Shen Song was in the Interstellar Agricultural Experimental Field, using the Blessed Land Technique to desperately accelerate the growth of an ancient ingredient—potatoes.
Just as the soil began to loosen, before Shen Song had time to feel happy, everything went black before his eyes.
Shenjiagou, Qingyun Town, Lanxi County.
The Shen family, finished with a day of farm work, was heading home from the fields. Seeing that the family was about to return, Shen Sanqiu hurried inside to wake his youngest uncle.
Inside the dilapidated thatched hut, all one could see at a glance were a few straw curtains dividing the space into separate rooms.
Shen Sanqiu lifted the innermost straw curtain. Inside there was only a bed made from a broken door plank.
On the bed, four children were playing around, and a young man was fast asleep.
Seeing how deeply the man slept—that the four little rascals had stepped on his face and even climbed onto him to play without waking him—Shen Sanqiu quickly lifted the children off him and shook the young man on the bed. “Little Uncle, Little Uncle, wake up! The grown-ups are coming back, and dinner will be ready soon. Weren’t you crying that you were hungry? Get up and get ready to eat.”
No matter how Shen Sanqiu shook him, the man on the bed showed no reaction.
Realizing something, Shen Sanqiu’s face went white with fright. With trembling hands, he placed them horizontally under the young man’s nose. At first, he felt no breath, and Shen Sanqiu’s legs went weak; he collapsed with his upper body on the bed plank, which was the only thing that kept him from falling.
“Little Uncle, don’t scare me like this!”
Terrified and beside himself, Shen Sanqiu frantically tried again. The moment a faint breath touched his hand, Shen Sanqiu let out a huge sigh of relief.
That scared him to death—he’d thought his Little Uncle had starved to death.
Shen Song had a dream. He dreamed he had become a person from ancient times.
There were no spaceships, no interstellar travel, and no supernatural abilities.
But there was a big family, everyone toiling from dawn to dusk for their daily livelihood, too exhausted to spare a single extra word.
Even so, the family still couldn’t get enough to eat or clothes to wear. The house had fallen into disrepair from years of neglect—when it rained, it poured outside and drizzled inside. Autumn and winter were even worse: the north wind howled, and the house was as cold as an ice cellar. The whole family could only huddle tightly together for warmth, gaining just a sliver of heat so they wouldn’t actually freeze to death.
In the dream, Shen Song experienced hunger and cold firsthand—so hungry his belly felt glued to his spine. From the moment he opened his eyes each day, all he could think about was food; even in sleep, he dreamed of food. His head felt numb all day, and everything he looked at seemed edible.
In the dream, he had starved to death at sixteen.
Shen Song woke with a start from the harsh life in the dream. The instant he sensed the light, boundless relief welled up in his heart.
Thank goodness—it was just a dream.
His consciousness quickly gathered, and his vision focused. Shen Song saw two people—shabbily dressed, thin and gaunt, dark-skinned and prematurely aged—staring at him with worried faces, and he jumped in fright.
Aren’t these the parents from his dream? How could he still see them after opening his eyes?
He understood.
A dream within a dream.
So Shen Song closed his eyes again.
“Xiao Ba, where does it hurt? Tell your mother, don’t just stay silent.”
Liu Chunxia’s brows were tightly knitted, the wrinkles between them deep, as if a knife had carved them into wood. This little son of hers had barely made a sound since birth. At first they thought he was mute, but later discovered he could speak—he just rarely opened his mouth.
He was dull by nature, never making a sound no matter what happened, even more taciturn than the family’s second son.
Growing up, he only looked like a living person when he was eating. The rest of the time he was dull and slow, worrying to look at.
More than ten years ago, at a temple fair, they had met an old Daoist who said the child wasn’t a simpleton—his soul had just wandered off, and it would always come back eventually.
But who knew when it would come back.
A ge’er[1]ge’er – refers to a male gender category distinct from ordinary men, where a ge’er may be able to marry men and sometimes bear children. jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3413348_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3413348_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], }); was already harder to marry off than a girl. If his soul never came back, a ge’er who was also a simpleton—what would become of him then?
Liu Chunxia hoped the old Daoist had been right, otherwise her little Ba would have a hard life ahead of him.
Shen Dashu was afraid something was wrong with the child too. He laid his rough palm on the boy’s forehead, his thick calluses making Shen Song’s head ache.
“Xiao Ba, if you feel unwell, tell me. Father will figure something out.”
The man’s deep voice was tinged with weariness, his back slightly hunched, his somewhat cloudy eyes full of worry.
Shen Song could no longer convince himself this was a dream.
He snapped his eyes open and stared fixedly at the two elderly people before him, aged and thin as kindling.
His mouth reacted faster than his brain, and he said slowly, “Father, Mom, I’m fine.”
……
The Shen family’s kitchen was just a grass shed, not big. The thatch above was just enough to cover the stove below. The whole family ate by carrying a small battered table out into the courtyard.
