Volume One

Chapter 1: God-Level Prodigal

The night breeze was gentle, dispersing the accumulated summer heat. From time to time, dogs barked and roosters crowed in the deep, winding alleys.

Sitting alone by the window of the bamboo loft, William Turner listened to the commotion outside, feeling it all absurd. Just a few days ago, he had been a promising young man newly promoted to deputy county magistrate. Not yet thirty, with no real background, his rapid rise was like a small bomb going off among his classmates. Even those he hadn’t heard from in ages came to congratulate him, and for the first time in his life, William Turner tasted the feeling of being envied.

But that feeling was all too brief—spring had barely begun before winter arrived. On his way home, he was hit by a large truck. When he woke up again, he found himself in this cramped, stuffy bamboo loft—hot and stifling, with injuries all over his body, every joint aching to the bone, and his head filled with countless fragments of memory, colliding so violently it felt like his skull would explode.

It took him two whole days to accept reality, memories flashing through his mind like a movie.

He had transmigrated. The youth whose body he now occupied was also named William Turner, not yet thirteen years old, living in Taicang Prefecture, Suzhou, Southern Zhili of the Ming Dynasty. The family could be considered scholarly—his grandfather had served as a county assistant, his father was a licentiate, and among the four classes of society, they barely counted as first-class citizens.

But right now, this family was rather—no, extremely—down and out...

"Forget it, as the saying goes, an inch of gold can’t buy an inch of time. I’m fifteen years younger now—even without status, money, a car, the internet, or anything else, it’s no big deal. A wolf can eat meat wherever it goes—maybe I’ll do even better in the Ming Dynasty!" William Turner thought smugly.

With his heart open and his mind relaxed, his stomach immediately began to growl—he hadn’t eaten all day. Time to worship at the temple of the five viscera. William Turner climbed out of bed. The little bamboo loft was at most twenty square meters, with everything in plain sight.

A broken wooden bed, a three-legged table, two chairs, and in the corner, two jars—one for water, one for rice.

"Some porridge would be nice!"

William Turner happily lifted the lid, but when he looked inside, he was dumbfounded—completely empty, not a single grain of rice. His stomach rumbled in protest. Gritting his teeth, he kept searching, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, golden stars dancing before his eyes—he nearly fainted.

Just then, the stairs suddenly creaked!

"Ah, is Dad back?" William Turner's head instantly swelled several sizes.

His father’s surname was Tang, given name Shen—not that old, just turned thirty!

Compared to the William Turner of his previous life, he was only a few years older. People in ancient times really did marry young. The thought of calling someone in their thirties "Dad" made William Turner want to spit blood...

Speaking of Henry Turner, he could be considered a second-generation minor official. He married at fifteen, passed the licentiate exam at sixteen, and at seventeen, his beloved wife gave birth to their son, William Turner.

The first half of Mr. Turner's life went smoothly, but then he failed the provincial exam three times in a row. During that period, his father died, cutting off their financial support, and not knowing how to manage the household, their family fortune dwindled away in just a few years.

Old friends and classmates vanished without a trace, making Mr. Turner truly understand the bitterness of a deserted doorstep.

Last year, his wife suffered a miscarriage and was left with a chronic illness, growing weaker by the day. Mr. Turner spent all their money on doctors and medicine, but still couldn’t save her life.

To bury his wife, he pawned their house in Taicang Prefecture. After the funeral, the father and son could no longer afford to live in the city and had to move to Liuhe Fort, more than thirty li away.

When it rains, it pours; when the boat is broken, the headwind comes.

A few days ago, his son went to a temple fair, climbed a big locust tree to watch the excitement, and fell, losing consciousness on the spot. It was at that moment that William Turner transmigrated...

The footsteps grew more hurried. William Turner shook his head weakly—an ugly daughter-in-law must meet her in-laws eventually. His body was frail, and he still had to rely on others for support. At worst, he’d just call him "Dad"—it’s not like he’d lose a piece of flesh.

William Turner suddenly pushed open the loft door and looked up, only to be stunned—the person before him wasn’t Henry Turner.

The visitor was in his forties, with a slightly hunched back and a dark, deeply wrinkled face. When he saw William Turner, he broke into a wide smile.

"Young master, you’re awake! Thank heavens—Master Tang can finally rest easy."

William Turner searched his memories and quickly recalled that this man’s surname was Zhu. He ran a noodle shop and was also the owner of this little bamboo loft—William Turner's landlord.

"It’s Uncle Brooks. Do you need something? Come in and have a drink of water!"

Mr. Brooks beamed with delight and praised, "No wonder you’re a scholar’s child—you really know your manners. Not like my two brats at home, a pair of wild donkeys! Young master, I won’t come in. I’ve got something for you—take it."

As he spoke, Mr. Brooks reached into his clothes and began to pull something out.