The Great Zhou Dynasty.
Bo Prefecture, Pingzhang Commandery, Heishan County.
The county streets were empty and silent. Cobblestone roads stretched like winding rivers, flanked by old tiled houses casting jagged shadows. A chilling stillness filled the air, carrying a subtle aura of death.
Autumn had arrived, bringing a sharp bite to the wind, and with the setting sun slipping below the horizon, the city felt even colder.
Bathed in the dying glow of sunset, a constable clad in tattered official garments leaned against the doorway of a tiled house. Blood trickled from the back of his head, staining the ground beneath him crimson.
The cold was unmistakable. The constable, sprawled on the threshold, suddenly shivered. His eyes fluttered open in a daze.
“Hiss—”
A sharp pain surged through his skull. Zheng Jun sucked in a breath, his head swimming. He cradled the bleeding back of his head and curled into a corner. At the same time, a flood of unfamiliar memories poured into his mind.
“Did I transmigrate?”
The tide of memories crashed relentlessly, leaving Zheng Jun no choice but to accept the shocking truth.
He now lived in Heishan County under the rule of the Great Zhou Dynasty. He himself was a sixteen-year-old constable at the county yamen, appointed thanks to a bribe from his brother-in-law—a fellow constable—to a ranking officer. It was his second month on the job, just enough time to get a taste of life on the emperor's payroll.
Today, his brother-in-law had taken him out to "see the world," and all he had to do was guard a gate. Who would’ve thought a fugitive would suddenly charge out, crash into him from behind, and land a punch that made him see stars—leaving him half-dead on the spot.
Thinking back, Zheng Jun instinctively touched the back of his head. A surge of pain followed.
"That thief must’ve had some kind of knuckle-duster weapon!"
His head throbbed, and the blood flowing down his neck made his thoughts blur. A breath of hot air escaped his lips, visible in the cold like a ghostly mist.
But before he could gather his senses, the flood of memories returned with greater force.
“The Divine Martial Emperor of the Great Zhou crushed the final stronghold of the Great Yu, claiming the world through martial might? Eight hundred years have passed since his rise. The current Emperor, aged and near the end of his days, has fathered nine sons—all powerful martial saints who’ve formed core essence? The Great Zhou is solid and its fortune prosperous?”
Zheng Jun processed the tangled memories, his expression gradually turning odd.
So… this was a world where one could cultivate—where martial arts could defy aging and strengthen the body.
His eyes lit up briefly, then dimmed just as quickly.
“The path of martial cultivation is as hard as reaching the heavens…”
As the saying goes: “The poor study, the rich practice martial arts.” That held true even in the Great Zhou.
Zheng Jun's family background was poor. Even though he'd learned a few farming-style self-defense moves while on the job, the path to real martial cultivation was utterly out of reach.
His brother-in-law, after years as a constable, had only barely stepped into the entry-level stage—just enough to survive in a border county like Heishan.
“So my only way out is the imperial examination. ‘Among all trades, scholarship reigns supreme.’ Only by becoming a scholar could I change my fate… maybe even gain the right to learn martial arts…”
But then his brows furrowed. A bitter smile curled on his lips as a memory surfaced.
Constables, coroner’s aides, petty officers—they were base-born professions, their status equal to that of prostitutes, entertainers, and beggars.
Their descendants could not sit for the imperial exams for three generations.
Craftsmen, musicians, boat people, beggars, slaves, runners…
“At least I'm a constable and not of slave or entertainer caste. If I were, I'd never rise again…”
Zheng Jun’s heart filled with mixed feelings.
Though technically base-born, constables could arrest and bind others. Their presence alone struck fear into ordinary folk. Compared to prostitutes or beggars, their status was like heaven and earth.
Most commoners still dreamt of landing a job as a constable or yamen runner. That his brother-in-law got him in at all was already a stroke of fortune.
“Junzi! What happened to you? Did you run into that ‘Wave-Stepping Thief’ Lou Wei?!”
A loud voice rang in Zheng Jun’s ear. Instinctively, he turned to look.
A man in the black uniform of a constable, face dark and anxious, rushed toward him. As he came closer, he shouted, “If something happened to you, how am I supposed to explain it to your sister?!”
The name immediately surfaced in Zheng Jun’s memory.
Zhou Pu—his brother-in-law.
“Brother-in-law!”
Zheng Jun staggered toward him and sighed. “I was just standing guard like you said, when someone suddenly punched me from behind…”
He raised his bloodied hand and winced in pain, making his injuries look even worse.
Zhou Pu hurried over, examined the back of his head, and finally let out a breath. “It’s not too bad. You probably ran into one of Lou Wei’s disciples. If it had been the man himself, you'd already be dead. Damn it, how am I supposed to face your sister?!”
So the one who hit me really was that ‘Wave-Stepping Thief’ Lou Wei…
Zheng Jun's thoughts were muddled, but Zhou Pu assumed his brother-in-law was just in shock and didn’t press further.
“We’ll get you to Cripple Zhang’s later to stop the bleeding. Better safe than sorry.”
“I didn’t even want to come out for this! But Captain Sun said a new county commander’s arriving and we needed to make a good impression by catching Lou Wei. Who knew the bastard would be so sharp? The moment we made a move, he and his goons scattered. I just wanted to help you earn some reward money so you could marry a wife, but now look—nearly got you killed. Damn it…”
Zhou Pu rambled on, clearly trying to explain why he’d brought Zheng Jun along.
Zheng Jun felt a warmth stir in his heart. In his past life, he’d never experienced such care from relatives.
He said gently, “Brother-in-law, I don’t blame you… but with an injury like this, will the county reimburse the medicine?”
“Of course, of course…”
…
The two of them gradually walked away. After a stop at Cripple Zhang’s for some blood-staunching powder, Zheng Jun returned home to rest.
At sixteen, he no longer lived with his sister and brother-in-law. He stayed alone in his parents’ old house.
As he lay down, stars twinkled beyond the window, bright against the dark sky.
Heishan County wasn’t rich, and Zheng Jun couldn’t afford candles, so he just leaned against the wall of his clay-brick bed and sighed, his thoughts a tangled mess.
“I’ve transmigrated. Now what?”
“Invent something modern? I’m no genius inventor.”
“Plagiarize poetry and become famous? At my level, I’d get exposed in two lines and be hunted as a fraud.”
“So hard…”
He let out another sigh. And then—suddenly—words began to shimmer before his eyes.
“Huh?”
Zheng Jun blinked. A string of translucent, ink-like text appeared clearly in his vision:
【Martial Skill Available for Pre-Claim: Armored Saber Technique (Mastery)】 【Pre-claim this martial art? By borrowing the fruit of the future, you must complete 5,000 slashes to make it your own.】
Staring at the ink-brush-style floating text, Zheng Jun froze. His heart churned like a stormy sea.
“A cheat? My cheat’s finally here?”
“Wait... I can pre-loan martial arts?”
Zheng Jun was utterly stunned.
“Even martial arts can be loaned now?!”
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