Of course, "chivalrous thief" was a title he gave himself—in plain terms, he was just a swindler. The only difference was that he specialized in tricking the rich and heartless, which gave him a bit of confidence to add "chivalrous" before "thief."

He still remembered that night: he and his partners had just pulled off a big job, bringing back several million dollars from abroad. He chartered a yacht, called up four or five beautiful women, and set out to sea for some fun. "The wind blows the eggshell, money gone, birds at peace"—that was his life motto. But who could have guessed that, right in the middle of his revelry, thunder and lightning suddenly split the sky, the sea surged, and a giant wave crashed over him. He lost consciousness, and when he woke up, he was already in the fourth year of Yonghui in the Tang Dynasty.

At first, he couldn't believe it. But as waves of headaches and countless memories flooded his mind, and when he saw his reflection in the lake, he finally realized he had truly traveled through time. The more he thought about it, the more he laughed to himself. "Who would've thought such a melodramatic time-travel plot would actually happen to me? Should I laugh or cry?"

At this moment, all he could do was force a bitter smile.

Anyone who traveled through time would surely find it hard to face all this calmly.

But what could you do if you didn't accept it?

Take a train back?

The problem was, there weren't even trains here.

All you could do was smile bitterly!

You couldn't even cry if you wanted to.

Pa!

Just as Ethan Grant was lost in confusion, he suddenly felt something hit the back of his head. It hurt a little, but only slightly. He turned around, but there was no one behind him. Looking up, he saw a boy of about thirteen or fourteen sitting on a tree branch at least twenty feet above the ground. The boy was filthy, his face covered in grime, which only made his bright, clear eyes stand out more. He was barefoot, and the right leg of his pants was torn off halfway, as if bitten by a dog, his little feet swinging.

When the boy saw Ethan Grant turn his head, he grinned, though the smile was a bit silly.

Because he had already gained the memories of this body's previous owner, Ethan Grant now recognized the boy. He was also from Mei Village. Before he was born, his father had gone off to war and, unfortunately, never returned—rumor had it he died in battle. His mother had always been a bit slow—frankly, mildly mentally disabled—and after the shock of losing her husband, she became even more confused. So when the boy was born, his mother never gave him a name. When he was six, his mother suddenly went mad, ran out, and accidentally fell off a cliff to her death. Since then, the boy had been an orphan, and the villagers all called him Wild Child.

Thinking of this, Ethan Grant couldn't help but feel some sympathy for Wild Child, sensing that their backgrounds were quite similar. So he didn't blame him, and just asked, "Do you need something?"

Wild Child kept grinning foolishly, then suddenly stretched out his right hand, with his middle finger and thumb pressed together, the other three fingers pointing at Ethan Grant.

What did that mean? Was this some Tang Dynasty etiquette? Ethan Grant was a bit confused.

Pa!

Ethan Grant felt something hit his forehead again. Looking down, he saw it was a small fruit pit. He was startled—flicking projectiles with the fingers? But whether it was or not, he knew he was being messed with. Raising his eyebrows, he said, "You little brat, are you messing with me?"

Wild Child grinned again, but didn't make a sound, as if to tell Ethan Grant, "You guessed right, I am messing with you."

Could he really be, as others said, an idiot? But an idiot couldn't flick so accurately! Damn it, even you are here to bully me? Let's see if I don't teach you a lesson. He rolled up his sleeves—wait, how did he even climb up there?

"Ouch, ouch."

Ethan Grant's eyes flickered, and he suddenly clutched his head, squatting down and groaning in pain.

When Wild Child saw this, he stopped grinning, a hint of worry showing in his pure eyes.

But just then, Ethan Grant suddenly grabbed a handful of small stones from the ground and hurled them at Wild Child. Damn it, you dare mess with me!

He couldn't flick projectiles, so he could only win by numbers.

Wild Child had no idea that the usually timid Ethan Grant could be so cunning, and instinctively leaned back.

"Watch out!"

Ethan Grant shouted in alarm.

He had been in a bad mood to begin with, and now someone was messing with him—anyone would lose their temper. But seeing Wild Child about to fall, he suddenly grew anxious and deeply regretted it.

But Wild Child hooked his legs around the branch, hanging upside down, and dodged all the stones Ethan Grant threw. At the same time, he flicked his middle finger.

Pa!

Ethan Grant was hit on the forehead again.

"You little bastard!"

This time, Ethan Grant was truly angry. He bent down, picked up more stones, and threw them at the boy.

But Wild Child moved about the big tree as if it were flat ground, darting up and down like a wild monkey. While dodging, he kept using his finger-flicking skill, attacking Ethan Grant with fruit pits, never missing a shot.

Nothing is more painful for a man than losing at shooting!

Damn. Was this kid sent by the monkeys? Ethan Grant quickly admitted defeat, moved away from the tree, and pointed at Wild Child, saying, "If you're a man, don't hide in the tree. Come down and fight me one-on-one."

Wild Child paused for a moment, then leapt down.