Chapter One: Who Says Knowledge Isn’t Power

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Chapter One: Who Says Knowledge Isn’t Power

“System, activate!”

“Grandpa, save me!”

“Help—!”

A man and a wolf, pursued and pursued, dashed across the landscape in the glow of dusk, their chase sending countless birds flapping into the sky.

“System, system, hurry up and activate!”

“Grandpa, come out!”

“Help—!”

…

Still, there was no system window, nor did the legendary old grandfather appear. The man's footsteps grew heavier; his breath rasped like a bellows.

“Heavens, damn you and your ancestors!”

Five minutes later, his cries for help had turned to curses.

Zhang Qian was now certain he had really crossed into another world.

It wasn’t the increasingly treacherous mountain path beneath his feet, nor the dense vegetation around him, far thicker than anything near Chang’an University City in the 21st century.

No—it was because, after sprinting a good fifteen hundred meters, he hadn’t found a single brick, a single broken tile, or another human in sight along the way!

This was definitely not 21st century Chang’an University City, nor was it any human society of his era.

Even if Chang’an University City was a little remote, at dusk, senior students on dates or hurrying to meet loved ones thronged the streets like fish in a river.

And though modern society had improved its sanitation habits, stray bricks and broken tiles could still be found in any patch of weeds.

But here, he could find no fellow human to save him, and no handy brick or tile to defend himself.

He hadn’t even come across a plastic bag, a scrap of waste paper, let alone those things that people used to avoid while walking through the grass—like Durex or James Bond wrappers.

And as someone who had grown up in an orphanage, only getting to university thanks to the kindness of strangers, he still had never made use of the latter two items.

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Since childhood, he had devoted himself to his studies, determined to live a respectable life. As he grew up, he juggled both school and tutoring jobs, with neither the time nor the money for any “wayward” pursuits.

The most reckless thing he had ever done was walk while looking at his phone. As a result, ten minutes ago, when he finally looked up from his screen, he found himself in this utterly unfamiliar place.

“Heavens, damn you and your ancestors—!” His anguished cry echoed across the wilds, followed by increasingly ragged breaths.

Because he was an orphan, Zhang Qian had never dared fall ill, and worked hard to keep fit. After passing his university exams and finding his first part-time job as a tutor, he paid even more attention to nutrition and health. So, though he appeared tall and robust, there was little fat on him.

For an orphan, a strong physique meant less bullying.

For a college student, strong and nimble limbs could help him avoid unnecessary trouble on the way back to campus after tutoring.

That was one reason he had survived so long in a chase with a wolf. Of course, it was also possible that the wolf was deliberately “walking” him, waiting for its prey to tire itself out and unable to resist when the final blow came.

Whatever the reason, the outcome seemed fated.

After a mad dash of more than three thousand meters, Zhang Qian couldn’t run any farther.

His legs felt heavy as lead, his waist ached, sweat poured down his face, arms, and brow, yet his eyes and throat were burning dry, as if aflame.

“Damn you, heavens—!” With a hoarse wail, he lunged for a boulder at the side of the mountain path.

It was the largest cover he had found in nearly five hundred meters—a rock three meters high and four wide, enough to shield him from an attack from behind. Beneath it, a few weathered stones might be dug up and used as weapons.

His choice proved wise. As soon as he pressed his back to the boulder and snatched up a melon-sized stone, the wolf that had been relentlessly pursuing him halted and looked on warily.

Three thousand meters of sprinting had nearly drained Zhang Qian’s strength. The wolf, too, was breathing heavily, its arched body trembling, jaws gaping as its breath rasped like a bellows. Its blood-red tongue hung limp from its mouth, drool or sweat streaming steadily from its edges.

“Go! Get out!” Zhang Qian swung the stone in his left hand and kicked at the other stones nearby with his right foot.

Startled, the wolf dodged to the side, but its movement was far less nimble than before. Zhang Qian, noticing this, felt no joy.

Pain shot through his right toe—he realized, bitterly, that fate was toying with him again. Except for the stone in his hand, all the other rocks suitable as weapons were much larger than they appeared above ground. Unless he had a shovel, there was no way to dig them out, and the wolf wasn’t about to give him time to try.

And if he had a shovel now, would he be in such a predicament?

Having passed through the initial panic, anxiety, and despair, Zhang Qian’s body was exhausted, but his mind was sharper than before.

In other words, as an orphan, his nerves were tougher than most. He had almost accepted the reality of his crossing, and resolved to fight the wolf to the death.

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“If I lose, so be it—I end up in the wolf’s belly. No one will mourn me, no one will remember me!” While the wolf recovered its strength before any attack, Zhang Qian gave a bitter laugh, shook his head, and tucked his phone into his backpack.

This Huawei was the product of four months of saving—using it to bash a wolf’s head would be a shame. Better to leave it; if someone found it after all this, it might at least prove he once existed. Not that many cared, from the day he was born.

His fingers brushed against the telltale texture of paper—his backpack held the English edition of “A Song of Ice and Fire” volume seven. Heaven help him—he’d run until he was out of breath, and still hadn’t thought to discard such a heavy book.

In fact, even if he had, he might not have been willing to throw it away.

He had spent weeks calling in favors to borrow this book from a returning overseas student, only finally getting it this afternoon. The reason for borrowing the original wasn’t that his English was so great, but because it had only been published two months ago—the Chinese translation wouldn’t be out for ages.

If Martin had stuck to his initial plan, this volume wouldn’t be called “Dreams of Spring,” but “The Age of the Direwolf.” For a moment, Zhang Qian was choked with emotion.

If he’d known borrowing “The Age of the Direwolf” would land him with a wolf, he’d have borrowed “The King’s Treasure” instead. Who knows, maybe he’d have stumbled into a vault of gold after crossing over, bought a giant estate, married seventeen or eighteen wives, and lived the shameless life of a playboy…

“Damn you, heavens!” Clenching his teeth and cursing, he wedged his phone between the pages of the book, then quickly crouched down, scooped up a handful of rock fragments, and stuffed them into his backpack.

The wolf, agitated by this movement, retreated a few steps, growling low in its throat. Like dogs, wolves were wary of the gesture of stooping to pick up stones. Perhaps it was instinctual, embedded in their bloodline—after all, for ages they had clashed with primates, and though they’d mostly won, they’d often been bloodied by stones and fruit.

“Damn you, heavens!” Seeing the wolf didn’t attack while he bent down, Zhang Qian swung the rock in his right hand a few times, then crouched again and crammed more stone fragments into his bag.

“Grrrr…” Infuriated by Zhang Qian’s repeated crouching and feinting, the wolf growled low, then suddenly lunged, its body leaping into the air, white fangs gleaming.

“Back off!” Zhang Qian hurled the stone at the wolf, but missed. The wolf’s attack was a feint, meant to test his reaction and resistance. Now his only stone was gone.

“Awoo, awoo—” The wolf, having tricked him, howled in triumph, its forelegs shifting side to side, searching for the best angle and moment to strike.

In the next instant, it sensed danger, crouched low, and began to retreat rapidly.

Zhang Qian had dropped the stone, but now had the backpack’s strap firmly in hand. The bag itself, stuffed with “Dreams of Spring” and shards of stone, had become a giant morning star.

The knockoff backpack from Yiwu was sturdier than the real thing. “Dreams of Spring” was beautifully printed, on heavy, quality paper. Its only flaw as a weapon was hardness—just now, he’d filled it with rocks to fix that.

“Come on, bite me, come and bite me!” Swinging his oversized “morning star” in two wide arcs, Zhang Qian shouted defiantly at the wolf. In that moment, he was like an angry little bird!