[1] County Magistrate
It was September, yet in Yongning County—nestled in the northern border of the Liang Kingdom, just south of the Yanshan Mountains—there wasn’t a trace of harvest cheer. The land was desolate and bleak.
A small boat drifted across the misty waters. Since it was the dry season, the river was shallow, but the boat was almost at the shore. The boatman discreetly eyed the young man beside him—handsome, well-dressed, and clearly from a wealthy household. He calculated whether he could squeeze a bit more payment. He’d heard that rich folk from the prefectural capital were often generous. A few extra copper coins could easily be earned today.
Perhaps he’d finally net a fat reward.
The “fat reward” himself, Pei Zhu, looked around anxiously, a prickling unease running down his spine.
They reached the shore soon enough, and with that came the expectation of payment. Pei Zhu rummaged through his bundle for a long time. Meeting the boatman’s increasingly expectant gaze, he finally clenched his teeth, braced himself, and handed over a staggering two copper coins.
“Enough, right?”
The boatman squinted, scanning him from head to toe. This delicate young man, dressed in fine silk, must be from a rich family—so why was he being so miserly?
“Tch, two coins it is,” he muttered. Better than nothing. As he reached for them, Pei Zhu quickly smiled brightly and held his hand back. “Boatman, could you make it one coin cheaper?”
The boatman’s eyes widened. Snatching the coins back, he cursed, “Cheaper? Why don’t you pay us to take you? Dressed like a noble, yet haggling over two copper coins! Never seen a stingier pauper in all my life.”
He left immediately, unwilling to touch the young man’s stinginess.
Pei Zhu, now coinless, felt like crying. Was he really going to have to walk all the way to the Yongning County office?
A cheerful electronic voice suddenly chimed: “Don’t worry, host. Yongning County is only thirty li from here—about three and a half hours on foot.”
Three and a half hours. Pei Zhu went silent. For the first time, he regretted linking with the system.
The system cast a sidelong glance: “Too late to regret. You’re a vegetative patient in the modern world. Unless you finish the tasks and return, you won’t wake up.”
Pei Zhu rubbed his face helplessly. His parents, the orphanage director, his friends—they must all be heartbroken.
The backstory was complicated.
In his previous life, Pei Zhu was born with a congenital heart defect and abandoned at the orphanage. Life sounded tragic, but the director treated him kindly, and government subsidies were enough to keep everyone fed. By age five, a benefactor helped fund his surgery, giving him a second chance at life. Pei Zhu, naturally optimistic and cheerful, lived happily ever after.
He felt like a poplar tree in the wilderness—growing strong, resilient, and someday able to protect the orphanage. To the director, he was a bright, joyful little dog: frail yet lucky, always smiling through hardship.
After acing the college entrance exams, Pei Zhu attended a top university as an engineering student. Even amidst the hyper-competitive “study warriors,” he squeezed in extra public courses whenever possible. He didn’t want his tuition to go to waste. His charm made him well-liked, even if others begrudgingly followed his drive.
But before finishing his second year, he nearly drowned while saving someone. Opening his eyes, he found himself in a Liang Kingdom that never existed in history.
The entity calling itself “Poverty Relief & Revival 001” explained that its job was to traverse worlds and collect data on poverty-alleviation methods. When the system cheerily declared, “Eliminate poverty! Help the people!” young and impulsive Pei Zhu had agreed.
The system wasn’t lying. All the tasks were about poverty relief, minus some flashy achievements and unclear rewards. Nine main tasks: fortify defenses, manage irrigation, livestock, factories, roads, housing, schools, commerce, and military.
Initially, Pei Zhu thought these were easy. Now, stranded in a world with no phones, no plumbing, and no taxis, he realized he’d underestimated it.
Feeling desperate, he asked the system what to do. The system insisted, “Finding someone who matches your height, looks, soul, even name perfectly—it’s not easy, you know?”
Hmph, Pei Zhu begrudgingly admitted they tried.
The body he inhabited was also named Pei Zhu, just nineteen years old. His branch of the Pei family had survived the political purge, but he inherited none of their former glory. His parents, before dying, had secured him a minor official post in the capital—but it was swiftly reassigned to Yongning County, a small, border town constantly under threat from the western Turkic tribes and northeastern Donghu.
A penniless county magistrate with little chance of survival. To make matters worse, his remaining travel funds had been scammed en route, and the original Pei Zhu had committed suicide on the way. The system had “picked up the slack.”
Once revived, Pei Zhu built a tomb for his predecessor and started on the journey. All he hoped for was to complete the tasks and return home. Glancing at the tenth task, he frowned: “Why isn’t it showing?”
The system hesitated: “It’s probably hidden. Finish the first nine to unlock it.”
“Probably?” Pei Zhu didn’t trust it.
The system, nervous, admitted it was a trial run. “Don’t worry. It won’t be too hard. You’ll figure it out.”
Pei Zhu’s ears perked. “What do you mean, ‘I’ll figure it out’? What about you?”
The system muttered: “I have to manage multiple hosts… but I’ll check back on you later.”
Left mostly on his own, Pei Zhu felt trapped.
He pressed on, trudging through reeds, and eventually spotted a middle-aged man crouching on the shore. Thin and frail, with a scholarly air. Pei Zhu quickly lifted him onto his back.
The man moved slightly, then became still.
“This one doesn’t seem eager to live,” the system warned.
Pei Zhu frowned. “Even if he doesn’t want to, he will.” He hoisted him securely. Carrying a wounded man made travel even harder, but luck seemed to favor him. Soon, a bullock cart appeared and stopped nearby.
The elderly driver, seeing Pei Zhu struggle, said kindly, “Young master, you’re heading to the county?”
Pei Zhu nodded eagerly: “Yes, to the Yongning County office.”
Seeing his good looks, the villagers warmed up. “A young master with a capital accent! Come on, hop on. Our village head will escort you to town.”
The villagers were going to the mountains to gather herbs anyway. Meeting Pei Zhu was pure coincidence. Pei Zhu had no funds to pay, but the village head waved it off. “No problem. You can pay later.”
As the cart trundled onward, Pei Zhu listened to their talk. Life here was harsh: previous magistrates had taken every seed and grain, leaving nothing for the villagers. The county, a frontier outpost, was essentially on its own. He realized Yongning’s situation was far worse than he’d imagined: external threats from the Donghu to the northeast and internal mismanagement had left the county nearly defenseless.
Pei Zhu tightened his grip on the system: “You’re not leaving me here!”
The system hedged: “I’ll stay until you’re settled.”
Still, Pei Zhu felt abandoned. The future seemed bleak…
The cart rattled on through two villages until human voices became audible—some even sobbing. The village head halted, jumped down, and rushed forward with the others. Pei Zhu followed, laying the injured man down carefully.
The county officials were once again collecting grain. This time they demanded even the last reserves. Pei Zhu thought the world had gone mad.
The villagers argued, but the officials brandished knives, silencing them.
A young man in blue robes stepped forward—Pei Zhu himself, the newly appointed magistrate of Yongning County. Calmly, he presented his official decree:
“Yongning County’s new magistrate: Pei Zhu. Sufficient authority?”