C8 They Dared to Transmigrate When Their Parents Were Still Alive

Xiaoming led Wu Ziming through the kitchen's back door to the House of Golden Virtue's expansive backyard. Xiaoming headed to the donkey shed at the corner and got to work.

Wu Ziming, unsure of what to do, surveyed the area. Despite the early hour, the courtyard was visible in the dim light. The space was hardly small, spanning four to five hundred square meters, with an old-fashioned octagonal well standing prominently at its center.

As he was about to take a closer look, a cacophony of chicken squawks erupted from the donkey shed. Xiaoming, now with the donkey in tow, made his way to the middle of the yard.

"Come on, I'll show you around the local countryside," Xiaoming called out to Wu Ziming, having opened the courtyard's rear gate.

Wu Ziming approached, giving Xiaoming a once-over. "We're taking the donkey cart? Can't we just teleport?"

He eyed the rickety donkey cart, struggling to reconcile it with the sophisticated methods he'd witnessed the day before. Was this really necessary for a transmigrator's journey?

"Don't be so dramatic," Xiaoming chided as he shut the gate. "You can't always lean on the golden finger's convenience; it'll make you lazy."

They left the alley behind, the pre-dawn world around them a blur of shadows. Only the distant pink lanterns of the entertainment district offered a meager glow against the dark streets.

Turning a corner, Xiaoming steered the cart northward. After a brief exchange with the guards at the north gate, they embarked on their journey to Great Tiger Mountain.

Shortly after passing the city gate, Xiaoming tapped Wu Ziming's shoulder and pointed to a massive rock in the distance.

"That's where I found you. Had you run towards this main road, you might have spared yourself some trouble. But dressed as you are, I doubt it would have ended well."

In the faint light before dawn, Wu Ziming followed Xiaoming's gesture, seeing nothing but a towering silhouette amidst the dense forest.

As they traveled, Xiaoming, clearly bored, regaled Wu Ziming with tales of his adventures over the past few years. Wu Ziming, a man of few words, served as the attentive audience.

He was also coming to understand just how perilous the world could be; the test they had faced the day before was merely the tip of the iceberg.

At this moment, the first light of dawn was breaking across the sky, and the number of people on the road was steadily increasing.

Cicadas chirped sporadically, and the mountain breeze that swept through the trees roared like ocean waves. Wu Ziming savored the soothing touch of the cool summer wind as he relaxed against the donkey cart's backrest.

In their rickety donkey cart, the pair leisurely made their way to the base of Great Tiger Mountain.

Enveloped in the morning mist, Great Tiger Mountain loomed like a colossal tiger in slumber, its majestic presence inspiring awe.

Nestled at the mountain's base, Great Tiger Village was rich in natural resources and, compared to the Wilderness, it boasted a more innocent and simple way of life.

Guiding the donkey cart, they passed the village sign, embraced by the roots of locust trees.

In the distance, the orderly houses of the village were already sending up plumes of smoke from their chimneys, while groups of women carried baskets and buckets to the river's edge to fetch water and rinse vegetables.

Across the river, in the fields, farmers were tilling the land, a scene reminiscent of Tao Yuanming's idyllic Peach Blossom Spring.

Xiaoming, expertly steering the donkey cart, crossed the village river, all the while exchanging cheerful greetings with the villagers he passed.

He adeptly brought the cart to a stop in front of a large estate, where the distressing sounds of a pig being slaughtered emanated from behind a rusted iron gate.

Xiaoming dismounted and approached the formidable gate, rapping on the ring of the latch.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

"Who's there?" bellowed a gruff and raspy voice from within, overpowering the pig's cries.

"It's me," Xiaoming retorted with a hint of irritation, arms folded. "Who else would it be?"

"Girl, open the door!"

Soon after, the rusty hinges groaned, and a little girl with her hair tied up in a bun peeked through the opening.

The girl's face, smeared with blood, still bore a smile—a chilling sight that startled Wu Ziming. As she recognized him, her eyes sparkled, and her grin widened. "Oh, it's Brother Xiaoming!"

