Chapter Five: Home Is a Beggar’s Den

Brackets of interlocking wooden beams supported the soaring eaves, while carved rafters and painted pillars adorned the elegant hall. The courtyard stretched deep with tranquil grace, a single plum tree spreading its blossoms like a canopy. The southern breeze caressed the air, sifting the white petals down like snow, softly covering the back of the man who lay prostrate on the ground.

"The old servant deserves death... I should not have acted on my own... I beg my lord to punish me..." he muttered, his forehead knocking against the blue stone slabs until blood seeped out.

"Rise," the man in the octagonal pavilion said at last, lightly turning a teacup in his hand, his gaze fixed on a drifting cloud in the western sky. His eyes were lost in memory, as if reluctant to return to the present. "This was but a coincidence—no more than an unintentional push in the right direction."

"The Emperor's decree has already been issued," the bloodied eunuch ventured, his voice trembling. "Since there is no turning back, perhaps we should send someone to..." He made a slicing gesture across his throat, his eyes gleaming with malice.

After a long silence, the man finally set down his cup and sighed. "The envoy from Xiqiang set out at the start of the month. He'll arrive in Chang'an soon. The peace talks between the two nations are settled. If we count the days, Xuanyue should be able to return for the Mid-Autumn Festival..."

He murmured as if to himself, an involuntary, handsome smile curving his lips. "It's only half a year—let's wait and see. In that time, much may change..."

Having served by his master's side for more than a decade, the old eunuch understood without need for words. He kowtowed three more times, then retreated backwards out of sight.

The southern breeze rose again, scattering pale petals onto the tea, stirring endless ripples.

Outside the Chang'an county office, master and servant stood on tiptoe, watching a distant procession until it vanished around the corner. Only then did they release a long sigh.

"Well, well. A wife delivered at the start, and I hear she's a general too—this is the very rhythm of a wish-fulfillment tale..." Feng Jingzhe unfolded the imperial edict in his hands once more, the smile tugging at his lips broader than any assault rifle could suppress. As for the poisonous glares cast his way by the crowd, his thick skin made him immune.

"Changsheng, your young master is a man of status now. Go, hire a sedan chair, and get something filling to eat. We'll enjoy it on the road," he said, pointing to his own thin clothes—dragged to court that morning, he wore only a single layer.

No matter what his title now, it made no sense to parade through the streets in such a state. He glanced across at the herbal tea stall.

"After a morning of inexplicable nonsense, my throat is parched. Changsheng, fetch a bowl of iced plum soup for your young master first," Feng Jingzhe ordered, fiddling with the imperial edict, ignoring the long-suffering look on Li Changsheng's face.

"Eh? Why are you just standing there with your hand out?"

Li Changsheng scratched his palm, looking both foolish and innocent. "Do I look like I have any money?"

Feng Jingzhe rolled his eyes in exasperation. "What sort of fourth-class viscount—soon to be living off the Western Wei’s mighty general—needs to bring his own money? Shouldn't you, as my chief lackey, be grabbing whatever you see, spending freely, and helping me bully the weak?"

He rattled on, but Li Changsheng stayed as he was, confusion now mingled with pity. "Wait—don't tell me you really have nothing left?"

"I did, but I gave it all as a tip to that eunuch who delivered the decree..."

"You utter fool! I don't even know what to say. In the future, just give a token gesture—it's not like rewarding some online celebrity, where generosity gets you a peek at her feet..."

Helpless, Feng Jingzhe could only hitch up his trousers and stomp off, relying on memory to find his way home. Little did he know that, just around the corner, the eunuch had already flung his three coppers into a fetid ditch, spitting after them with a curse.

The forced merging of two souls had left some memories fragmented and lost. When Feng Jingzhe found himself before a weed-choked gate, any pride of a fourth-class viscount crumbled to dust. If not for the battered sign overhead bearing the faint character "Feng," he'd have thought he’d wandered into a beggar’s den.

"Changsheng," he called, beckoning. "I must have been out of my mind last night. I need you to explain something, or I'll start to suspect my title was handed out by the Beggar Clan’s chief."

"Face it, young master—this is our home," Li Changsheng replied, thinking his master was feigning madness again, and pushed open the door first.

The old madam had once gritted her teeth and sold thirty acres of irrigated land outside Pingyang for three thousand silver taels, all to send her grandson to Chang'an to restore the family estate. A month had passed, yet not a single new tile had been laid.

"Hey, what's with this attitude? Don’t forget, my future wife is a legendary general. Even a rabbit will fight back if you push it too far!"

Feng Jingzhe’s complaints aside, he was actually quite content with his circumstances. No more living on a knife’s edge as in his past life. Despite having just been poisoned and dumped in a river, he felt an unprecedented sense of relief.

To retire in a quaint, ancient town, waking when he pleased, free from endless training, from the cycle of comrades’ deaths, from the crushing burden of national duty—this, at last, was freedom.

He felt no ties to this world, and that was just fine. He had a fiancée now, and didn't care if she was beautiful—just decent enough. Especially since she was a general, he pictured a future of raising children, fishing, sunbathing, and living quietly into old age.

As for finding out who poisoned him and which widow was behind the plot—let it be. He just wanted to lie low and enjoy life. He’d already lived one life; now, he could afford to be carefree.

As he lingered at the door, these thoughts brought him peace. Suddenly, his eyes lit up as if remembering something, and he bounded inside with youthful energy.

After all, he now wore a nineteen-year-old’s face, worlds apart from his scarred, withered forty-year-old one. What man could resist the thrill of youth regained?