Chapter 1: Diligence Makes Up for Clumsiness

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Central Prefecture, Wu Kingdom, Liyang County.

It was the heart of winter.

Bang!

With a violent crash, the battered wooden door of the sundry shop was kicked open.

A burly, powerful man in his thirties strode in, flanked by two henchmen. "Well, Axing, why is your shop closed in broad daylight? Not doing business anymore?"

"Master Cheng!"

On the other side stood a delicate-featured boy in a coarse, short jacket. His name was Yang Xing. Seeing Master Cheng enter, he hurriedly rose from behind the counter, plastering a smile on his face. "The wind's fierce today, so I shut the door. Was just waiting for you to collect this month's payment."

With that, Yang Xing fetched three rough cloth sacks from behind him.

This so-called "first payment" was, in plain terms, protection money.

Master Cheng reached into a sack, letting white rice grains slip through his fingers, speckled here and there with bits of bran. He could immediately tell the quality. "Starting this month, the quota’s gone up by three jin."

"Three jin!?"

Yang Xing's face tightened. He drew a deep breath, then said, "Master Cheng, we've run out of fine grain. Could we substitute with coarse instead?"

Taxes and the gang’s dues were always collected in fine grain. Most people mixed their meals with coarse grains, sometimes even replacing grains entirely with wild vegetables.

Master Cheng frowned. "Nine jin of coarse grain."

Yang Xing quickly fetched nine jin of coarse grain from under the counter and placed it on the table.

Master Cheng glanced at it, a mocking smile twisting his lips. "Axing, why so willing this time? Have you struck it rich lately?"

"Master Cheng, surely you jest. Don't you know Spring Breeze Alley like the back of your hand? If I had made a fortune, your sharp eyes would be the first to see it. Business at this sundry shop is harder than ever. I just worry about troublemakers causing mischief."

As he spoke, Yang Xing rubbed his hands together, grinning obsequiously. "I hope you’ll keep an extra eye out for me, give me a bit of leeway."

Master Cheng burst out laughing. "No worries. Since you've paid your dues, the Black Serpent Gang will guarantee your safety."

"Many thanks, Master Cheng!"

Yang Xing beamed as he saw Master Cheng out, his face all politeness, betraying not a hint of resentment.

If he dared to shout about fortunes waxing and waning, he’d likely be beaten to death on the spot.

And men like Master Cheng, street thugs and ruffians, were experts at reading people. The slightest hint of dissatisfaction could earn a vicious beating.

Yang Xing was well aware of this.

"To suffer humiliation without betraying it—revenge, even if delayed for ten years, is never too late."

Yang Xing drew a deep breath, silently etching this day into his memory.

"Those damnable bastards!"

Just then, a middle-aged woman emerged, her hair pinned with a wooden hairpin and her plain skirt threadbare, her skin weathered. She was Yang Xing's mother, Madam Chen.

She ground her teeth, her face twisted with indignation. "The officials take only thirty percent in taxes, but these people collect forty..."

"Mother, speaking more does no good," Yang Xing cut in, waving his hand. "Walls have ears. If the Black Serpent Gang hears, it won’t end well."

At that, Madam Chen shuddered, fearing the power of the gangs.

"Alas!"

She sighed quietly. "Who knows where your father has gone and died, leaving us mother and son alone..."

Yang Xing’s father had vanished a month ago and never returned.

In times like these, a disappearance could mean only one thing.

For an ordinary family to lose its pillar was nothing short of calamity.

Yang Xing comforted her. "Mother, I’ll think of something."

He was, after all, a transmigrator.

Yang Xing had been in this world for three months now. From initial confusion, he had come to accept his fate.

The three of them had eked out a living with this sundry shop.

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But a month ago, Yang Xing’s father, Yang Wang, vanished into thin air.

Everyone assumed he was dead.

In these times, the death of a commoner was as trivial as the death of an ant.

The authorities made only a token investigation, then swiftly closed the case.

Yang Xing had considered other ways to support his family.

But in this world, making a living always came down to two words: the gangs.

In the slums, whether running a small shop or doing business, one had to pay the gangs. Without connections, any profitable business would be targeted.

Either you handed over your shop and became a worker, or you paid exorbitant protection fees just to scrape by.

This was an age when ordinary people with money became prey.

But Yang Xing had one crucial advantage.

That advantage was the golden bronze mirror in his mind, which revealed his destiny.

[Destiny: Diligence makes up for lack of talent; perseverance will bring success.]

From the residual information, Yang Xing understood his fate.

Any skill, craft, or technique—so long as he practiced with determination, he would eventually master it, reaching perfection.

