The October seaside was crisp and refreshing. The willows had lost their graceful charm, while the pines began to show their sturdy forms. The plane trees stretched out their broad leaves, layer upon layer, casting a dense canopy over two rows of tiled houses, allowing only sparse, gentle light to filter through the latticed windows.
The outer walls of the houses were built with long, bluish-gray facing bricks, each about the length of an adult's forearm. Though weathered and stained by rain, not a single brick showed signs of surface erosion—evidence of the meticulous craftsmanship when they were first fired in the kiln.
Most of the vermilion roof tiles that extended beyond the eaves were damaged, but the tiles atop the roof remained firmly secured in place by nails and rings. The flat tiles lay on their backs like burly men sunbathing on a beach, their bellies exposed. Between every two of these "burly men" lay slender, delicate tube tiles—or perhaps, between every two delicate tube tiles, there lay a single burly man.
Cheng Jinzhou sat by the window, idly toying with the emerald ring on his finger while gazing absentmindedly at the upturned roof tile on the right, as if counting the intricate patterns carved into its surface.
Months had passed since his transmigration, yet he still hadn't adjusted to this strange society, let alone his current frail, childlike body.
The original owner of this body had likely been spoiled rotten—delicate, sickly, and bedridden for most of his short life. At eleven or twelve years old, he weighed less than seventy pounds, as thin and lanky as a bamboo stalk half-eaten by a panda. Eventually, his soul was replaced by Cheng Jinzhou's. Now, though slightly healthier, he was only just well enough to attend this private school.
But for Cheng Jinzhou, who now inhabited the body, attending school wasn't exactly good news—though it was certainly better than being bedridden.
The other students in his class were all members of the Cheng clan, boys aged ten to twelve, all at roughly the same level of education. They chanted in unison:
"Jiashen arrives, the benevolent king rises. Qi, Dou, Lü—sun, moon, stars..."
This was the Three Character Classic of this era—completely different from the "Men at their birth are naturally good" version he knew. Far more difficult, packed with historical references, it was considered intermediate-level material.
Cheng Jinzhou, who had always hated school, could barely remember the elementary content. Falling behind only made him more reluctant to recite these sycophantic texts, so he simply sprawled across his desk, killing time.
In the confined space of the classroom, while the other boys sat ramrod straight, Cheng Jinzhou's slouching posture stood out all the more.
"Cheng Jinzhou!" The old master wouldn't let him slack off. His sharp rebuke rang out like a church bell.
"Here." Cheng Jinzhou responded with the lazy tone of a college student, drawing giggles from the other children.
The old master shot him a stern glance before sweeping his gaze across the room. Instantly, the classroom fell silent again.
"Stand up. Recite from 'The noble clans, grateful for the sovereign's grace...'" The old master stood beside him, eyes closed, a ruler in hand.
Cheng Jinzhou eyed the ruler—as wide as his slender wrist—and felt a twinge of fear. Old Master Cheng was a bona fide member of the Cheng clan, a former official who had earned his scholarly honors before returning home to teach the younger generation. Respected by the elders, he wielded his ruler without regard for status. Cheng Jinzhou's tender flesh would swell for days after just one strike.
As he hesitated, the old master slowly opened his eyes. "What? Can't recite a single line?"
The forgetful boys burst into laughter again. Normally, they wouldn't dare mock the clan's direct descendant—even in decline, his status placed him above them all. For most, the gap between them had been widening since birth.
If not now, when?
Cheng Jinzhou shrugged helplessly—still clinging to habits from his past life—and sighed inwardly: No matter where I go, I can't escape the fate of being lectured by teachers.
In the 21st century, Cheng Jinzhou had been the son of two professors, both renowned in academic circles. Thus, despite his terrible performance in high school, he still got into university. Despite his abysmal undergraduate years, he still pursued a master's degree under a famous professor—his mother's last-ditch effort to educate him. His doctoral advisor? A newly minted professor, one of his father's former students. Had things gone smoothly, in another year, he would have graduated and begun tormenting undergraduates himself.
On the bright side, his epitaph could have read: He dedicated his entire life to the field of education.
Of course, in this alternate world, Old Master Cheng shared no such academic camaraderie. His stern gaze bore down as he repeated, "Can you recite it?"
Cheng Jinzhou shook his head honestly, extending his still-fairly-soft little hand. "I forgot," he said, looking up.
Without mercy, the old master raised the ruler at a precise 45-degree angle and delivered two swift, practiced strikes. In his lifetime, he had administered more beatings than hymns sung by priests in church—each one accurate and powerful.
"Sit down. If you don't understand, ask. Memorize today's lesson and recite it to me tomorrow. If you've been ill, you must catch up." Only with this last sentence did a hint of warmth enter his voice. He knew this Cheng boy was sickly, bedridden half the time, but as the clan's direct descendant, failing to study in his youth was unacceptable.
Grimacing, Cheng Jinzhou slumped back into his seat, the jeers of the little brats around him fueling his inner fury: For heaven's sake, I'm a Ph.D. candidate in theoretical physics from a top-tier university, and now I've been sent back to elementary school—worse, I'm not even competitive here!
If only I'd done more experiments back then. A theoretical physics Ph.D. is useless without lab assistants. He sighed, lightly tapping his forehead. The cool touch of the emerald ring soothed his mood slightly.
The ring had been his before the transmigration—worn on a cord around his neck at home. After inexplicably crossing worlds, it became his sole comfort.
Upon closer inspection, the surface of the ring seemed shrouded in layers of mist, flowing like quicksilver, giving it an ancient, mystical aura. When he pressed his finger fully against the mist, he could vaguely enter a strange space—no larger than a laptop, and completely empty.
Having read countless novels, Cheng Jinzhou had initially hoped this was some kind of storage ring. But despite exhausting every effort, he couldn't store a single item inside. It seemed to be nothing more than an empty space for daydreaming.
"What a waste," he muttered, rubbing the ring.
Though this continent had plenty of oddities—even his own Cheng family possessed objects beyond his understanding—legendary storage rings remained just that: legends. If only he had one, he wouldn't need to worry about anything.
From across the room, the old master glanced his way again and gave a light cough.
Cheng Jinzhou looked up blankly, mechanically swaying his head along with the others while still fiddling with the ring. Under his breath, he pretended to recite: "At best, you could fit two books in here. Even if you were a storage ring, you'd be worthless. What, am I supposed to store books in you?"
The sour grapes mentality brought him no comfort. Just as he prepared to feign attentiveness, a sudden flash caught his eye—a book materialized before him, seemingly suspended in midair by a faint glow emanating from the ring.
Turning back to his desk, he saw his open copy of the Three Character Classic splayed haphazardly, its two pages of rough paper still pristine. His classmates appeared oblivious to the floating book, their gazes passing over him without pause.
The book had appeared out of thin air.