at once. Sadly, there’s nothing to eat at home, not a crumb!” Feng Yuan said, feigning frustration. “What do you say, Brother Fugui—if you get me something to eat, I’ll fetch the money after, and pay you two hundred coins instead. How about that?”

Feng Fugui’s eyes lit up at such a tempting offer, but suspicion flickered in his gaze. “You’re not trying to trick me, are you? Can you even pay that much?”

“How could I dare trick you, Brother Fugui? I’m a scholar—lying would be a disgrace! Besides, you’re the top dog in our village, feared for miles around. You could kill me with a flick of your finger. Would I risk my life to cheat you? Am I tired of living?” Feng Yuan replied, then turned to Ma San and Skinny Monkey. “Isn’t that right?”

Both nodded vigorously.

Feng Fugui, pleased by the flattery, allowed himself a smug smile. “Fine. I’ll trust you this once. Ma San, go get something to eat!”

“Yes, young master!” Ma San replied and hurried out.

“Don’t forget some meat! Otherwise, I won’t recover my strength!” Feng Yuan called after him, grinning as he rubbed his belly. Inwardly, he thought how gullible these three were—so easily duped with a few words.

Glancing at the heavy purse at Feng Fugui’s waist, Feng Yuan’s mind began to hatch other schemes.