Chapter 1

It was the fifth year of Tianqi, which in the Gregorian calendar would be January 1, 1625. The once mighty Ming Empire was gradually declining.

It was a winter with heavy snowfall, and the vast snow covered the ancient city of Nanjing with a thick layer of silver. Pedestrians on the streets almost all wore conical hats and straw capes, struggling through the snow that had reached their ankles. The bustling official roads of Nanjing, known for its "eight hundred thousand residents and the fragrant makeup water of the Qinhuai River," were now impassable even for carriages. In such harsh weather, even the flower boats that usually crisscrossed the Xuanwu Lake had stopped.

Due to the sparse number of pedestrians, the soldiers guarding Nanjing had become very lax. Many soldiers who should have been stationed at the city gates leaned their spears against the city walls and constantly rubbed their hands, walking back and forth. They cursed the desolate weather, and when a few farmers carrying charcoal or vegetables passed by, these soldiers, who usually extorted from everyone, were too lazy to check them, simply waving them through.

For over two hundred years since the founding of the Ming Dynasty, except for the rebellion led by Zhu Di against his nephew, Nanjing had rarely seen any turmoil. In such peaceful times, there was nothing to worry about. The two soldiers on duty now only hoped to finish their shift early, go home, drink a cup of hot wine, and then sleep soundly with their wives. If they were in the mood, they might even extinguish the lamp and do what all men love to do.

However, at the Zhengyang Gate in the south, two soldiers held their cold spears and warily watched the strangely dressed man before them, their eyes filled with suspicion. The man was tall, with fair skin, wearing a blue short jacket that looked extremely soft, and a pair of rare straight pants. Most strangely, his hair was only an inch long, a hairstyle that was neither monkish nor secular, giving off an indescribable oddity.

Yang Feng, wearing a green jacket, looked at the pale-faced soldiers at the city gate who were eyeing him warily, feeling a sense of despair.

"Damn, is this still Nanjing? How can it be so cold?"

Yang Feng stomped his feet hard. Although he had lived in Nanjing for over twenty years, he had rarely experienced such cold weather. By his estimation, the temperature was at least minus 15 degrees Celsius, which was a torment for him, wearing only a jacket.

However, physical pain was only one aspect. What truly made him despair was that this era was over three hundred years before his time. Such a long span was enough to drive anyone to despair.

"I never thought that the family heirloom mirror would have a teleportation function, but this is not what I wanted!" Shivering in the cold wind, Yang Feng clenched his fists. Looking at the two soldiers at the city gate who were eyeing him warily, he felt deflated, like a deflated balloon.

He was now forcing himself to accept the fact that it was January 1, 1625, and he was in Nanjing, the secondary capital of the Ming Empire. This information came from an old farmer who was entering the city to sell vegetables, and he had confirmed it from at least six other people.

"No, I must go back. Otherwise, I will either go crazy or starve to death. There is no third option!"

Yang Feng tightly gripped the round object hanging from his collar, silently vowing. Two days ago, after an "accident," Yang Feng's mind had become numb. At that time, he looked at the villagers in front of him as if they were aliens, and they looked at him as if he were a madman. If it weren't for his tall and somewhat intimidating appearance, he might have been robbed by the village hooligans.

Even so, the past two days had been a living hell for Yang Feng. During these two days, he often fantasized that this was just a dream, but the bone-chilling cold and pain constantly reminded him that this was real. He had indeed traveled from the 21st century to the Ming Dynasty over three hundred years ago.

After staying in the village for two days, Yang Feng could no longer bear it. Although he was just a high school graduate and a low-level worker in the 21st century, living paycheck to paycheck, he at least had enough to eat and occasionally enjoyed a drink. But in the past two days, he had only eaten four coarse grain cakes mixed with wild vegetables. Hungry and desperate, Yang Feng finally left the village, walked for over two hours, and arrived at the city gate of Nanjing. He had decided that if he couldn't find a way back, he would rather starve to death outside than suffer any longer.

Yang Feng controlled his chaotic thoughts and looked up at the ancient city of Nanjing.

The towering city walls, stretching endlessly, were built in a winding manner, like a silver dragon winding into the distance. The moat, about four or five zhang wide, was lined with willows, their branches hanging with crystal-clear "silver threads." If it weren't for the rumbling in his stomach, Yang Feng might have admired the scenery.

But at this moment, Yang Feng had no mood for the scenery. What he wanted most was to pass the inspection of the two soldiers and enter Nanjing.

"Don't lose heart, there must be a way. Today, I will either enter Nanjing or starve to death outside!"

Yang Feng squatted down, grabbed a handful of snow, and rubbed it on his face. The bone-chilling cold penetrated his body, and his restless heart began to calm down. He wrapped his coat tightly around himself, stood up, and patted the snow off his clothes. He looked up at the city walls, which would be reduced to ruins in a few hundred years, and then walked calmly toward the two soldiers.

Seeing Yang Feng approach, the two soldiers, who had been curiously watching him, quickly tightened their grip on their spears made of ordinary wood. One of the older soldiers shouted, "Stop! What are you doing here?"

Yang Feng stopped, looking at the two soldiers shivering in the cold but trying to appear fierce, and said calmly, "I want to enter the city!"

The older soldier shouted, "Where are you from? Do you have a travel permit?"

Yang Feng, who had already prepared his answer, shook his head. "My ancestors were from the Ming Dynasty. They followed Admiral Zheng He on his voyages to the Western Seas and settled in Nanyang. How could I have a travel permit now? Besides, in such peaceful times, who carries such things when they travel?"

A travel permit was essentially an ancient ID card. Anyone leaving their hometown had to obtain a document from the local government, similar to a letter of introduction or a pass. The government and rulers believed that people should stay in their hometowns and not travel unnecessarily, as too much movement could lead to trouble. Without a travel permit, people were not allowed to leave their hometowns. The government hoped to bind people to the land with this method.

Of course, there were exceptions. In a bustling city like Nanjing, where thousands of people entered and left daily, not everyone needed to be checked, or the soldiers would be overwhelmed. The two soldiers only checked Yang Feng because of his unusual appearance.

Although what Yang Feng said was true, the soldiers usually didn't ask for travel permits from neighboring villagers or people entering the city to sell goods. However, seeing someone with such a strange appearance, they were hesitant to let him in. The older soldier hesitated and said, "Wait a moment, I'll ask my superior."

Normally, the soldiers wouldn't be so polite to a stranger without a travel permit, but as in any era, treating people differently was a tradition. After all, they guarded the city every day, and if they offended the wrong person, they might lose their job. Although the job only provided a few dozen pounds of coarse rice and less than an ounce of silver per month, many people still coveted it. He didn't want to lose it for no reason. Besides, reporting to his superior would shift the responsibility, and any future problems would not be his fault.

Soon, the soldier went to a guardhouse behind the city wall, where his superior, a small flag officer, was sitting by a fire.

The small flag officer was in his thirties, of medium height, with a long, thin face. Unlike the pale-faced soldiers, he looked much better. He wore a tattered, barely recognizable red battle robe. This was not the full set of armor worn by generals, which included mountain-pattern armor, a heart-protecting mirror, a helmet, and protective boots. The small flag officer only wore a red battle robe over his clothes.

"Qi Lao Liu, why aren't you on duty? What are you doing here?" the small flag officer glared at the older soldier.

"Lao Song, you misunderstand me. How could I be lazy?" the soldier named Qi Lao Liu complained. "A man in strange clothes just arrived, claiming to be from Nanyang and wanting to enter the city. I didn't dare make a decision on my own, so I came to ask for your instructions."