But when he woke up, he found himself in the Great Tang Dynasty, thirteen hundred years in the past. The thought that he would never see his beloved wife and young daughter again brought a wave of overwhelming grief that struck him instantly, and Samuel Bennett couldn't help but shed silent tears.

  "Samuel Bennett, you're crying again!"

  Behind him, another child, James Foster, gently patted his shoulder and softly comforted him, "Don't cry. If we really aren't chosen, we can just become monks. That's another way out."

  Samuel Bennett quickly wiped away his tears and whispered, "I'm fine, Little James. Go to sleep early!"

  "Mm! Going to sleep." James Foster mumbled vaguely, and soon began to snore softly.

  But Samuel Bennett couldn't fall asleep. He forced himself to temporarily forget his sorrow, but another emotion quietly welled up—deep confusion.

  Seven days ago, when Samuel Bennett awoke in the body of this Taoist novice with the same name, he quickly discovered that this world was very different from the Great Tang he had learned about in history books.

  The An Lushan Rebellion was about to end, but the one who quelled it was not Emperor Suzong Li Heng, but Li Longji, who refused to become the Retired Emperor and successfully launched a coup to reclaim the throne.

  In this Great Tang, there was no Yang Guifei. Li Longji simply doted excessively on a Consort Xiao, which led to neglect of state affairs, national decline, and the outbreak of the An Lushan Rebellion.

  He didn't know at which point in history things had gone wrong, or if a predecessor had already been here. Or perhaps this was just a parallel world's Great Tang?

  The Great Tang in Samuel Bennett's memory had become fragmented and unfamiliar.

  The Hexi Corridor had already been occupied by foreign tribes two years ago while the Tang army was stretched thin, but the occupiers were not the Tibetans, but the Shatuo people, who would only rise to power more than a hundred years later. The ones gradually harassing Longyou were not the Tibetans either, but the Tuyuhun, who were on the verge of decline in history.

  Their suzerain states, the Uyghurs and the Tibetans, were waging a great war in Tokhara over the vast territories of the Western Regions.

  Samuel Bennett's heart was full of confusion and worry. He didn't know where he should go from here.

  ……

  At dawn, the children drank a bowl of wild vegetable porridge and impatiently ran out to the courtyard to wait, but Samuel Bennett still lingered in the dormitory.

  Actually, he also wanted to be chosen. Though becoming a Taoist was not his original intention, at least it would give him a place of shelter and protection before adulthood.

  Otherwise, with his frail body, in this war-torn world without antibiotics, it would be hard to survive to adulthood—a simple case of pneumonia could take his life.

  But why would he be chosen? He didn't know martial arts, had no talent for it, and his constitution was even worse.

  The only thing Samuel Bennett could offer was his literary talent. He possessed knowledge that people of this era did not have, had read many books, and could write beautiful small regular script.

  But after the brutal An Lushan Rebellion, the world had changed. Literary talent was no longer valued; martial arts had become the consensus of the entire Tang society. Only by mastering powerful martial skills could one protect their family from the ravages of war and keep their meager property from being stolen by bandits.

  Only those with great martial prowess would be valued by their clans and receive various opportunities.

  "A scholar is useless for anything!"

  This was what James Foster had told him, a phrase that deeply wounded Samuel Bennett's pride.

  Samuel Bennett sighed. He fetched a sheet of paper and some ink and brush from the storage room next door—items he had stolen from the accounting office and hidden in the storeroom.

  No matter what, he still wanted to try his luck.

  He dipped the brush in ink, took a deep breath, and began to write:

  The Dao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Dao;

  The name that can be named is not the eternal name.

  Nameless, it is the origin of Heaven and Earth;

  Named, it is the mother of all things.

  ……

  Samuel Bennett didn't know much about Taoism. The only thing he could recite was the Dao De Jing. Today, he wanted to try his luck and see if the people from Zixiao Heavenly Palace would appreciate his transcription of the Dao De Jing.

  Just as he was about to finish writing, he suddenly sensed someone beside him. Turning his head, he saw a tall, elderly Taoist smiling as he watched him write.

  The old Taoist's hair and beard were completely white, his face weathered by the years. He wore a patched Taoist robe, with a wooden sword strapped to his back.

  Although Samuel Bennett had never met this old Taoist before, his predecessor had spent three years in the Reception Hall, and some of his predecessor's memories remained.

  Samuel Bennett naturally knew why this old Taoist would appear here.

  This was a wandering Taoist. On Mount Kongtong, any Taoist temple outside of Zixiao Heavenly Palace and its two affiliated palaces and three temples was called a "wild Taoist" temple.

  Wandering Taoists had no imperial grain rations and could only rely on themselves to farm a few acres of barren land or forage in the mountains. Their lives were extremely hard. Just by looking at the old Taoist's robe, one could tell—it had been worn for at least twenty years, with no fewer than two hundred patches of all sizes.

  Each wild Taoist temple also wanted to recruit some promising disciples to chop wood, forage, carry water, and farm for them. The so-called "promising disciples" were simply strong youths who could work and support them.

  So every year during the Taoist selection, they would sneak in, hoping to pick up some leftovers from Zixiao Heavenly Palace.

  "Little one, your calligraphy is quite good!"

  As soon as Samuel Bennett put down his brush, the old Taoist gave him a thumbs up and praised, "It's the first time I've seen someone your age who can read and write, and you've even practiced calligraphy. That's rare! What's your name?"

  "Samuel Bennett, the 'Song' of Duke Xiang of Song, from Lingzhou."