Chapter One: A Farmer at Dawn

The sky was high and clear, the clouds light, wild geese flying south. The water mirrored the blue of the mountains, the sun cast everything aglow with red. Amidst the verdant hills and green rivers, two kinds of red stood out: the winding ochre belonged to the surging Chishui River, while the swathes of fiery red were the endless fields of sorghum.

“It’s time to cut the sorghum! Hurry up!” The resounding voice of Sichuan dialect echoed through the mountains, signaling the start of the autumn harvest in the sixteenth year of the Hongzhi reign. This was the busiest time of the year; even the youngest boys took up sickles, joining the adults in the race to harvest sorghum.

Su Lu was no exception. He had been harvesting sorghum for three days straight and was just beginning to grasp the technique. These sorghum stalks were tall, tough, and slippery—nothing like the easy stalks of rice or wheat. You had to be steady and precise, with a touch of ferocity, which was why they called it “killing sorghum.”

To cut efficiently, first you hugged the stalks tightly with your left arm, keeping them from toppling every which way. Then, gripping the sickle with your right hand, you’d reach forward, pull back forcefully along the ridge, and let the stalks fall neatly into your embrace.

It was work that required strength and even more endurance. For a thirteen-year-old boy, it was exhausting. After several days, Su Lu’s back and legs were sore as if filled with lead. Each swing of the sickle sent a tearing pain through his right arm.

He forced himself to finish a row, then slumped down beside a pile of stalks, gasping for breath, his whole body drenched as if just pulled from water. His face and arms burned with stinging pain.

Glancing at his sun-darkened arms, he saw them covered in tiny cuts left by the sharp sorghum leaves. Sweat streamed down, making his skin throb with pain. Add to that the ache in his muscles, and he couldn’t help cursing the wretched heavens.

He had every right to curse. Without warning, the heavens had snatched him—a respectable urban professional—and dumped him not only in the countryside to farm, but five hundred years back in Ming dynasty China! And in the remote southwest on the Sichuan-Guizhou border, no less.

What a bitter fate!

He had once yearned for an idyllic rural life, often dreaming of escaping the suffocating concrete jungle to raise chickens and farm in the countryside, free as the wind. Now that he truly was back in the countryside, he realized it was all empty fantasy—he couldn't stand the endless toil, the sun baking his back and the earth steaming his feet.

The original owner of this body had collapsed from heatstroke while weeding in the sorghum fields during the height of summer, leaving Su Lu the chance to take his place. Since waking, Su Lu had been cautious, fearful of slipping up. But he soon realized his worries were unfounded—his mother was long gone, and his father and brother were oblivious by nature, noticing nothing amiss.

It was the grueling farm work itself that nearly crushed him. In these wild southwestern mountains, there was nowhere to escape; all he could do was grit his teeth and endure.

How long, he wondered, would these days of hardship last?

As Su Lu sighed, another figure emerged from the sorghum fields, staggering over and dropping down beside him. The man took off his bamboo hat, fanning himself and gulping for air.

This was his father in this life, Su Youcai—a man with fair skin and gentle features, looking much younger than his years. In the month since Su Lu had arrived, he had learned the family’s circumstances: his father was a scholar who had failed the imperial exams many times and had started teaching at the clan school last year. But during the busy farming season, every student had to help with the harvest, and even the teacher could not escape.

After fanning himself, Su Youcai turned to Su Lu, grimacing. “Come on, massage your old man’s arm for me, it’s aching to death.”

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Since he was now the son, he obediently started kneading his father’s right arm with his left hand.

“Oh, oh…” Su Youcai gritted his teeth and groaned loudly.

“Son, your arm must be sore too. Let your old man help you,” he said, grabbing Su Lu’s right arm and pressing his thumb deep into the muscle. “We share hardship together, and blessings too.”

“Oh, oh…” Su Lu winced and gritted his teeth, digging in with renewed vigor. The two of them took turns yelping in pain.

As their cries echoed, a burly figure blocked the sunlight. Thick-browed with wide eyes, broad-shouldered and strong, he stretched out a palm like a fan, handing over a wild melon vine with two small sweet melons attached.

“Eat some melon, fresh from the field,” he said with a guileless smile. This was Su Lu’s elder brother, Su Tai, who had looked after him through his recent illness.

“You two eat,” Su Youcai said, waving him off, finally managing to look fatherly.

“I’ve already had some.” Su Tai grinned, tossing the vine to them before heading back. “Brother, join us and rest a while,” Su Lu called.

“I’m not tired. I’ll finish another row.” Su Tai shook his head, picked up his sickle, and disappeared into the sorghum. His sturdy arms swung the blade, felling ten stalks with a stroke. He pressed the stalks to his knee, tied them securely with straw rope, and soon had half a row finished.

Combined, Su Lu and Su Youcai couldn’t match Su Tai’s output alone.

“Thank goodness for Second Brother,” Su Lu thought gratefully, watching his brother’s retreating back.

“Indeed—otherwise your aunt would be shouting at us again,” Su Youcai said, wiping the melons clean with his sleeve. He broke the larger one in half and handed a piece to Su Lu.

Father and son crunched into the melon. It wasn't all that sweet, but Su Lu found it refreshingly juicy, the flavor light and pure, deeply satisfying.

Su Youcai, savoring the taste, recited with a flourish, “Sweeter than lychee but without its dryness; as crisp as snow pear, but even fresher. Not the peaches of the Jade Pool, yet it quenches mortal thirst; not the fruits of the Immortal Gardens, yet it soothes the toils of the field…”

Su Lu was deeply impressed, thinking, “All I can say is, damn, this is delicious…”

“Second Brother, stop lazing around! Youngest Brother’s been beaten up!” At that moment, Su Lu’s aunt came running along the riverbank. She caught sight of Su Youcai and shouted breathlessly, her food basket forgotten somewhere along the way.

“What? No wonder he’s gone missing!” Su Youcai leapt up in shock. “Who did it?!”

“It was the Cheng family—I saw it on my way with lunch!” his aunt cried, sweating profusely.

“Hurry, take me there!” Su Youcai threw down his melon rind and rushed off with his sister.

When he saw Su Tai thundering after them, Su Lu had no choice but to grab a carrying pole and follow.

“They have numbers on their side. Try reasoning with them, don’t use your fists,” his aunt urged, worried about Su Tai.

“Don’t worry. A scholar uses words, not fists,” Su Youcai nodded.

“That’s good,” she sighed in relief.

As they spoke, shouts and cries of pain rang out ahead, along with the thump of fists and feet.

Su Youcai quickened his pace, skirting a field of sorghum. There, on the harvested ground, six or seven men from the Cheng family were beating his youngest brother, leaving him battered and bloody.

“Damn you!” At the sight of his brother’s misery, Su Youcai’s eyes flared with rage. He charged forward, kicking a Cheng man to the ground—only to fall heavily himself.

The others cursed and turned on Su Youcai. Suddenly, a roar split the air: “Who dares lay a hand on my father?!”

Su Tai, shoulders low and back bent, charged like a wild bull, scattering them in all directions.

“Second Brother, let me help!” Su Lu sighed helplessly, swinging his carrying pole and joining the fray. And so, father and sons of the Su family battled the Cheng family amid the sorghum fields.

“Stop fighting! Stop!” Their aunt’s shrill cries rang out, “Help! The Chengs are beating people!”

Soon, clansmen from both the Su and Cheng families rushed over from nearby fields, and the scene descended into utter chaos.