In winter or on rainy days, they would clear the bed boards inside the thatched hut, so the square table could be set up inside with room for long benches on the ground for people to sit on.
Shen Song was led out of the room by the old couple. The small table was already full of people.
The children of the younger generation didn’t really sit at the table—they had moved rocks over to sit beside their parents’ or fathers’ and uncles’ legs.
Shen Song’s head was still a bit foggy. After Liu Chunxia helped him sit down, he meant to greet everyone, since it would otherwise seem rude.
But looking down at the chipped clay bowl before him, filled with chopped-up vegetables—not many vegetables, mostly water, the greens practically floating in it—
Shen Song’s mind immediately conjured the boiled wild greens he had eaten in his dream, exactly the same as this.
They had seemed to have no taste, just enough to make his stomach feel a little less miserable.
Shen Song was so hungry his stomach burned and his belly felt glued to his spine.
Too hungry.
He couldn’t be bothered with anything else and eagerly picked up the bowl of boiled wild greens, pouring it straight into his mouth.
So astringent. So bitter.
Ugh—
Shen Song threw up.
He stared, stunned, at the wild greens he had just vomited up.
How could it taste this bad? Wasn’t it supposed to have no taste in the dream?
Well, that made sense, actually. How could food in a dream have any taste? In his dream, he hadn’t even felt much pain when he was injured.
Shen Song’s vomiting gave the whole Shen family a fright.
Everyone in the family, young and old—even one-year-old Shen Qitian—knew that Little Uncle loved eating more than anything. Once something entered his mouth, it was impossible for it to come back out.
Even things the hardy, long-suffering old Shen couple couldn’t swallow, Shen Song would eat without changing his expression, swallowing everything down as if he had no sense of taste at all.
But now Shen Song had thrown up the wild greens he ate all the time.
The whole Shen family rose to come see what was wrong, but Liu Chunxia stopped them. “Don’t all crowd over. Sit down and eat.”
With the old lady’s word, the rest of the Shen family returned to their seats.
Shen Dashu and Liu Chunxia anxiously asked Shen Song what was wrong, where exactly he felt unwell.
Having just returned home today, the old couple heard from their grandson Sanqiu that the youngest uncle was acting strange—he couldn’t be woken no matter how they called him. They didn’t even take the time to put away their farm tools properly, just bent down and dropped them on the ground before hurrying inside to check on him.
The two of them called for him for quite a while before finally managing to wake the boy, but then problems arose again at mealtime.
Liu Chunxia was already calculating in her head how to use the few copper coins at home. They probably couldn’t afford to get medicine, but they could at least have the doctor from the neighboring village take a look and get a prescription on credit. Once the spring plowing was over in a while, her sons could go haul heavy loads and earn some money to pay back the medicine costs.
Meanwhile, Shen Song’s head was groggy, his consciousness unclear.
It took him a good while to realize someone was talking to him. He shook his head—he didn’t even have the strength to speak.
Aside from his stomach aching from hunger, he felt fine otherwise.
He had simply vomited because the food was so terrible.
Boiled wild greens—truly just wild greens boiled in water, without even a hint of salt.
The water the greens were boiled in was astringent; it would have been better to just drink plain water.
The taste of those boiled wild greens was like grabbing a handful of grass off the ground and stuffing it straight into your mouth to chew—watery, with a faint earthy, muddy flavor.
In the early days of the Interstellar Era, due to the lack of ingredients, everyone survived on Nutrient Solution.
As ingredients were gradually cultivated, people slowly began trying to cook with them.
Astral Chefs were the most elite profession in the interstellar world. Food cooked by Astral Chefs, while not tasty, could soothe the mental energy of those with supernatural abilities and reduce the probability of rampages.
And he had been born into a top-tier Astral Chef family.
His family was different from other Astral Chef families—the food cooked by that grandfather he had never actually met could not only soothe mental energy, it was also exceptionally delicious.
It could even turn ingredients into all kinds of dishes.
The tomato-and-egg stir-fry that others could hardly obtain even for a fortune—he could eat it whenever he wanted.
Even the meat buns that even the Federation’s highest leaders had to book in advance were his everyday breakfast.
Before, Shen Song had thought that apart from his own family, Astral Chefs made the worst food in the entire interstellar world—not even as good as Nutrient Solution.
Now, Shen Song thought boiled wild greens were the truly worst food.
But there was no choice but to eat it—there was nothing else.
Shen Song could figure it out: his mental spirit had been unstable, causing it to leave his body and fall into a Rift in Space-Time—he had transmigrated.
Those things he had dreamed about were actually the memories of this body.
For some unknown reason, he had merged into this body, inheriting not only its memories but also its emotions.
It gave him the feeling that he had genuinely lived here for sixteen years.
The bitter taste of the boiled wild greens pulled Shen Song back to reality, reminding him that he hadn’t.
He had not truly lived here for sixteen years.
Otherwise, he would certainly have been able to finish that bowl of boiled wild greens soup without so much as a flicker on his face.
