C1 Freshmen!

F Province lay blanketed in a pristine layer of snow, its landscape shimmering in silvery white.

At the base of the mountain, the 853 Farm was quiet, the sparse foot traffic and chill winds lending an air of desolation.

Out of nowhere, a Toyota 4700 burst onto the scene, trailing snow and honking incessantly. Close behind, a Mitsubishi off-road vehicle flashed its hazard lights, relentless in pursuit.

Within a mere minute or two, the vehicles tore through the city, oblivious to the curses and speculation of onlookers, racing directly to the hospital.

Chaos erupted at the hospital as several doctors and nurses rushed out with two stretchers, heading straight for the cars that had just screeched to a halt.

"Quick! Lift them up!"

"Take the male patient to Operating Theater 1! We need 400cc of O-type plasma! And get the female patient to surgery!"

Amidst the urgent calls, two figures were swiftly loaded onto stretchers—a man in tattered clothing, his red cotton insulation fluttering in the wind, and a woman in a down jacket, her face obscured by long hair—and whisked away to the operating rooms.

In the hush of the ward, a faint groan broke the silence. Shanan slowly lifted his heavy eyelids, the familiar scent of Lysol filling his nostrils. Despite the searing pain and waves of dizziness, he fought to concentrate, to ensure he was in a safe environment.

As clarity returned and his gaze sharpened, Shanan realized he was in a hospital room. Memories of the events leading to his unconsciousness played before him: battling a bear in the snow-covered forest, the heft of the axe in his hands, the final, deadly blow. The image of his bloodied body draped over the bear's carcass flickered in his mind.

How did I get to this snowy wilderness? Why does my body feel so heavy?

With a slow turn of his head, Shanan pondered, trying to piece together his current predicament.

Suddenly, a searing pain erupted deep within his skull, like an explosion, obliterating his newly awakened consciousness with a resounding buzz.

Time passed, and after several shifts of visitors in the ward, Shanan gradually came to under the soft lighting, his head throbbing mercilessly.

Shanan, now alert, eased himself up, ignoring the sharp pain across his skin. He removed the IV and, with his body swathed in bandages like a mummy, staggered toward the door.

Could this be the fabled transmigration? Or perhaps a case of possession?

Shanan gazed at the youthful, delicate face reflected in the glass, his eyes wide with incredulity. The entire situation seemed utterly fantastical to him.

As he stared at the reflection, a stream of unfamiliar memories began to crystallize, informing him that he was in F Province and recalling the events leading up to his blackout.

The body's original inhabitant was named Xue Lang, a mere nineteen years of age.

Xue Lang had been found by his grandfather, Xue Tinggui, as an infant. Raised by him, Xue Tinggui had traded precious old ginseng for a contractual position for his grandson, allowing Xue Lang to leave the mountains and start work at a grain depot in C City, over a hundred kilometers from home, just over a month ago.

Today, during a paid forest clearing operation, Hao Jianhua accidentally disturbed a hibernating bear in a hollow tree. Cui Ying, a girl knocked down by Hao in his panic, was just getting up when the pursuing bear pounced on her. Xue Lang, not far off, charged at the bear with an axe, only to be quickly pinned under its hefty backside. The next thing he remembered was waking up and struggling in a fierce battle with the bear.

Shanan considered himself fortunate as he looked at the reflection. It was a stroke of luck that the bear hadn't managed to lick him; otherwise, his scalp and face would have been torn off by the beast's barbed tongue. It was also fortunate that the impetuous young man had a solid build—at 1.82 meters tall with decent physical fitness—because without it, even Shanan's unmatched combat experience wouldn't have saved him from the wrath of the bear.

While he was absorbed in reviewing Xue Lang's memories as if they were scenes from a movie, a face framed by a nurse's cap and obscured by a large mask appeared on the opposite side of the glass.

At the sight of Xue Lang standing by the door, her beautiful, wide eyes grew even wider, and the medical chart she held clattered to the floor in shock.

Before Shanan could gather his wits, the nurse, who was likely on her rounds, recovered first. She swiftly retrieved the chart, cautiously opened the door, and as she squeezed through, she chided, "Xue Lang, do you need to use the restroom? Why didn't you press the call button? You know that getting out of bed on your own could cause your wound to reopen, right?"

While lecturing, he reached out to pinch the bleeding injection site and steadied Shanan. Noticing his silence, he guided him toward the adjacent restroom.

Perhaps still reeling from the shock of his transmigration, or maybe oblivious to any danger, Shanan didn't immediately react, allowing himself to be assisted into the cramped bathroom.

The nurse, supporting him, had already flipped the toilet seat up with her foot.

The moment the lid opened, Shanan's realization hit him like a ton of bricks—he was expected to use the toilet!

Startled, he was about to protest when the nurse sharply commanded, "Don't move, just pee, hurry up!"

Shanan was at a loss; at thirty-three, he had never found time for romance, let alone intimate encounters with women. And Xue Lang, having grown up in the mountains, was somewhat awkward and inexperienced with girls. The thought of a woman overseeing him in the restroom was mortifying.

Yet after several IV bags, Shanan felt the urge to pee, but how could he possibly go now?