With that, she energetically pushed the door open, and Xiaoming lent a hand with the other door. They drove into the courtyard, where a burly man clad in a beast skin apron was busy with a wild boar that was still spasming just outside a wooden shed. On a nearby table lay neatly arranged chunks of processed meat.

Wu Ziming had eaten pork and seen pigs run, but the mosaic of slaughter and the pungent stench of blood still unsettled his stomach. "Old Zhang, your door hinge could use some oil, and it's high time to repaint the door," Xiaoming remarked, brushing rust from his hands with a look of distaste.

"You're footing the bill!" Zhang Tu Fu retorted with a chuckle, not even glancing up from the wild boar he was working on.

Xiaoming was puzzled by Zhang Tu Fu's penny-pinching. "Since when did you turn into a miser? Oil and paint cost but a few coins."

At this, Zhang Tu Fu looked up, driving his boning knife into the table, his usually stern face softening into a smile. "Hehe, the girl's wedding is coming up. I'm saving every penny for her dowry."

The news of Xiaolan's impending marriage piqued Xiaoming's interest, while she blushed and scurried back inside the house. "Lan's getting hitched, and as her honorary kin, I should at least know which lad has caught her eye. Let me vet him for you."

Zhang Tu Fu laughed, a touch of resignation in his voice. "He's a farmer. You'll find out on the wedding day."

"Still keeping secrets from me, I see."

Zhang Tu Fu had once seen Xiaoming as the ideal son-in-law for his daughter—a girl like Xiaolan would be content with a simple life married to a hardworking farmer. But in a world of cultivators, one's fate could swing wildly; a lifetime could pass without witnessing a cultivator's battle, or one could become just another casualty number, perhaps not even meriting that much recognition.

Zhang Tu Fu had approached Xiaoming because, although a cultivator, he did not look down on ordinary folk. He was modest and courteous—a rare find in this realm.

The two of them really hit it off, and he grew increasingly fond of Xiaoming the more he saw him. He went out of his way to try to set them up, but it turned out Xiaoming was already in a relationship, so he had no choice but to drop the idea.

After cleaning up, Slaughter Zhang was about to head back inside to grab his ledger when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Wu Ziming lurking in the corner.

"Who's this young fellow? Someone new?"

"This kid, it's a long story. His family was raided by bandits, and he's the sole survivor. Ding Fu took pity on him and kept him on to help out with odd jobs."

Upon learning of Wu Ziming's plight, Slaughter Zhang couldn't help but lament the fickleness of life.

Meanwhile, Wu Ziming, looking dazed, remembered Xiaoming's advice from earlier on the road.

"If anyone asks about your family, just say they were all killed by bandits. People around here are very wary of those without registration. This excuse is the most likely to be accepted."

"But my parents are still alive. Wouldn't that be like cursing them?"

"You had the guts to time travel while your parents are still alive? I can't fathom your thinking. Aren't you worried about sacrificing them?"

Left speechless by Xiaoming's teasing, Wu Ziming had no response. After all, time traveling wasn't something he could control.

Slaughter Zhang, having changed out of his filthy animal skin apron, emerged from his room with an abacus and ledger in hand.

"Keep the usual amounts for pigs, cows, and sheep. This time, I'll take half a donkey. How much donkey meat is available?"

"Recently, the price of donkey meat has gone up by over 30%."

"Thirty percent? Look, Old Zhang, I know you're saving for a dowry, but don't fleece me in the process."

"Alas, there's been more conflict with the dark cultivators in the west. On my way to Wild Sand City to buy donkeys, I saw plenty of refugees. All the donkey dealers have hiked their prices. I'm only charging you a 30% markup, which is my cost price. Others have to pay 70% more."

"What do donkeys have to do with cultivators waging war?"

"They say it's the monks waging war, but it's the common folk who pay with their lives. Most of the donkeys have been commandeered to haul supplies."

The butcher spoke with disdain, spitting contemptuously. "Not a single one of those monks is any good. They're all born of parents, aren't they? So why aren't ordinary people treated as human?"

"Except for you and Manager Ding, and Li Suifeng, that halfwit, might count as half a person." He caught himself, realizing his words might have been harsh, and quickly added, "But Xiaoming, you didn't seem to mind."