Empowerment? Enema? (2)

Lin San? A servant selection contest? Lin Wanrong nearly fainted. He couldn't even use his real name and had to go by "Lin San"? And what the hell was this "servant selection contest" anyway? They needed a competition just to hire a servant?

Uncle Wei saw right through Lin Wanrong's thoughts and chuckled, "A name's just a label, nothing more. I reckon you wouldn't want your grand name, Lin Wanrong, showing up on the Xiao family's servant roster, right? Lin San's a lot more casual, fits the bill. As for this servant selection contest, don't worry about what it's for—just take my word for it. You need to get into the Xiao family and work as a servant. Though, it seems there'll be plenty of folks vying for the same spot. You'll have to put in some effort, or someone else might snatch your rice bowl."

That's when it hit Lin Wanrong—once Uncle Wei left, his meal ticket was gone. He'd have to fend for himself. According to the old man, becoming a servant was actually Uncle Wei setting him up with a job? Shame was, Lin Wanrong didn't give a damn about this lousy rice bowl, but a bunch of others were eyeing it hungrily. If he didn't try, he might not even land a servant gig—talk about embarrassing.

Still, holding a recruitment fair just to pick a few servants? Whose bright idea was that? It was a wild one, no doubt.

While Lin Wanrong mulled it over, Uncle Wei had already slipped away. Lin Wanrong dashed out the door after him, but the old man was nowhere in sight. That blind geezer sure moved fast.

Left with no choice, Lin Wanrong had to face reality. If he was still a man worth his salt, he'd honor his promise and slog through a year as a servant for the Xiao family.

It was just one year, after all. He could muddle through it like a pig rolling in slop—treat it as a year of toughening up. As for Uncle Wei's talk about "making something of himself," that was pure nonsense. If he marched up to the Xiao family head and said, "Boss, I'm here to make a name for myself," he'd get beaten out the door with sticks, no question.

Figuring this out lightened Lin Wanrong's mood considerably. All he had to do was pass that so-called servant selection, then coast for a year, and he'd be free.

This "servant selection contest" was basically a hiring fair. The thought of job-hunting at a fair again made Lin Wanrong snicker to himself. Shameful, shameful—he was back to earning a living.

With injuries weighing him down that day, Lin Wanrong didn't bother thinking too much. He stayed put in the house to rest.

Uncle Wei had left behind a tiny thatched hut. The furnishings were bare-bones—two beds and a handful of old books, nothing else. Lin Wanrong flipped through them idly and was surprised to find several were rare palace collections. Where the hell had Uncle Wei swiped these from?

His mood had settled by now, and he felt a flicker of curiosity about this world he'd stumbled into. He started reading the books. The ancient script, with its vertical columns of traditional characters, made his head spin, but to avoid being a total illiterate in this era, he gritted his teeth and powered through.

In the Qin dynasty's end, back in his old world, the Chu-Han contention ended with the hegemon Xiang Yu taking his own life at the Wu River. But in this world, Xiang Yu won, beheading Liu Bang and founding the mighty Chu dynasty. Xiang Yu and Yu Ji became the empire's first emperor and empress.

History had forked here. Lin Wanrong was indeed in another realm—a real, tangible one, just like his original world. It was as if a great river had split into different streams.

In this realm, with Liu Bang dead, history veered off completely from what Lin Wanrong knew. Over the past thousand-plus years, the land of Hua had seen endless strife. After Chu came a dozen more dynasties, until a hundred years ago, an Emperor Zhao established the flourishing Dahua dynasty. Before Dahua was a dynasty called Song, and oddly enough, its corruption and incompetence mirrored the Song dynasty Lin Wanrong knew almost perfectly.

Then there was the time reversal triggered by his spatial shift. Lin Wanrong had reverted to his eighteen- or nineteen-year-old self, though his mind remained that of a twenty-five-year-old.

In short, he'd not only youthened to eighteen or nineteen but had inexplicably landed in this strange new world—or rather, a wholly different reality.

Lin Wanrong had a vague hunch that this bizarre twist in his life might be a leap across different times and spaces—a key clue to unraveling the mysteries of a multidimensional universe. Too bad he could never go back. Such cosmic worries were better left to the likes of Einstein to crack their skulls over.

After a brief sigh, Lin Wanrong brushed it off and dove back into history. The day passed in diligent reading. Lost in the sea of books, he barely noticed the pain from the wound on his shoulder.

He slept soundly that night. By morning, the internal injuries from Xiao Qingxuan's beating had stopped aching faintly, and the purple bruising on his shoulder had faded. Just as Uncle Wei had said, this minor poison wouldn't kill him.

Whatever ointment Uncle Wei had used was miraculous—the shoulder wound had scabbed over, far better than the surgical stitches he'd seen in his old life. Next time he saw the old man, he'd have to snag some more for emergencies.

After tidying up and checking himself in a bronze mirror, Lin Wanrong was fairly pleased with his rakish look. Sure, his cloth shoes were still split at the toes, but he didn't care. He had no time for shallow folks who judged by appearances—besides, his looks weren't half bad, just dressed a bit rough around the edges.

Stepping outside, he wandered the streets aimlessly. Truth be told, he wasn't too familiar with Jinling City. The only place he'd visited a few times was Xuanwu Lake, not far from his shack. As for the Xiao family's gate? He hadn't a clue which way it faced.

He grabbed two fried dough sticks and a big bowl of soy milk from a street vendor, patting his full belly with satisfaction. This world had no gutter oil or moldy soybeans—just honest, pure grub. Tossing down three copper coins with a flourish, he shouted, "Keep the change!" and sauntered off in his tattered shoes.

A few steps in, he realized he had no idea where the Xiao family was. He flagged down a passing uncle and asked, "Sir, excuse me—"

The man cut him off, shoving something into his hand. "Heading to the Xiao family servant exam, eh? Here's a route map—five coppers each. What, one copper? Kid, you're ruthless—that doesn't even cover my costs! Three coppers minimum. Fine, fine, low profit, high volume—two coppers for two maps."

Lin Wanrong forked over two coppers, took the flimsy guides, and asked, "Sir, this Xiao family servant selection's a big deal, huh? Seems pretty competitive. Is the job really that good?"

For the sake of those two coins, the uncle opened up. "You're new around here, aren't you? Times are tough—jobs are scarce. The Xiao family's a big name in Jinling. Sure, they've seen better days, but a lean camel's still bigger than a horse. Their servants get treated damn well—even the lowest rung pulls in one tael and five qian of silver a month. Mid- and high-level servants? Even more. Plus holiday bonuses and hefty perks. No wonder folks are lining up. I've dealt with over a hundred young lads like you just this morning—some even fancy scholars, all signing up."