After a brief hesitation, Shanan muttered, "I... I can manage on my own..."

The nurse, likely unmarried and with her heart pounding, took a step back, but her professional duty prevailed as she continued to support Shanan, her voice softer, "Then... take your time..."

Take your time...

With a dry mouth and a concerted effort to focus, Shanan stood for a couple of minutes before finally managing to urinate.

Only then, with the sound of trickling water, did Shanan notice that aside from the swathes of gauze, he lacked any modesty covering—his private areas were fully exposed.

The embarrassment was overwhelming...

Without the luxury of pondering his transmigration, who he was meant to be, or the concept of soul borrowing, Shanan finished up, and the nurse, after flushing the toilet, helped him back to his bed with her heart still racing and her cheeks flushed.

It wasn't until he grabbed the blanket and haphazardly covered himself that he finally relaxed.

The nurse had regained her composure; such situations were probably routine for her, hence her greater resilience compared to Shanan's. Seeing his beet-red face and furrowed brows, she replaced his IV line while chiding him, "Xue Lang, there's a call button by the bed. How could you miss such large lettering?"

"There are thirty-seven stitches in your wounds and over sixty superficial injuries. If they come undone, restitching them will be quite a challenge. If you need anything, press that button—don't try to get up on your own, understood?"

In a voice as melodious as a celestial choir, Shanan steadied himself and responded, "Okay... I've got it..."

While he spoke, his mind was racing with the hope that the nurse would soon leave. Despite having lived two lifetimes, he couldn't bear the embarrassment of the nurse noticing the 'tent' he was struggling to conceal. After all, he wasn't that thick-skinned.

Noticing Shanan's compliance, the nurse's eyebrows arched once more. She jotted something down in the medical record, gave him a final admonition, and with one last look at Shanan, she turned and left the room.

Shanan exhaled deeply, his gaze flicking to the firmly closed ward door. He cautiously shifted, collapsing the awkward 'tent' he had inadvertently pitched.

No sooner had he managed this delicate maneuver than another figure loomed at the glass of the ward door. Shanan's honed instincts instantly alerted him to the presence. Lifting his gaze, he was taken aback.

In an instant, Shanan recalled the man's identity from his memory. It was Hao Jianhua, the son of the former grain depot director, commonly known as the Young Master. What could he want?

As this thought crossed his mind, Hao Jianhua noticed Xue Lang was awake. He pushed the door open and entered, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Xue Lang, you're awake. You remember what happened before you passed out, don't you?"

Unsure of Hao Jianhua's intentions, Shanan replied coolly, "I remember."

Hao Jianhua positioned himself at the bedside, looking down at Xue Lang, and said, "You were out of it earlier, probably can't recall everything. Let me clarify things for you. Tomorrow morning, when the folks from the depot come by, just stick to my story." Without waiting for a response, he went on, "This afternoon, when we started work, we accidentally startled the bear in the warehouse, and it knocked Cui Ying down. I bravely charged in and rescued Cui Ying from the bear's clutches."

Shanan caught on to his intentions before he could even finish speaking. It was clear that he was after some political clout or perhaps aiming to win over the beauty. Cui Ying was considered the belle of the grain depot, and this guy was nothing short of a lecher—no wonder he was always hovering around her.

Shanan couldn't take this buffoon seriously. Cutting Hao Jianhua off mid-sentence, he said, "Young Master Hao, isn't it true that you not only knocked over Cui Ying but also took off running without a backward glance?"

Hao Jianhua hadn't expected this country bumpkin to defy him. Enraged, he barked, "You know I'm Young Master Hao, so you better fall in line! Follow my orders and I'll make it worth your while—a better department is just the beginning. But if you cross me, I swear I'll..." He pointed threateningly at Shanan's head.

His finger was still a good distance away when Shanan's eyes flashed, and with a swift move, he seized Hao's elbow, hissing, "Looking for trouble?"

Before Hao Jianhua could finish his tirade, his arm went numb, his strength drained away, and his knees buckled, sending him crashing to his knees at the foot of Shanan's bed.

The abrupt turn of events left him stunned, eyes bulging and mouth agape, unable to utter a single word.

Shanan, with a cold gaze fixed on those fearful eyes, warned, "Keep your distance from now on. Consider this your only warning." With that, he released his grip, sparing the fool any further trouble.

Once freed, Hao Jianhua collapsed on the floor, panting heavily. It took him a while to recover. He finally managed to stand and began to back away. At the doorway, he pointed at Shanan and stammered, "You just wait..." But at the sight of Shanan's slightest movement, he was overcome with fear, turned tail, flung the door open, and bolted.

Shanan watched the door swing open and couldn't help but chuckle. He found no interest in wasting his energy on such a pretender, a clown who was all bark and no bite, relying solely on his father's shadow.

Glancing at the button on the wall next to the bed, Shanan hesitated on whether to summon the nurse to shut the door. But then, the sound of footsteps growing louder broke the silence of the corridor, their echo crisp in the stillness.

Just as Shanan turned, a silhouette filled the doorway.

Recognition dawned on him, bringing with it a wave of surprise.

Why him? What could he possibly want at this late hour?