Chapter 1

The unpredictable weather in Port Harrison, a city in the tropics, is always like this: clear skies in the morning, and heavy rain in the afternoon.

Similarly, the people of Port Harrison are just as unpredictable. Before falling asleep, Ian was just a clever and quick-witted child, but upon waking, he had become a reincarnated being who had unraveled the mysteries of his past life and regained his previous memories.

"Head hurts so much..."

On a half-old, shabby wooden bed, Ian opened his eyes. His blue irises were scattered and dazed, but soon focused on the wooden beam in front of him, which was already starting to mold.

The July sunlight should have been bright, but it was blocked by a thick curtain, making the room narrow and the air stale.

Every breath he took brought a piercing pain from deep within his skull, causing his ears to ring. The slightly briny air from the coast, mixed with the smell of slowly decaying wood, rushed into his nostrils.

This feeling was like being on a four-hour long journey with a car sickness, with a middle-aged woman sitting next to him, drenched in cheap perfume and suffering from severe body odor, chattering incessantly in his ear.

The intense stimulation from his brain and sensory nerves simultaneously brought an unbearable nausea to his throat.

Ian wanted to vomit, but his stomach was empty, not even a drop of acid. His dry, cracked lips and the movement of his dry,涩涩的 eyeballs proved that he had not eaten or drunk for a long time, and his weak limbs and body indicated a very dangerous situation, with his physical state on the brink.

But now he had to get up.

—Food is one thing, but without water, this body would lose all ability to move, and without help, he would surely die.

Ian struggled to prop himself up from the bed.

The delicate wrists of a child made him feel particularly uncomfortable, and his pale, almost sickly skin deepened his unease.

He keenly sensed that the pain in his head, beyond the dizziness caused by thirst, was more due to an external injury. A bandage wrapped around his head, with dried blood scabs covering the wound, and the dull, throbbing sensation originated from there.

"Interesting, was I kidnapped and hit over the head?"

Just waking up, a bit confused, Ian muttered to himself: "Not likely, with this efficiency, it would be better to use a black auxiliary engineering AI."

His profession was that of an aerospace engineer at the Vacuum Propulsion Research Center of East Asia Heavy Industries, responsible for the debugging and maintenance of the third lunar exploration rocket in the East Asia region.

In other words, he was just a ship's maintenance worker.

With the assistance of a maintenance AI, he rarely had to do the actual work, and his importance was even lower than that of a water dispenser. He often joked with his colleagues that he was just there to make up the numbers.

But going to space was a dream for Ian, who had always been extremely curious and yearned for the stars and the sea since childhood.

A water dispenser is a water dispenser, who cares!

During a routine inspection of the nozzle, Ian was still thinking about whether he would have the opportunity to work at the Seventh Space Machinery Industry Department on Mars after his training at the lunar base.

They were building the first light-speed spaceship in human history, and if he could be part of it, it would truly be a life well-lived.

Then he woke up here.

"Wait, I was already reincarnated... I just remembered now."

Lifting his hand, he gently pressed around the wound on his head.

Ian frowned slightly after confirming that the wound was not infected or swollen: "A child's brain cannot handle my memories, so it can only recover gradually with age, in the form of dreams and inspirations."

"Until I got hit on the head, and all the memories came back."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he closed his eyes and carefully reviewed the memories flowing through his mind.

—Birth.

Drowned in a sea disaster, a father he had never met.

A kind and hardworking mother who died of illness early.

A young brother and a stepfather who abandoned his wife and children, cold and heartless.

An uncle like a demon, terrifying and hateful.

And finally, the blow from the uncle that brought back all his memories, a pain etched in his bones.

A light sigh followed.

"Eight years, like a dream."

Ian opened his eyes, and in the darkness, his clear blue eyes shone like gems.

The boy spoke calmly: "But I am awake now."

For a reincarnated being, the hardest part is accepting the past memories. The experiences of two lives are like a turbulent flood, and a child's weak brain cannot bear it.

But perhaps Ian's body in this life had extraordinary talent, and at eight years old, his brain could handle the memories of two lives, with only a slight headache from the wound.

The blow was indeed forceful, and now Ian's head felt heavy, a clear sign of a mild concussion.

"Territorial continent, empire, Port Harrison. White people, psychics, natives, and immigrants—interesting, another world or another planet? I guess it's another world."

Calmly assessing his current situation, extracting key terms from his memories, Ian took a deep breath and smiled: "An orphan in another world, with a pedophile uncle who is half-mad—what a hellish start."

"No matter, one problem after another, that's what makes it interesting."

This smile caused a problem, as his dry, cracked lips were pulled, causing Ian to frown in pain.

He got out of bed, controlling his weak body to move slowly in the narrow, dim room. Relying on his memory, Ian found the water bucket by the stone trough near the window.

After a large drink, the water refreshed him, and his thoughts became more agile.

It was morning, and most people were at work, including his uncle, who would likely not return until evening.

Ian pulled back the curtain, and the bright light outside illuminated the empty street.

The surrounding buildings were constructed of grayish-white stone, rough and sturdy, with white vines and ivy leaves climbing the walls. The rocks beneath the leaves, eroded by the sea wind for years, were full of cracks, bearing the marks of time.

