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Chapter 1: A Night of Wind and Snow in the Northern Lands

Deep winter, a night of wind and snow.

The North, Twilight Forest.

The stars and moon were hidden, the world seemed soaked in thick ink, and the cold wind howled mournfully, like the wails of demons from hell.

Deep in the forest stood a crude mountain stronghold built from logs, called Wolfpack Fort. In one corner of the fort was a low sheep pen, housing dozens of mountain goats.

These were the thick-fleeced, curled-horned sheep unique to the North—woolly, meaty, and extremely hardy against the cold.

Even so, the flock huddled tightly together, trying to withstand the biting wind that kept stabbing through the cracks in the wooden boards.

Suddenly, a sharp, youthful voice came from within the flock.

"Joe, can you settle down?"

After a few seconds, a hoarse, duck-like voice replied, "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

The sharp voice immediately shouted, "Know what, my ass! That's what you said last time! And the time before that! But you never got it right!"

The duck voice grew louder too: "Why so much nonsense? Can't you learn from Lawson and just shut up for once?"

"You do this filthy stuff all day—how is that justified?!"

"What, you want to fight? With your scrawny body, even a goblin's bigger than you. I could beat the crap out of you with one hand!"

"Come on then! You think I'm scared?!"

Two boys suddenly stood up in the middle of the flock.

By the faint torchlight used to ward off beasts in the fort, one could just make out that one boy was very thin, his coarse linen shirt tied at the waist, exposing a pair of bony legs. The other was even thinner and especially short, looking like a stick of hemp.

The two squared off, ready to fight.

At that moment, another boy's voice came from the flock: "Both of you, calm down. If you startle the sheep and cause a commotion, no one will benefit."

It was the always-silent Lawson.

The duck-voiced boy looked unconcerned: "Hmph, at worst we'll get a few lashes. What's the big deal?"

The sharp-voiced boy was defiant too, craning his neck and snorting, "I'm not afraid either!"

Lawson gave a faint smile, his voice calm: "Let me remind you, the boss just lost his son yesterday and is in a foul mood. Do you really want to bring bad luck on yourselves?"

At these words, both skinny boys instinctively shrank their necks, their bravado gone. But as boys, neither wanted to back down first.

Lawson's voice sounded again.

"It's the dead of winter, and we're all hungry. Save your strength. Joe, keep it down too."

Given a way out, the two boys deflated.

They glared at each other, snorted coldly, and then curled back into the flock for warmth.

Elsewhere in the flock, the peacemaker boy huddled among a few gentle ewes, a wry smile unconsciously appearing on his youthful face.

It had been a month since he transmigrated, and he had ended up as a shepherd for a band of mountain bandits, sleeping with the sheep every night, never having enough to eat or wear, and covered in fleas and lice.

He had thought he wouldn't last, but as the days went by, he somehow adapted. Not only was it not unbearable, he even found it oddly comfortable.

Why was that?

In his previous life, he had reached middle age, his body declining, while the burdens on his shoulders only grew heavier.

His elderly parents needed care, his children needed attention for their studies, he ran a factory with hundreds of workers to pay each month, and the economy had been bad for years. He had used every trick just to barely keep things afloat, but was utterly exhausted in body and mind.

It was as if an invisible hand gripped him tightly, squeezing a little more each day, draining his life force bit by bit until there was nothing left!

But now, he was a shepherd in a bandit den. His bandit father had died in a raid three years ago, and his mother had thrown herself into another bandit's arms that very night, only to die in childbirth two years ago.

As a 15-year-old bachelor, Lawson felt as free as a bird in the forest or a fish back in the sea—an indescribable sense of relief.

But there were still plenty of worries.

In short, there was nothing to look forward to in life!

He didn't want to spend his whole life among bandits.

'It's a pity—after transmigrating, I didn't get any benefits.'

At this thought, the wry smile on Lawson's face deepened.

Focusing his mind, he silently recited: 'Desktop.'

Instantly, his vision brightened slightly, and a computer desktop with a deep blue background appeared before him, 16:9 ratio, 24-inch—classic office monitor specs.

The desktop was empty: no taskbar, no start button, no utility software—just a single folder.

The folder was named: "My Harem."