The room vividly illustrated the meaning of the idiom “as poor as a church mouse.” There wasn’t even a window—just a tattered straw mat hung up to block the wind and rain. At least there was a battered wooden door. The entire room contained only two pieces of furniture: in the corner sat a camphor chest with all its paint peeled off, and on the earthen kang, a small table with a broken leg tied up with hemp rope.

At this moment, a child was sitting cross-legged on the kang, completely absorbed in reading. He looked about five or six years old, wearing a yellowed, old sheepskin jacket.

The child’s hair was tied in a topknot, his eyebrows thick and black, with long arms and legs. Though his features were those of a five- or six-year-old, his body was tall and sturdy, more like a child of seven or eight.

Beside him crouched a strong, big black dog, drooling, its shiny black eyes fixed on half a vegetable bun in a broken bowl on the small table.

Seizing a moment when his young master wasn’t paying attention, the dog stealthily stretched its head toward the bun. Just as its mouth reached the edge of the bowl, the child pressed it down with one hand. “I already gave you half, and you’re still not satisfied!” the child scolded with a laugh, tapping the dog’s head with his book.

The big black dog lowered its head, whimpering softly, but its little eyes still stared longingly at the remaining half of the bun.

“All right! All right! I’ll give you half more.”

The child put his book on the table, tore the bun in half, and tossed it casually. The big black dog immediately jumped to the ground, but after searching for a while, it couldn’t find the bun. Puzzled, it looked back.

The child spread his hands with a grin—both halves of the bun were still in his hands. The black dog, frustrated, threw back its head and barked, then leaped onto the kang, knocking its young master over and licking his face wildly.

The little boy burst out laughing. “Stop licking! Stop licking! I’ll give you half.”

The big black dog finally ate half the bun, then jumped off the kang, satisfied, and ran out to play in the yard.

The little boy’s name was David Thompson. In another world, he was also called David Thompson. He had grown up in a remote southern village, just as poor as he was now. That year, he was admitted to a prestigious northern university with the top score in the province. His elderly father had borrowed from everyone in the village to scrape together his tuition.

He studied hard at university, ranking first every year. But to make ends meet and help his father pay off debts, in his third year, he made a rash, dishonorable decision: he used his outstanding abilities to take the college entrance exam for someone else.

But he didn’t handle it well. The rich kid, who couldn’t even do junior high math, ended up scoring first in the entire district. The scandal was exposed, and he was expelled from school and even made the news. He was too ashamed to face his father.

Wracked with regret and exhaustion, David Thompson lay in the hospital, gravely ill, and was soon transferred to the oncology ICU.

One day, when he woke up, he found himself being pulled out of a well—he had become a six-year-old boy in the Song Dynasty.

He had been in the Song Dynasty for over a month now, and there was always a trace of melancholy in David Thompson’s eyes. It wasn’t that he minded being poor; he had already become familiar with the village and the neighbors. But he didn’t understand the era he was in. He only knew there were Khitan barbarians and the Liao state, so it should be the Northern Song, but which period exactly?

His father told him it was the first year of the Zhenghe era, but which year was that? He was still completely confused.

It wasn’t until ten days ago, after pestering his father with questions, that his father finally revealed an important piece of information: eleven years ago, the previous emperor died, posthumously known as Zhezong. That meant the current emperor should be the historical Song Huizong.

It turned out to be the late Northern Song period—how could he possibly feel happy about that?

What troubled him even more was that his father had borrowed a pile of books for him from all over, constantly drilling into him the importance of the imperial exams. The greatest setback of his life felt as if it had happened only yesterday. He had sworn never to take another exam, never to participate in the imperial exams again, yet this Song Dynasty father valued the exams above all else.

“This is reality. If you don’t study and take the imperial exams, you’ll never have a chance to rise above your station!”

Just this morning, he and his father had argued again about the exams. After a stern scolding, his father left him with these words and walked out, leaving him in a foul mood all day.

David Thompson carefully folded a Song Dynasty chronology memo he had compiled. He had made a small discovery today: his father had told him the previous emperor died eleven years ago, so by working backward from the Jingkang Incident and Song Huizong’s twenty-five-year reign, he deduced that this year should be 1111, fifteen years before the Jingkang era. Sigh! With the country on the brink of ruin, his father was still forcing him to take the exams.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” Suddenly, urgent barking came from the yard. David Thompson felt a bit puzzled and jumped off the kang to go outside.

“Dahei, what’s wrong?” David Thompson squatted beside the big black dog, gently stroking its neck fur as he asked.

Dahei was not a dog that barked for no reason. It was both sensible and obedient, an expert at catching field mice and house mice, putting the cats of Liwen Village out of work.

This talent had won the villagers’ affection, so it was fed by many households, saving David Thompson the trouble of feeding it himself.

What was wrong with it today? It seemed unusually agitated. David Thompson saw Dahei standing at the crack of the door, barking furiously outside, so he stood up and peered through the gap. Instantly, his body tensed—he saw a scene that made his blood boil with rage.

Chapter 0002: Son of a Poor Family