Chapter Four: The Rise of the Poor (Part One)

When he awoke again and opened his eyes, he gazed around at the simple bed and cabinet—oh, he was in a modest inn.

The door swung open, and Feng Dabao entered carrying a tray, muttering, “Child, why were you in such a hurry? They took the money, let them have it. Spending a little for peace of mind, so be it!”

“Yes, Father!” Xiaobao nodded vigorously. Regardless of whether he agreed or not, the money had already changed hands and there was no retrieving it.

“Come, eat.”

On the tray were two large steaming bowls of noodles, topped with generous chunks of glossy, tender donkey meat, garnished with fragrant scallions and sesame oil—utterly tempting.

After their recent earnings, Xiaobao had fainted again; this time, Feng Dabao had splurged, not only paying for the inn but also for generous bowls of meat noodles.

In the face of such delicious food, father and son fell silent, focusing all their attention on the meal, and soon polished off every bite.

Once the dishes were cleared away, Feng Dabao instructed, “You rest for a while.”

After he left, Xiaobao lay flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his eyes darting with thought.

A wry smile flickered across his youthful face, revealing a depth far beyond his tender years.

Such is fate!

He was neither the privileged son of an official nor born to wealth, but rather to the struggling common folk, with no powerful connections and no capital. What was he to do?

He could not allow himself to sink any further.

Never!

Xiaobao clenched his fists, a silent cry echoing within his heart.

He was a man of status in his previous life; in this life, he would rise to the top once more!

Just as in the strategizing of his past life, Xiaobao began to calmly assess his assets:

First, his body was his greatest capital. This body was strong and healthy, nourished since childhood by all manner of natural, restorative herbs. Though life on the road was hard, his father, Feng Dabao, had done his utmost to provide ample nutrition. His foundation was excellent.

Moreover, constant practice of martial arts and horse stances had made him as nimble as a swallow, his muscles supple and full of energy. Though still young, he possessed considerable strength.

In modern times, he would make a fine midnight champion—absolutely a star performer.

With such a physique, joining the army would be an excellent path: commanding troops, sweeping across the land like a tiger, galloping through the frontier, sending the steppe tribes fleeing in disarray.

Wait—not quite right!

Thinking of martial arts, a flash of insight struck Feng Xiaobao’s mind, and he suddenly recalled a day from his former life, vivid in his memory.

...

With the air of a sage, Consultant Wang, clad in a Tang-style robe, entered, studying him with a worried expression. “Last night I calculated your fate. Meeting you today confirms my thoughts.”

“Consultant...”

“Man’s calculations cannot outmatch Heaven’s; it’s best to plan ahead!” He handed over two books: The Official History of the Great Tang and The Secret Mudra of the Tibetan Esoteric School.

The Official History of the Great Tang!

Feng Xiaobao sat bolt upright.

That so-called “history” was in truth a work by a certain university professor, who had borrowed liberally from The Romance of Tang History—originally compiled by Ouyang Xiu, Song Qi, and others in the Song dynasty—and made his own edits. Most chapters were mere copies.

Xiaobao’s memory was exceptional; he recalled clearly: “…Chapter 22: Using troops from India to capture the rebel leader, the campaign in Kucha, the capture of the foreign king; Chapter 23: The beautiful consort’s rise and the emperor’s passing; Chapter 24: Lady Wu returns to the palace, usurps favor, and Chancellor Chu Suiliang pleads at the palace gates; Chapter 25: Ruthless schemes to kill Empress Wang, dispatching the army to capture Shaboluo…”

The words flashed through his mind, the river of history unfolding before him!

He knew the course of history!

The grand trends of the age lay within this memorized Official History of the Great Tang. By following history’s flow, he could reap the greatest benefit.

The Great Tang!

Empress Wu!

Xiaobao’s eyes blazed. What could be more valuable than foreknowledge?

Would his involvement alter history? He need not worry—the march of history possessed immense inertia, not something a single person could change with ease.

Moreover, if he could indeed effect change, his power would be unimaginable—he would stand atop the pinnacle of authority, if not already at its very edge!

For now, Xiaobao was but an unknown youth. What use was foreknowledge? It was like a penniless man who knew tomorrow the stock market would soar, but had not a cent to invest.

Therefore, he must strengthen himself.

The Secret Mudra of the Tibetan Esoteric School?

Feng Xiaobao sat cross-legged on his bed, and, drawing from memory, began to form mudras with his hands:

“Single Vajra Fist!” “Great Vajra Wheel!” “Outer Lion Seal!” “Inner Lion Seal!” “Outer Binding Seal!” “Inner Binding Seal!” “Wisdom Fist!” “Solar Wheel Seal!” “Treasure Vase Seal!”

