Chapter 2

"Cold... so cold, too cold!"

The first thought that came to Zhang Han's mind was the intense cold that enveloped his entire body, a cold so eerie that it made him shiver uncontrollably, his teeth chattering, as if he were submerged in icy water, with no warmth anywhere.

"Did I get injured in a car accident and lose too much blood?"

Zhang Han thought hazily, feeling as if he were still asleep, and subconsciously tried to sit up.

"Brother, you're awake?"

At this moment, Zhang Han heard someone speaking beside him, with a strange accent, yet he understood clearly.

He mumbled, feeling somewhat bewildered.

To the person who had just spoken, Zhang Han's words were meaningless, just a low groan.

"Brother, drink some warm water."

The voice spoke again in his ear, followed by the sound of rustling, and then Zhang Han felt someone reach out to support his back.

At this point, he finally opened his eyes.

The scene before him made his eyes widen instantly, his gaze filled with shock and disbelief.

He was clearly in a car when the incident happened, and if he had woken up, he should have been in a hospital, or at home if his injuries were not severe. However, the scene before him was completely beyond his imagination.

The walls were entirely made of blue bricks, and the bed he was lying on was like a small room, surrounded by white curtains. The bed was made of solid hardwood, and Zhang Han, with his keen eye, immediately recognized it as genuine huanghuali wood. The floor was covered with blue bricks, polished to a shine. Opposite the bed, by the window, was a large desk with writing materials, and on the west side, against the wall, stood a large bookshelf filled with thick, bound books. At the foot of the bed on the east side was a small, ancient incense burner, emitting a faint, fragrant smoke. Near the door was a wooden stand with a blue porcelain basin, and beside it, a tall clothes rack with several long robes hanging on it.

These decorations were not something that could be replicated with modern antique-style decor!

Moreover, the person supporting him was a young boy, about fourteen or fifteen years old, wearing a blue-brimmed felt hat, a red overcoat with a straight collar and a front opening, a green inner jacket, and black leather boots with some fur at the cuffs, slightly worn and a bit too large, not quite fitting.

This attire was a standard ancient Chinese outfit!

Zhang Han had read quite a few books in the past two years, mostly on politics and history, and he immediately recognized this as the standard attire of a servant during the late Ming and early Qing dynasties!

"Brother, you're really awake."

The young servant, though thin and sallow, had considerable strength. He easily supported Zhang Han's back and helped him sit up.

Seeing Zhang Han's eyes open, the young boy's face was filled with joy.

It was only then that Zhang Han realized the person was speaking in a heavy Shanxi accent.

But he could understand it...

Where was he? Who was playing a joke on him? If he had been seriously injured in a car accident, even his archenemy Wang Biao wouldn't dare to play such a ridiculous joke, would he?

Zhang Han's mind was a jumbled mess, his head throbbing with pain as a myriad of chaotic thoughts flooded his mind. Many unprecedented experiences and memories surged into his head like a floodgate opening.

He felt a surge of irritation, and with the servant so close, his breath not very pleasant, Zhang Han, in a fit of anger, punched the boy in the eye.

"Ah..."

A cry of pain echoed in his ear, and Zhang Han felt a sense of relief and comfort, then fainted again.

...

...

"Turns out I'm still called Zhang Han, born in the thirtieth year of the Wanli era..."

"My family is actually from a prestigious lineage, a mix of officials and merchants. My great-great-grandfather was Zhang Siwei, who served as the chief minister of the Ming dynasty... I know this person, a famous minister in the early Wanli era..."

"My great-grandfather was Zhang Taizheng, who served as a vice governor in Huguang. My grandfather, Zhang Yun, never passed the imperial exams and remained a scholar, looked down upon by the family. In a fit of anger, he moved the family from Puzhou, Shanxi, to Xinping Fort in Datong, becoming a complete merchant..."

"This Zhang Han had a hard life. His grandfather, Zhang Yun, died before fifty, and his father, Zhang Cheng, died even younger, in his thirties. Now, only his mother and he remain. To carry on the family name, Zhang Han is determined to pass the imperial exams. In the cold winter, he doesn't sleep in a warm bed but in this study, where he caught a chill and nearly died... Oh, no, he's already dead..."

"Brother? Brother?"

The young servant approached again, his eye socket bruised and black. Zhang Han woke up, but this time he didn't dare to get too close.

"Um... I'm fine."

Zhang Han let out a low groan, afraid the servant would shout in panic, and managed to respond.

The servant was delighted. "It's good that you're fine, Brother."

There was no doubt that this servant was not an actor from a film crew. The memories in his mind were clear. The servant's name was Zhang Chun, a family-born slave, who followed the Zhang surname. He had been serving Zhang Han since childhood, being the most trusted and reliable person around the deceased Zhang Han.

Looking at Zhang Chun, Zhang Han suddenly thought of Zeng Liu, feeling a pang in his heart.

He wondered if Zeng Liu had survived the accident or died, and if he had died, whether his soul had also traveled through time and merged with someone else, or if it had completely dissipated and vanished from the world.

"There's no point in thinking about it too much... What should I do from now on?"

Dying in a car accident and his soul traveling back several hundred years was something Zhang Han never thought would happen to him.

It's a common plot in novels and movies, and people often laugh it off, but no one really considers what it would be like if it actually happened.

Fortunately, the body he was in was that of a healthy, robust teenager, about fifteen or sixteen years old. The Jin merchant family had a tradition of training their children in martial arts, and Zhang Han's body was in decent shape.

His current illness was due to overexertion from studying. The weather in Xinping Fort during the cold winter was truly freezing, and Zhang Han had caught a chill. Fortunately, the family's conditions were decent, and he managed to survive... or rather, the body's original owner had already been replaced...

The family's business was called "Heyu Sheng," established by the late Grandfather Zhang Yun, dealing in various goods such as grains, tea, and cloth. The specifics of the business, the capital, and the annual profits were unknown to the deceased Zhang Han, who had been a hands-off manager. Zhang Han searched his memories but found no clear answers, feeling frustrated.

After drinking a few sips of warm water from the teapot, Zhang Han lay back on the bed, the thick blankets still not warming him. The copper brazier in the room was lit, but it was hard to combat the severe cold. Zhang Han estimated the temperature was at least minus ten degrees Celsius, and that was indoors. Outside, the howling wind made him shiver again.

He leaned against the bed, and the chaos in his mind gradually settled.

The past was like flowing water, gone and never to return.