While silently convincing himself to accept the fact that he had transmigrated to ancient times, Shen Song gritted his teeth and ate down that bowl of boiled wild greens.
If he didn’t eat, he would starve to death. No matter how bad it tasted, he had to eat.
But when it came time to sleep at night, Shen Song was utterly dumbfounded.
That broken, rotten piece of wood was the bed he was supposed to sleep on. Not only that, but a wooden board that should only be big enough for two people to squeeze onto was expected to sleep six.
He thought of his old bed, which could adjust its curvature in real time according to his sleeping posture, ensuring a perfect fit that protected the spine while maintaining a cloud-like softness, capable of gently massaging him awake and freely changing into different materials…
The board before him had nothing spread on it at all. Its surface was badly splintered, pocked with small holes and covered in various shallow cracks and some slightly deeper ones.
Shen Song suspected that this wooden plank would snap right in half after he fell asleep.
But he lay down anyway. There was no helping it—in his memories, every bed in this house was like this. If he didn’t sleep on it, the only alternative was the floor.
The ground was packed dirt, cold and damp, with a distinct smell of raw earth.
Given the choice, Shen Song chose the broken plank.
On the plank bed, Shen Sanqiu was coaxing four younger siblings to sleep.
The adults had to work in the fields during the day, and the oldest of these children was only three, the youngest barely one. If the kids fussed at night, that was one thing, but the adults already slept squeezed together—adding another child would only make it harder for everyone to rest. And poor sleep would affect the next day’s work.
So it was decided that all the children would sleep in one place, watched over by the eldest brother, Shen Sanqiu, and their uncle, Shen Song.
In truth, before this, Shen Sanqiu had been the only one watching the four younger siblings—along with keeping an eye on his dim-witted little uncle.
Shen Song lay on his side on the worn plank, doing his best to leave more room for Shen Sanqiu and the others.
In the past, Shen Song had always slept flat on his back, and the bed was so cramped that Shen Sanqiu had been squeezed into sleeping half-sitting up against the earthen wall.
Today, seeing his little uncle lying on his side, Shen Sanqiu was finally able to lie fully on his side on the bed too.
Not having to curl up—for Shen Sanqiu, this was already the height of comfort.
But after lying there a while, he didn’t let himself indulge. He gently nudged Shen Song and, careful not to wake the younger children, whispered, “Little Uncle, if lying on your side isn’t comfortable, just sleep on your back like before.”
Shen Sanqiu was about to settle into his usual half-sitting position when he heard faint sniffles.
Shen Song had been silently shedding tears, simply because this place was too poor—so poor he couldn’t bear it.
Then Shen Sanqiu, worried he wouldn’t sleep well, told him to lie flat on his back. From the original owner’s memories, Shen Song quickly learned how Shen Sanqiu used to sleep—and the boy, without even waiting for his answer, had already sat up.
Shen Song had been born into a great family in the interstellar era. Perhaps because human lifespans had become extraordinarily long, or perhaps because his family was simply too vast—its members too numerous to count, its affairs too many to tally.
Shen Song had never suffered material hardship, but he had also never known what it felt like to have someone genuinely care about him.
In his memories, from childhood onward, he had always been surrounded by robots. He had so many siblings he couldn’t even learn all their names, and he’d met his biological parents only a handful of times. At school, the human students each kept to themselves, rarely interacting, and the teachers were almost all robots.
Often, Shen Song would find himself blankly thinking that he couldn’t really tell humans and robots apart. They seemed about the same—their emotions barely fluctuated, and they hardly ever showed any expression.
For many years, he had lived there like an outsider.
Interacting with humans was something utterly foreign to Shen Song. Especially with humans so full of feeling.
“Little Uncle, why are you crying?” Shen Sanqiu was startled beyond words. He had never seen his little uncle cry before.
Shen Song could only act on instinct, turning over and tugging at Shen Sanqiu’s clothes, signaling him to lie down and not sit up.
Shen Sanqiu slid down and wiped his little uncle’s tears with his hand.
“Little Uncle, where does it hurt? Let me rub it for you. Don’t cry, okay? Otherwise you’ll get hungry really fast.”
Shen Song, still mid-sob, heard that crying made you hungry—and with all his strength, forced the tears back down.
That was close. He’d almost cried himself hungry.
The original owner of this body had starved to death. He had no intention of starving to death the moment he arrived.
Being chronically underfed naturally left one low on energy.
Shen Song had also cried today, and he soon drifted off into a drowsy sleep.
Just before falling fully asleep, he vaguely recalled the parents he’d seen when he first opened his eyes, and the scene at mealtime when the bad food had made him gag.
It wasn’t just his nephew Sanqiu who cared about him—everyone in the Shen family cared about him too.
He knew that what the Shen family cared about was really the previous Shen Song.
But the two Shen Songs had now merged into one, so that care and concern was for him.
Shen Song thought this happily, briefly forgetting just how poor they were, and sank into dreamland.
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