Following the road, he could clearly see the blue sea in the distance, with fishing boats coming and going, a scene typical of a classical coastal port town.

"Nice view."

Ian withdrew his gaze from the window, lowered his head, and saw his reflection in the water, his tone surprised: "But I look even better."

Even with a bandage on his head, covered in dried blood, Ian still looked very good, even surpassing gender norms. The white-haired, blue-eyed boy, though still young, showed signs of future handsomeness.

"Already quite good, most adjusters don't have this level."

Ian, accustomed to seeing handsome men and beautiful women, nodded. This life's appearance was clean and cute, and in the gene-modified environment of his past life, it could be considered quite high-quality. However, the obvious malnutrition and fatigue made him look abnormally haggard.

And upon closer inspection, rolling up his sleeves, he could see many old and new scars on his white arms, too many to count.

"My uncle really knows how to hit hard, and I'm not even ten yet!"

Ian frowned, turned his head, and pulled down his collar slightly, revealing the purple bruises on his neck above his collarbone.

He remembered his uncle grabbing his neck and throwing him to the ground, all because Ian had not cleaned the house before his return.

—No one could clean it, the house was already falling apart, and unless it was rebuilt, it would always have that stench!

Ian mentally complained, his hair a bit long, covering the scars. He combed it back, feeling the coolness on his neck, and could clearly see the size of the purple marks.

"Hmm, this force... did my uncle really want to kill me back then?"

His gaze was deep, staring at the water, and his hand rested on his collarbone, sliding down.

Pain traveled down.

Though hidden by clothes, the boy's thin body and slender waist were covered with bruises and whip marks of varying depths.

Each touch of a wound brought back a corresponding memory—beaten for buying alcohol late, beaten for stuttering, beaten for using his left hand to chop wood, beaten for stepping into the room with his right foot first...

Though the wound on his head was the most severe, it was clear that the boy's life was not easy, and being beaten was a daily occurrence.

"Ah..."

Finally, his hand rested on his abdomen, and Ian's face turned pale, gasping for breath.

The intense pain made him break out in a cold sweat.

A mix of extreme hunger and overuse of his waist and abdomen caused a tearing pain... This was clearly the result of overwork without rest, leaving hidden injuries.

"Truly a sin." He muttered, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, and instead of being angry, he smiled.

Abuse, oppression, unreasonable beatings, even bordering on cruelty—if he had not woken up, Ian might have really slept and never woken up.

—But.

If it were just this, it wouldn't be much.

He was still alive, wasn't he?

Ian, though an engineer in his past life, was not ignorant of history. Combining the memories of this life, in this pre-industrial or post-industrial world, children with similar fates were countless.

Even if not in Port Harrison, which apprentice did not receive such treatment? Since losing his parents and living under someone else's roof, he had to endure, at least his uncle provided them with food.

In the pre-industrial era, how many child laborers in factories survived? The White People's bloodline rules truly helped a lot. If his uncle wasn't a madman, the two brothers could have grown up safely.

The biggest problem was still his uncle.

He was a real scoundrel.

The child Ian might not understand, but based on his memories, Ian could confirm that the limping man was a local native's underground informant, or a tool, and was addicted to a black mushroom extract from the Bison Mountains.

This addictive natural chemical substance was well-known; those who were addicted were like madmen, not to be considered human, but animals.

Therefore, for a few days each month, his uncle, who was keen on finding trouble, would hide in his room to take the mushrooms, enjoying a life of drunken dreams, which was one of the few times Ian could breathe and rest.

In the past, to take the mushrooms, the man had no money left and often needed to borrow from Ian's parents.

After Ian's parents died, due to blood ties and the White People's custom of "blood is thicker than water," he had to adopt the two brothers, which wasted his time and the little money he had for buying the black mushroom extract.

The clan was watching, and he couldn't shirk this responsibility, plus some personal reasons, so this man always violently abused the two brothers, venting his resentment.

"Who can endure this!"

Recalling this, Ian couldn't help but complain.

Before regaining his memories, the child Ian could not bear the unreasonable beatings and feared for his life.

The boy even secretly hid a silver taler in the corner, preparing to escape.

Though a bit naive, it was a choice and a show of courage.

If it were the current Ian, he would probably take similar actions, but more thoroughly.

Only a fool would want to live under the same roof as such a madman!

But the real issue was not these.

As he pondered, Ian recalled some more important fragmented memories.

"Good one."

Frowning, Ian straightened up and looked at the other side of the room.

That was the room of his two-year-old brother.

Even if he himself was being abused, Ian could still laugh it off—when someone is so low as to abuse a child, what can you do? Just endure, because he is terminally ill.

If not in a hurry, collect evidence and report to the clan elders or the city guards. If the situation is urgent, run away. Since his uncle needs to take the mushrooms, there will always be time to prepare.

He is not a real child, with two lives, and a violent child abuser is just one problem, and there are ways to deal with it, so he can be indifferent.

But now.

"Native... transaction... young children... blood sacrifice... offering?!"

Recalling the details, Ian's tone carried anger for the first time: "This bastard, he actually wants to sacrifice a child?!"