Volume One: Wu Zixing

Chapter 1: Passing the Flame

In the fifth year of Tianfeng of the Xin Dynasty (18 AD), in the autumn, eighth month, Guanzhong, the main hall of the county school in the capital of Liewei Commandery, Changping County.

Although it was broad daylight, the yellow wax candle on the bronze lamp was lit, its flame flickering gently on the wick, wisps of blue smoke drifting through the room.

At this moment, the two officials on the stage had actually forgotten today's official business, treating the county school as a debating forum, pointing at the lamp and candle, arguing back and forth with great enthusiasm.

“Earlier, when James and I rode together, you used the metaphor of the body and spirit as lamp and flame. You said: the spirit resides within the body, just as the flame burns on the candle. When the candle is spent, the flame cannot exist alone in the void.”

“Indeed. The ashes of the candle are like the aging of a person—teeth fall out, hair turns white, muscles wither. At that point, the spirit can no longer be nourished by the vital energy. When the body dies, the spirit, like the candle's flame, is extinguished and disappears completely.”

“But I have a question. Can James answer it?”

“Please speak, Mr. Reed.”

“When the lamp runs dry, you can add more oil; when the candle burns out, you can replace it with another. As long as the flame is passed on, it does not die. So, when a person is about to die, can the spirit also change to another body and continue to exist?”

In front of them, ten young students sat upright, all listening in stunned silence. Such profound philosophy about spirit and body, life and death, and the soul was far beyond the understanding of these inexperienced elementary students.

But Henry Benson understood it all.

His compound surname was Diwu, given name Lun, courtesy name Samuel Reed, only 17 years old, and even his attire set him apart from the others.

The other students all wore wide robes, sweat soaking their backs but still refusing to remove their Confucian caps. Henry Benson, however, only wore a headscarf and a dark hunting-patterned deep robe, feeling quite cool and comfortable. At this moment, his big, dark eyes were fixed on the two men on stage, not wanting to miss a single word.

“Passing the spirit to another body for immortality—aren't they talking about me? Could it be that my identity as a transmigrator has been exposed!?”

He couldn't really explain how the transmigration happened. He only remembered that when the bus rolled down the mountain, he was sitting with his eyes closed, listening to Teacher William Grant's “last dance.”

The pain gradually faded, the music in his ears slowly disappeared, and when he woke up startled from his sickbed, he found himself transformed into a youth named Henry Benson, in an era that was...

The Xin Dynasty!

The reigning emperor's name was... Andrew Morgan!

As a science student, his knowledge of history was limited. About this obscure dynasty, he only knew two people: one was the “suspected transmigrator” Andrew Morgan, and the other, called the “Son of the Plane” and “Great Archmage,” Abraham Carter. He knew nothing else.

Fortunately, some memories of the body remained in his mind, allowing him to understand ancient Chinese, and he gradually collected and digested information about this era.

After recovering from illness, Henry Benson looked in the bronze mirror and found that, aside from being a bit short, he actually had delicate skin and white teeth—a sign of never lacking food and always eating fine rice.

He was quite lucky. The Benson clan was not a powerful local tyrant, but they were landowners in the county, considered the lowest tier of “village gentry.”

Compared to the peasants rushing to conscription with their summons, or the descendants of disgraced officials exiled to guard the borders, Henry Benson's starting point was much higher—his family could even afford to send him to school.

The house where Henry Benson now sat was the Liewei Commandery county school, located beneath the south city wall of Changping County. Within the low walls were three or five blue-tiled houses, with mud-brick walls mixed with wheat straw and a layer of clam lime painted outside. The school was not large; including Henry Benson, ten adolescent students knelt on rush mats.

They had all passed the elementary school examination and been recommended by the commandery doctor and the three elders as outstanding students. They were just waiting for the court's Chief Musician to inspect, ask a few questions, and complete the process, so that in October they could go to the capital's Imperial Academy and plunge into the great pit called the Five Classics.

He thought it would be a mere formality, but unexpectedly, the two doctors who came today were rather unconventional. Especially the slightly older, balding Chief Musician, Edward Clark, who, upon entering, immediately said:

“I was discussing something with Dr. Carter on the way, and we arrived at the school before we finished. Since our interest is not yet exhausted and it's still early, why don't we finish our conversation first? The county magistrate, the three elders, and the students may do as they please!”

Then he left the whole room to themselves and continued his conversation.

“No wonder he dares to say in front of the Son of Heaven that there are no gods in this world—James Clark truly is a mad scholar, unrestrained by ritual or law.”

Henry Benson heard someone whispering nearby, talking about this unusual doctor's deeds. It was said that he had served as an official in the Former Han, was erudite and well-versed in the Five Classics, but only studied their meaning, not the commentaries. He dressed simply, without the dignity of an official, wearing coarse hemp clothes and a small cap, fanning himself with a plain fan. If not for the bronze seal and black ribbon at his waist, no one would have guessed he was an official.