In other words, with enough effort, even an iron rod can be ground into a needle!

There was no such thing as poor aptitude or bottlenecks for him.

If there were cultivation techniques in this world, he believed that with diligence, he could surely reach immortality.

Yang Xing’s heart burned with hope.

Unfortunately, since his arrival, he had heard nothing of immortals. Only rumors of people with inner training techniques—true experts.

Some of these experts were with the gangs, some in martial halls, and some held positions in the government.

But learning inner training methods was extraordinarily difficult.

For ordinary people, it required not only connections, but also a financial foundation.

"What can you do?"

Madam Chen sighed. "We can't even afford coarse cornmeal now, just bran. If we’re hungry, we’ll have to drink more water to get through the winter..."

"Everyone, come out!"

Clang, clang—

"Everyone, come out!"

Clang, clang—

As Yang Xing fell into thought, a raucous sound of gongs and drums came from outside.

"Something's happened!"

Yang Xing frowned and stepped out.

Neighbors emerged too—Aunt Cuihua, Father and Son Dashan and Xiaoshan, Uncle Wangcai, and others.

Lined up outside were men bearing the Black Serpent Gang’s insignia, with Master Cheng at their head.

Master Cheng's face was thunderous. At his feet lay two men, writhing and howling in pain, their cries sending chills down everyone’s spines.

These were Old Wang and Little Wang.

Yang Xing recognized them at once—the blacksmith’s family. Little Wang, whose name was Wang Hu, had grown up with Yang Xing.

"Listen up, all of you!"

Master Cheng straightened his jacket and swept a cold gaze over the crowd. "Wang Dexing, that traitor, not only refused to pay his dues, but dared to sell weapons to our rivals."

"Today, I’m here to enforce gang law!"

An uproar broke out.

"Has the Wang family gone mad?!"

"Daring to deal with other gangs?"

"Have they grown bold as tigers and bears?"

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...

Yang Xing sensed something was off. He glanced at the Wang family’s home—a chaotic mess, with tables and chairs overturned and the family beaten into begging for mercy.

He suspected the real story: the Black Serpent Gang had raised their dues, but the Wangs didn't have enough grain. Unable to pay, the gang came to seize what they could, leading to conflict and finally violence.

Master Cheng was simply using this as a pretext, making an example of them to intimidate the others.

After all, with dues increased, many would be unwilling to pay.

"N-no..."

Old Wang tried to explain, but Master Cheng struck him hard across the face.

Smack!

Old Wang was sent flying, dazed and his cheek swelling instantly.

A cold gleam flashed in Master Cheng’s eyes. "Beat them! Beat them well, so they learn what rules mean!"

The Wang father and son’s miserable cries echoed, filling the alley with dread.

Yang Xing knew Master Cheng had achieved his goal.

After a long while, Master Cheng waved his hand. "Punishment is dealt, but the dues must still be paid. Go inside and search!"

With that, his two henchmen pounced into the Wang home like hungry wolves, smashing and ransacking.

Crack!

The ragged bedding was torn apart, cotton spilling everywhere.

Bang!

Bowls and pots were smashed to pieces!

"Found it!"

Suddenly, one of the henchmen gleefully pulled a box from under the bed and presented it to Master Cheng. Inside was a silver lock.

Old Wang, barely conscious, struggled desperately when he saw it. "That belonged to my late wife..."

"Shut it, old man!"

"With such a big silver lock, you dare say you can’t pay? Old Wang, you fool! If I don’t deal harshly with you today, everyone will follow your example. How will the Black Serpent Gang survive?"

Master Cheng’s voice was gentle, but his eyes were cold as he stared at the crowd.

He then stomped hard on Old Wang’s knee.

"Aaagh!"

The sound of bone snapping was lost in Old Wang’s scream as he passed out.

"Let’s go!"

Master Cheng and his men left without another word.

"Father!"

Wang Hu crawled to his father's side, tears streaming down his face.

Watching this, Yang Xing sighed inwardly: If we ever fail to pay, our fate may be even worse.

Besides the gang’s dues, there were still the government’s endless taxes.

These were hard times indeed.

Even the Wang family, once merchants, now couldn’t afford their dues.

The Dashan family, who ran a medical clinic, were always busy yet barely scraped by.

Aunt Cuihua, who sold tofu, toiled from dawn till dusk, but could only make ends meet.

As the crowd dispersed, shaking their heads at the devastation in the Wang home, Yang Xing too remained silent.

His own family was little better off than the Wangs.

He pitied them deeply—but who would pity him?