John Smith looked down at his clothes and twitched the corner of his mouth... What kind of monk’s robe is this? This is clearly a bathrobe. He had transmigrated while at home, wearing nothing but a white bathrobe. Honestly, it was tragic—other transmigrators at least brought along a wallet or a phone, something to work with, but he had absolutely nothing, a blank slate.

Wait, not quite nothing... That bronze shard he was holding when he transmigrated—was it confiscated by them?

Seeing him not answer, the young girl’s expression turned half-amused, half-mocking: “You’re pretty good-looking... but there’s nothing under that robe. I think you’re just a playboy monk. Are you practicing the Joyful Meditation?”

A young girl could talk about such things without blushing? I don’t think you’re any better... John Smith complained inwardly, then replied, “It’s because my heart for Buddhism isn’t firm, so I returned to secular life... Actually, I grew up in the mountains seeking Zen. You’re the first outsiders I’ve ever met, and I don’t even know what dynasty it is now...”

“So you appeared out of nowhere in midair—did the Buddha strike you down?”

“Correct, Little Qiang.”

“I’m not called Little Qiang, I’m Little Lily. Lily Carter.” The girl was still grinning. “No need to fish for information from me. My name isn’t a secret, unlike some people who can’t say a single honest word. The Great Zhou has stood for a thousand years, and you’re still asking about dynasties? And this robe’s fabric is so luxurious—don’t pretend to be a mountain hermit so badly.”

John Smith knew his story was completely unconvincing, but it seemed they didn’t really care. Maybe in this unscientific world, all sorts of unscientific things happened so often that popping up in midair wasn’t worth taking seriously. And they seemed rather quirky—clearly not believing him, yet not angry, as if being full of lies was perfectly normal...

It was just that this girl was young and naturally curious, so she chatted with him out of boredom more than real interrogation. If it had been her master, who treated people like livestock, she wouldn’t care where you came from—if you were useful, she’d use you; if not, she’d kill you outright. Who had the patience to chat?

And this Great Zhou... a thousand years? Isn’t that a bit exaggerated? Eight hundred years would be more plausible. But the Zhou dynasty of eight hundred years ago probably didn’t have monks yet... John Smith cautiously probed, “Spring and Autumn?”

Lily Carter blinked: “Spring and autumn? The seasons?”

John Smith was speechless. He realized he couldn’t tell if this world was completely different, or if this girl was just that ignorant. After thinking for a while, he could only say, “It’s... a civilization where many different schools of thought clash.”

Lily Carter stared at him for a long time before finally saying, “If what you call ‘Spring and Autumn’ is that... then this is the Spring and Autumn period.”

“...” John Smith was at a loss for words. Are you telling me the Great Zhou has lasted a thousand years and it’s still the Spring and Autumn period?

Lily Carter said casually, “A thousand years of martial sects contending—doesn’t that count as your so-called Spring and Autumn?”

Fine, so the so-called ‘hundred schools’ are actually martial sects... John Smith finally confirmed that this was a completely different world. This Great Zhou was nothing like the one he knew; all his historical knowledge was useless here, and relying on it would only get him into trouble.

Lily Carter continued, “I think you’re from the Poison Sect, but you haven’t learned the right techniques. Not only have you failed to master anything, you’re full of strange poisons. But there’s one good thing—most people can’t be bothered to kill you, so they don’t have to burn your body for disease control.”

“...” Well, even the ignorant here know about disease control...

Lily Carter looked him up and down, finally losing interest: “I’m leaving, this is boring.”

As soon as she finished speaking, she vanished without a trace, like a ghost.

John Smith stared at the now-empty carriage, then collapsed onto the bed with a “thud.” Only now did he finally relax his tense nerves and start to think about his situation.

Although the little girl’s attitude was pretty good—always smiling, lively, and talkative—she still revealed a deep-seated contempt for the weak in the end. It seemed that, at least in these women’s eyes, strength was the only thing that mattered; everything else was secondary. If you hoped to win girls over with talent, you could forget it.

If this was the general attitude of this world, no wonder so many transmigrators before him had risked their lives to train. Being looked down on like this was really unpleasant. But as for martial arts... he was already twenty-seven, from a completely different culture, and just starting now—how could he possibly compete with these natives who’d been training since childhood? And he didn’t have any cheat codes...

John Smith glanced at his palm. The reason for his transmigration was that a bronze shard had cut his hand. That bronze shard must be important in this world—he had to find a way to get it back from those women. Maybe it was his cheat code?

As he looked, John Smith suddenly sat up straight.

There was no cut on his palm. Instead, there was a strange pattern?