Chapter 4: Follow Your Heart—Time to Slip Away
Page (1/3)
Chapter Four: Follow Your Heart, Time to Slip Away
“Zzz… zzz…”
“Attempting to contact the Lord God… feedback error… information error… error…”
[Serial number ￥*%… error, welcome to the Lord God Space]
[Reincarnation World: …& error]
…
A flurry of errors and garbled messages flashed across his vision, fragments striving to connect to the Lord God, but alas, the boss was already dead!
“Lord God? Still haunting me?!”
With a sudden bang, Luo Feng’s intuition told him something was flashing before his eyes. The radiant fragments crumbled to powder, then poured into his own body.
A series of strange yet familiar memories surfaced in his mind.
[Reincarnator: Luo Feng (???)]
[Serial Number: 22333]
[Skills: Seventh Breathing Technique Revised Edition 2.3]
[Main Quest: None]
[Reward: None]
“So this is what they mean by ‘When the Lord God falls, the Reincarnators feast.’”
“And version 2.3, seriously? Why does it feel just like the seventh set of radio calisthenics?!”
Operating his single-player Reincarnator template, Luo Feng silently muttered to himself.
At the same time, he resolved that since there were no reincarnation quests and no Lord God to forcibly erase him, he’d play it safe, be a salted fish, and survive until the end of days, until the multiverse collapsed.
After all, if even the Lord God could be destroyed, what else wasn’t possible?
Low-key was the way; those who walked the path of the invincible dragon never lasted long.
After experimenting with the reincarnation template, Luo Feng willed the information to disperse from his mind.
He then focused his gaze on Zheng Zha.
Unlike Luo Feng, who was unscathed, Zheng Zha had survived but was badly wounded for reasons unknown, his flesh mangled and unconscious.
“To save, or not to save?!”
That was the question.
After a moment, Luo Feng let out a mocking laugh, muttering, “Luo Feng, Luo Feng, you’re just not the novel’s overpowered protagonist, not some adolescent with a ruthless streak.”
Twenty years of moral upbringing made it impossible for him to simply turn away.
Besides, his principles aside, Luo Feng also considered the survival rate.
In a strange world, an unknown environment, two working together always beat going it alone.
Sighing, he awkwardly helped Zheng Zha up, the frail homebody bearing the battered invalid as he staggered down the mountain.
He muttered to himself, “This counts as fulfilling a flag—back then, I bragged about saving people too.”
“Helping him might pay off; maybe I can sell out a teammate down the line…”
At an angle barely perceptible, battered hands subtly retracted, slipping a yellow talisman into his clothes.
Time flowed quietly, as if nothing had happened.
The blazing sun cast their shadows long, longer, and… ouch!
The saying goes: ‘Looking at the mountain exhausts the horse.’ The mountain road was rough and winding; after about an hour, Luo Feng, exhausted, slipped, the weak friction unable to hold back the combined two- or three-hundred-pound mass.
(w)(e:)(.w.)(:3)(w)
Page (1/3)
Page (2/3)
…
At the foot of the mountain, Zheng Zha awoke in pain, glaring furiously at Luo Feng!
“Oh, you’re awake.”
Seeing himself battered and with an injured right foot, Luo Feng gave an awkward smile.
“A mistake, pure accident!”
The scene was awkward indeed.
The chronically ill and the newly injured sat by a high mound of earth.
Heaven never cuts off all paths.
The sound of their tumble drew a dark-skinned old farmer over, hoe in hand: “Kids, what happened?!”
The old farmer’s arrival brought Luo Feng to tears—not only did it mean hope of leaving the mountains, but more importantly, he could understand the man’s words!
This should be China, at least a parallel universe version, a reincarnation world’s China.
“Ah, how’d you get hurt?”
The old farmer dropped his hoe, helped Zheng Zha up, and asked, “Where did you two come from?”
Luo Feng’s expression froze—‘From the Lord God Space’? What a joke!
How should he spin this? In urgent need of a good excuse!
Zheng Zha smoothly interjected, “Uncle, we’re students. We encountered wild animals in the woods, fled in panic, and got lost.”
“Where are we now? Is there a hospital around?”
The old farmer clapped his hands, easily hoisted Zheng Zha, and grinned, revealing yellow teeth: “This is Yang Family Village. Hospital, what’s that?”
He turned to look at Zheng Zha, battered head to toe, and suddenly understood, slapping his head: “Ah, you mean a medical clinic. There’s one in Ping’an County town.”
“Ping’an County?” Zheng Zha and Luo Feng exchanged glances—where exactly were they? From the elder’s tone, this seemed ancient.
But judging from the old farmer’s appearance, he had neither long hair like Han Chinese nor the shaven queue of the Qing.
