Chapter One: Henry Sutton

Overcast skies, no rain, the heavens dim.

Inside the tiled house, the lamplight is dim and yellow.

The sickly youth lying on the bed let his gaze sweep gently around the room, finally settling on the oil lamp.

"Nothing but bare walls—this is as poor as it gets."

Henry Sutton sighed, knowing in his heart that if not for the gloomy weather, if not for his bedridden illness, this oil lamp—which cost precious oil money—should not have been lit at all.

He closed his eyes, brows lightly furrowed, pondering all that had transpired.

That day, because he was familiar with ancient Chinese, he was invited by an old classmate working in archaeology to explore a Western Zhou dynasty tomb deep in the mountains.

Walking through the tomb passage, he looked up and saw a stone gourd, its red lacquer mottled, hanging above.

Then the gourd fell, everything went black, and a sharp pain struck his head.

When he awoke again, he was already here.

This was an era strikingly similar to ancient China, and the dynasty was Zhou!

Culture, etiquette, customs, language, writing, even the gods worshipped in the temples—though there were many differences, the similarities were astonishing.

If he were not well-versed in history and certain that China had never had such an era, he would have thought that, because of the Western Zhou tomb, he had returned to the Zhou dynasty of ancient China.

Even so, he could not help but be filled with doubt.

Perhaps this was the real Zhou dynasty of history?

And after being passed down through the ages, over thousands of years, in the impressions of later generations and in various records, many discrepancies had arisen?

"To transmigrate so inexplicably is one thing, and not being born into wealth or nobility is fine, but at the very least, I should have been given a decent body—so I could at least work for a living."

Henry Sutton let out a long breath. Thinking of his current situation, he felt helpless. "Now I'm just a sickly invalid, lying in bed all day—what kind of life is this?"

The youth whose body he now inhabited was also named Henry Sutton.

Originally, the Su family was still somewhat well-off, running a shop. Later, they were set up by others, managed the business poorly, and suffered heavy losses.

To seek justice, Su's father ran about everywhere, eventually exhausting himself and dying of illness.

Su's mother, grief-stricken, grew thinner by the day, and within two months, she too fell gravely ill and passed away.

Now, only Henry Sutton and his cousin lived together, depending on each other.

Because Henry Sutton had been frail since childhood, and after the family misfortune grew even weaker, this so-called mutual dependence was, in truth, his cousin taking care of this sickly boy.

"How many years has it been now?"

His cousin's surname was originally Fang, a distant relative. After a family tragedy far away left her alone, she traveled a long way to seek refuge here.

Su's parents were kind-hearted, took pity on a young girl, and, given the family connection, took her in.

Only three or four years later, the Su family fell into ruin.

After Su's parents passed away, the frail Henry Sutton, overwhelmed by grief, became even weaker, and could only rely on his cousin to care for his daily needs. Counting the years... it had been just about three or four years.

Thinking of this, Henry Sutton's eyes lowered slightly, as if sighing.

"The original Henry Sutton was a good-hearted person."

The original Henry Sutton, knowing he was a burden to his cousin, had resolved to speak frankly with her. He thought that since the Su family had cared for her for three or four years, and she had cared for him for three or four years, they were even—there should be no more burdens.

But fate is unpredictable, and before he could say what was in his heart, he fell gravely ill one night and passed away in haste.

When he awoke again, the body was the same.

But the soul within now came from another world.

Memories merged, as if the souls had fused.

The body remained unchanged, the memories still there, but the primary consciousness had shifted.

Henry Sutton was still Henry Sutton.

But ultimately, something was different.

……

"Today is the first of the month—did cousin go to pray to the gods?"

Henry Sutton closed his eyes slightly, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

This world also had a mythological system similar to ancient China, with a series of legendary tales.

The stories spoke of the Heavenly Court, the Heavenly Emperor, the Underworld, Yama, gods, immortals, ghosts, monsters, demons, and so on. But for ordinary people, these stories, just like in his previous life, were hard to distinguish between truth and fiction.

This time, his cousin had gone to the town's temple, which enshrined the True God of the Thunder Division, the Nine Heavens Responding Primordial Thunder God, Pu Hua Tian Zun.

"Nine Heavens Responding Primordial Thunder God, Pu Hua Tian Zun?"

Henry Sutton chuckled softly. "Just one word different?"

Ancient China also had a 'Nine Heavens Responding Primordial Thunder Sound Pu Hua Tian Zun,' said to have originally been Grand Preceptor Wen Zhong of the Shang dynasty.

This one was different—said to be a Daoist, a leader of the Daoist sect, a famous immortal, but eight hundred years ago, when the Zhou dynasty was established and the gods were enshrined, he fell among them, and was thus appointed as the chief deity of the Divine Thunder Palace.

His cousin had gone to pray to the god this time, hoping to seek the Thunder God's blessing for his speedy recovery.