But the problem is, it's already almost the era of the Three Kingdoms standing in a tripartite confrontation, and me? I'm just a thirteen-year-old brat—what do I have to compete for hegemony with? Could a thirteen-year-old brat really hoodwink the heroes and champions of the Three Kingdoms into running over, clinging to my leg, and crying out “my lord”? Unless all the heroes and champions of the Three Kingdoms have IQs below fifty-five...

Chapter 9 The Origin of Handkerchiefs and Toilets...

Peter Brooks had also spent some time in the army, wrapped leg bindings with the troops, carried a backpack for wilderness survival training, but that was just a kind of drill the country did for military groups to be prepared for danger in times of peace. Even if a real war broke out, in his previous life, Peter Brooks would at most be saving lives and treating the wounded in a field hospital at the rear, and maybe bragging a bit about his patriotic heart in front of the nurses.

Even if he was willing to take on the responsibilities of a transmigrator, find himself some reason to save the people from disaster, and work hard to overthrow the three great enemies of China’s New Democratic Revolution—imperialism, feudalism, and bureaucratic capitalism. Then go on to tackle the three major problems of socialism: difficulty in getting medical care, difficulty in finding housing, and difficulty in getting an education. These three problems that even many future social elites would find daunting.

But is it useful? At this stage of society, information is underdeveloped, public opinion is not smooth, international exchange is almost nonexistent. It's like those real-life situations in poor mountain areas in later generations that sound like jokes: surviving in this chaotic era, thinking back to the days when you had neighbors upstairs and downstairs, electric lights and telephones, took a taxi when you went out, opened the fridge when you got home, called the police when there was trouble, and called a lady when there wasn’t—how comfortable those days were. But now, the six basic principles of the poor and lower-middle peasants’ society are perfectly embodied in this era: lighting basically relies on oil, transportation basically relies on walking, communication basically relies on shouting, public security basically relies on dogs, entertainment basically relies on hands? Pah, at least this is a wealthy household, so I don’t need to worry about entertainment myself... In short, living in this underdeveloped old society is an extremely painful ordeal for a future elite white-collar worker.

Not to mention the lack of all sorts of conditions, Peter Brooks had a pretty clear understanding of his own abilities. With his qualifications in the military hospital, if he could honestly muddle along in the hospital until retirement with a field officer’s rank and then open a clinic for difficult and complicated diseases as an old military doctor, that would already be a stroke of great luck.

As for those transmigration novels where the protagonist flirts with all the beauties of the Three Kingdoms, saves pure maidens from dire straits, advocates free love, raises the status of working women, and helps them escape the harsh oppression of feudal families in the old society? Hmm, that’s really too difficult, mainly because the age gap is just too big. Besides, those pretty girls aren’t yours for the taking—take Zhen Luo and the Qiao sisters, for example. First, you’d have to ask if Cao Pi and Zhou Yu, who command countless armored troops and have countless lives in their hands, would be willing to wear a big green hat?

Not to mention the number one beauty of the Three Kingdoms, Diao Chan—right now, there’s not even a trace of her, not even any news, where would you go to find her? Besides, Peter Brooks may be absolutely mature mentally, but in reality, he’s just a thirteen-year-old brat, his body hasn’t even fully developed, his secondary sexual characteristics have only just started to appear, and he wants to go flirt with women in their thirties? I’m afraid that guy Chen Shou would have to add a line in my biography: “Lustful beyond his years, not an ordinary man...”

※※※

Thinking of this, Peter Brooks couldn’t help but shiver. Although he was a modern man, thick-skinned and shameless enough to take surgical scissors from work to trim his toenails at home, bold enough to cross the street without waiting for the green light, and glib enough to talk a bird off a branch, he still didn’t have the guts to leave such a notorious mark in the history books for people to curse for generations.

After thinking for a long time, Peter Brooks still couldn’t figure out a path for his own future, but instead felt his stomach getting more and more uncomfortable. Simon Brooks cried out inwardly, “Oh no!” and, clutching his pants, dashed out the door.

Squatting in a Han dynasty toilet, Peter Brooks couldn’t help but click his tongue in wonder. Hmm, quite pleased—although Peter Brooks had been in the army and done dirty work, as a doctor, he inevitably had a bit of a cleanliness obsession. But squatting in this Han dynasty toilet, he really couldn’t find a single flaw. At the very least, Peter Brooks thought this place was a thousand times better than the communal toilets in the army, both in terms of smell and decoration.

On the right side of the latrine stood a wooden handrail, not only painted but also decorated with paintings of birds, fish, and insects, inlaid into the stone wall beside it. Under his feet, on the toilet seat, were two boot-shaped carved stones. Because he was in a hurry, both his feet were already on them, but you could still see some simple geometric patterns carved in low relief on the sides—much more artistic than the two bricks he used in elementary school. Unfortunately, before long, Peter Brooks’s troubles began...

The family servant waiting outside soon heard the young master’s call, and hurried forward a few steps, respectfully responding just outside the half-covered thin wooden door of the toilet.

“I say, why isn’t there any toilet paper?” Peter Brooks’s voice came through the half-blocked thin wooden door.