With each mudra came a corresponding mantra:

“Vajrasattva’s Heart Mantra!” “The Three Lords of Death Mantra!” “Vajrasattva’s Dharmakaya Mantra!” “Vajrasattva’s Demon-Subduing Mantra!” “Vajrasattva’s Universal Dharmakaya Technique!” “Padmasambhava’s Six Realms Vajra Mantra!” “Vairocana’s Heart Mantra!” “Marici’s Heart Mantra!”

He recited the obscure texts as if divinely inspired, but did he truly comprehend them?

Of course not!

Would his abilities leap forward, turning him into a legendary martial master, like Kou Zhong and Du Ziling, the twin heroes of the Tang?

Certainly not!

Yet after practicing the mudras and reciting the mantras, he sensed a strange, ineffable transformation—his body felt stronger, his mind sharper, his hearing keener, his vision clearer (and were he an old man, his back would no longer ache, nor his legs pain him).

The Secret Mudra of the Tibetan Esoteric School truly benefited him, Feng Xiaobao realized.

Why did it not work in his previous life, but now, after his transmigration, it did? Perhaps this was a boon of crossing worlds, or perhaps the energy of this era was untainted, the spiritual qi of heaven and earth still abundant.

He seemed to glimpse Consultant Wang’s wise, penetrating gaze, watching him across the universe. Could he have prepared these two treasures for him, foreseeing his journey through time?

Surely not?

But then, thinking of the goddess Pandora, was anything truly impossible in this world?

With these two books, he had been granted a golden finger.

He flopped back onto the bed in resignation. Even with a golden finger, for now he remained nothing but a wandering medicine vendor.

One should carry only what one’s shoulders can bear; whether he pursued a career in politics or the military, he must begin as a wandering peddler.

For now, the most pressing task was simply to make life a little easier.

Lost in thought, he was startled as the door opened again. Feng Dabao entered with a physician to examine him.

Xiaobao had been knocked out, fainted again, and then yet again—understandably, Feng Dabao was worried for his precious son. Now that he had a little money, he gritted his teeth and hired a doctor for peace of mind.

The physician, a middle-aged man named Zhang, spoke softly and carried the scent of medicine as he sat at Xiaobao’s bedside and began his examination: feeling the pulse, checking the tongue, and so on.

Xiaobao’s condition was excellent; his pulse was strong and steady—there was nothing wrong with him!

In fact, Xiaobao could see that the doctor himself was unwell—his eyes were dull, his energy depleted; he seemed...

His guess was not far from the mark: Dr. Zhang had recently taken a young concubine, and nightly exertions had left him utterly spent. Even a doctor could not escape defeat in such battles.

After his “examination,” Dr. Zhang nevertheless left a prescription for a cooling tonic, solemnly declaring, “…Gardenia to clear upper heat, phellodendron for lower heat, skullcap for blood heat… Poria to raise the clear and lower the turbid, regulate the stomach qi… Three doses, and the young gentleman will soon be as lively as before!”

Watching Dr. Zhang recite his prescription with such gravity, Feng Dabao looked anxious and fearful, while Xiaobao curled his lip in silent scorn: “You’re the one who’s sick! Recklessly prescribing medicine—if this were modern times, you’d be facing a malpractice suit, wearing a steel helmet and commuting in an armored vehicle!”

Prescription written and payment made, Xiaobao suggested, “Father, after hearing Dr. Zhang, I feel much better. Since we have little to repay him, why not gift him three of our miraculous energy pills?”

Feng Dabao, ever eager for his son’s well-being, readily agreed and gifted the three pills.

At first, Dr. Zhang seemed skeptical at their supposed efficacy, but as soon as he broke the wax seal and caught the scent, his doubt wavered; a cautious lick, and his eyes began to glow with excitement.

Xiaobao smirked inwardly, then declared loudly, “Father, business is so good here. Why not set up for three more days and stay at this inn? What do you think?”

Feng Dabao hesitated. They rarely enjoyed such “luxuries” as staying in an inn, usually camping outdoors or seeking shelter in earth god or mountain temples. But seeing his son’s bright, hopeful gaze, his heart softened, and he agreed.

Feng Dabao saw Dr. Zhang out and went to fill the prescription. Xiaobao lay back on the bed, staring at the rafters, and murmured a cliché to himself: “The great wheel of history has begun to turn!”

...

That night, in Dr. Zhang’s home at the east end of the city, he took out one of the miraculous pills, studied it briefly, and swallowed it with warm water.

In moments, a surge of warmth rose from his abdomen, invigorating his spirits.

Overjoyed, Dr. Zhang hunched over and slipped into his young concubine’s chamber.

Not long after, the house rang with ghostly howls and wails, disturbing all dreams...