Chapter One: Emergence

What exactly is fate?
Three minutes ago, Zhou Yi was still pondering this question.

Am I about to die?

That was the question occupying his mind in the second minute.

Where am I?

That was what he wondered in the first minute.

Is there any wild grass here—can I eat it?

That was the only thought in his mind now, completely consuming all his attention, leaving no room for anything else.

…

He was in an alley, the ground paved with enormous slabs of bluestone—flooring, he supposed. It was hard to imagine such immense slabs, cut so neatly and laid out perfectly, but yes, it was certainly a floor.

Zhou Yi lay sprawled across seven of these tiles, dressed in clothes torn and filthy, the dirt encrusted on him forming a thick armor that shielded him from the cold. In truth, if not for this layer of grime, he might have frozen to death several minutes ago—even though it wasn’t winter.

Zhou Yi couldn’t make sense of it all—
Well, actually, there was nothing he couldn’t make sense of. Whether on Earth or here, apart from the gnawing hunger—no, the unbearable, overwhelming, excruciating hunger—there was nothing he couldn’t accept.

At this point, he had only one wish: grass. If he could just reach that blade of grass, if he could take a single bite, perhaps dying afterward wouldn’t be so bad.

Yet even though the grass was only an arm’s length away, something he could grasp in a heartbeat if he could just move, the truth was that he couldn’t. All that moved was his mind; his body was utterly still, paralyzed by hunger, drained of all energy. Even a sports car wouldn’t run without fuel.

Yes, he was dying—of starvation.

Perhaps, in a few more minutes, he would become the first traveler in history to die of hunger upon crossing into another world.

…

Drip. Drip.

His vision dimmed, eyelids closing weakly as Zhou Yi, consumed by hunger, awaited the approach of death. Suddenly, footsteps reached his ears.

The footsteps were slow and unhurried. Judging from the sound, their owner must be a contented soul—at the very least, not hungry.

Anyone who can eat their fill is the happiest person in the world.

“Do you want to eat?”

At the sound, Zhou Yi struggled to open his eyes, burning what little energy remained. It brought him even closer to death; as his eyes opened, he almost felt the very specters of death standing by his side.

Staring at the large, white bun before him—marred by streaks of dark grime—Zhou Yi couldn’t help but think: liar!

Whoever claimed that if you place a steamed bun before a starving man, no matter how weak he is, he will suddenly find the strength to snatch it and devour it—they lied! Damn it, why didn’t he suddenly find that strength?

He could only stare helplessly at the big, white—no, black-and-white—bun, longing to snatch it and stuff it into his mouth. Yet never before had he understood so clearly the chasm between thought and reality.

It was the distance between life and death.

There was no doubt—if he ate this bun, he would live. But unless a miracle occurred, even if someone put it in his mouth, he wouldn’t have the strength to chew.

By every measure, he was doomed.

“What’s wrong? Don’t want to eat?” The stranger waved the bun before his eyes, watching his weak gaze with curiosity.

Zhou Yi gave him a look, as if regarding an idiot—that was all he could manage.

“Oh!” Perhaps startled by the silent accusation in Zhou Yi’s eyes, the stranger blinked, then as if enlightened, pulled the bun back and stuffed it into his own mouth.

Watching this, Zhou Yi felt a sudden sense of dread, a chill creeping up his spine, as though something bad was about to happen.

No! Oh no!

He watched in horror as the stranger chewed the bun, his mouth working, but his throat never swallowing. Zhou Yi’s eyes grew wide with terror.

Just let me die!

The stranger reached into his mouth and pulled out the chewed, mushy remains, mixed with an indescribable flavor. Then, despite Zhou Yi’s panicked resistance—resistance as feeble as a chick’s—the man pried open his mouth and stuffed the bun in.

Oh!

The chewed bun, soaked in saliva, was soft and fine and needed no chewing. It slid down his throat on its own.

As the bun reached his stomach, Zhou Yi felt the grip of death loosen; after struggling on the edge for so long, he finally set both feet firmly on the side of life—he survived.

“Hey? You alive? Feeling better?”
After stuffing the chewed bun into Zhou Yi’s mouth, the stranger watched closely. Seeing the light slowly return to Zhou Yi’s eyes, he immediately asked.

Zhou Yi glanced at him, then closed his eyes in exhaustion, his expression saying: Leave me be, let me die. He sprawled limply on the ground, looking even more deathly than before.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!”
“Say something!”
“Who are you, anyway?”
Honestly, Zhou Yi didn’t want to respond, despite the man being his savior. But he was so annoyingly persistent, buzzing like a fly by his ear—utterly exasperating.

“So this is how you treat your savior?” The man frowned, giving Zhou Yi a push in protest.

“Well, if you hadn’t brought that up, maybe we could still have a conversation worth ten cents.”
At this, Zhou Yi’s throat twitched. He took several deep breaths, careful not to move too much—one bun’s energy could only go so far.

“Uh, all right…” Hearing this, the stranger nodded obediently, as if he were a well-behaved child. Then, as if remembering something, he looked up and asked, “Ten cents—what’s that?”

Zhou Yi said nothing, only stared at him.

“All right…” The stranger couldn’t bear Zhou Yi’s gaze—so full of grievance, like an old widow nursing decades of resentment.

“My name is Song Hai. As for what I do—isn’t it obvious?” Song Hai stood up and spun in front of Zhou Yi, his ragged clothes fluttering like strips of cloth in the wind.

“A beggar?” Zhou Yi’s eyes followed his movements, and at the familiar sight, he understood.

Looking at Song Hai, Zhou Yi’s previous disgust faded—so, he was a beggar.

A steamed bun and a beggar.

He wasn’t naïve; he knew what a steamed bun meant to a beggar.

…

“So, where is this?”
A thousand thoughts rained through his mind in that instant, washing away the last dregs of his discomfort.

“Here?” Song Hai blinked, and as his gaze met Zhou Yi’s, he felt a sudden, inexplicable warmth in his heart. He blinked again. “Qiushan City!”

“Qiushan City?” Zhou Yi muttered the name, still lost.
Of course, you couldn’t expect someone who’d just crossed worlds to understand everything from a single place name.