Next, Zheng Zha asked questions while Luo Feng covered for him, extracting information from the old man.
They learned this was Ping’an County, under Su Province. The emperor had abdicated years ago, supposedly managed by a new government.
But for the old man, it made little difference; life under the emperor or the new regime was much the same—he still farmed, still paid taxes, knew little and cared less about the new government.
Who ruled the world was irrelevant to a farmer.
…
Piecing together scattered, fragmentary information, the two grew increasingly grave. If their guess was right, this was a parallel universe’s China, only the time seemed off.
The emperor abdicated, so the new government should be in charge, yet the county’s highest authority was a General Ma. That sounded like the Republic era, early warlord period—a bona fide troubled age!
Luo Feng sighed, voicing a phrase passed down among protagonists of countless worlds: “Since we’re here, let’s settle in.”
With his breathing technique, he had some confidence.
Zheng Zha suddenly said, “That’s right: ‘If distant peoples will not submit, cultivate virtue to bring them near. Since we’re here, let’s settle in. Now, as for seeking it, if you, Master, cannot bring distant peoples to submit, the state is divided and cannot be maintained; and you counsel raising arms within the state.’”
“Confucius’ words have been much misunderstood and blamed.”
Luo Feng rolled his eyes, “Just grasp the meaning. We both had nine years of compulsory education—why are you so argumentative?”
“Now that we’ve crossed worlds, shouldn’t we say ‘Since we’re here, let’s settle in,’ that it’s terrifying, take a chilly breath, but still feel something’s missing?”
“What do you mean, ‘terrifying’?” Zheng Zha asked.
“Eh?” Luo Feng turned in surprise, “You’ve never seen ‘Battle Aura Becomes a Horse’?”
Zheng Zha shook his head.
Page (2/3)
Page (3/3)
“‘Battle Through the Heavens’ then?”
Zheng Zha shook his head.
…
The old farmer’s surname was Yang; he belonged to Yang Family Village, lived in poverty, and owned no draft animals.
Fortunately, most villagers were relatives. Yang, being the village chief’s cousin, borrowed a cow from the chief, hitched up a cart, and sent the two of them to the county town for treatment.
Though they had pictured a Republican-era county town in their minds, seeing the filthy streets and livestock relieving themselves everywhere, both men from modern society turned pale.
Everything before them shattered their lingering illusions—time to accept reality!
This was old China, China in the warlord chaos of the last century.
With Yang’s help, they settled Zheng Zha in the clinic, then went to the county pawnshop to exchange some valuables.
A finely crafted wristwatch, an exquisite fountain pen, and two lighters yet to be invented—all together fetched twenty-eight silver dollars.
Creations from the twenty-first century were worth far more than twenty-eight silver dollars, but seeing the burly, muscular men at the pawnshop, and comparing themselves—a frail homebody and a skinny old man—
Luo Feng, guided by caution, took the silver and left quickly.
Watching their departing backs, a security guard quietly approached the manager and made a gesture.
“No!”
The manager weighed the items in his hand, grinning, “You think it’s like the old days? We run a shop—go easy.”
“They don’t look like fat sheep. Follow them and see.”
“If they really have money…” a cold gleam flashed in the manager’s eyes.
The guard grinned, “Got it. I understand!”
Everywhere had its dialects. People like Luo Feng, an outsider, were easily identified—rootless reeds, with no local ties, easy prey.
But in these chaotic times, you never know; better to send the guard to investigate.
If they were well-connected or part of a group, back off. If they were alone and carrying treasures—well.
“Kid, someone’s tailing us.” Luo Feng had no experience being followed, but Yang, having lived half a lifetime, had seen all sorts of shady business, and spotted it immediately.
Luo Feng glanced over, saw the pawnshop security guard following them, and his expression changed, palms sweating.
He was kind-hearted, not stupid—this situation screamed trouble.
“A man without guilt, but with treasure invites crime.”
“Damn!”
The chaos of this era was infuriating, but what could he do?
Recalling scenes from novels and TV dramas, Luo Feng acted quickly, ducking into a tavern, darting out the back, weaving through alleys, fleeing toward crowds.
The guard hadn’t expected the pair to react so quickly; he lost them in a moment, cursed, and returned to report.
After several twists and turns, they finally returned to the clinic. Confirming no one followed, Luo Feng secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
During the manager’s price haggling, he’d already sensed something was off—the burly men crowding the door. If he hadn’t sold cheap, trouble would have followed.
Who’d have thought even a small pawnshop would plot murder for gain!
Truly, the old saying: inns, ferries, shops—all guilty and deserving of death.
“Too dangerous outside. Better to stay indoors,” Luo Feng muttered.
(End of chapter) Page (3/3)