The sun rose and set, and Chu Mu slept for nearly a day and two nights, only stirring in the early hours of the third day.
It wasn't a gentle wake-up. A gnawing hunger in his gut dragged him out of sleep.
His stomach felt like a void, his body ached worse than before, but thankfully, he'd regained just enough strength to move without too much struggle.
The house left by the original owner's father wasn't grand—no fancy corridors or pavilions, just a simple peasant home with a small courtyard walled in brick and stone.
He stumbled from the bedroom to the kitchen, where a few cold steamed buns became his salvation.
In both his past and present lives, Chu Mu had never known hunger like this. He devoured the buns, barely registering their taste, focused only on the faint relief of a filling stomach.
After wolfing down several, the hunger eased a bit. Slumped against the stove, he let out a long, relieved breath.
That hunger hit hard. Judging by it, Chu Mu figured he'd slept far longer than usual—otherwise, he wouldn't have been this starved.
"Next time I tap into Spirit Radiance, I've got to be careful."
He mentally scolded himself again. Spirit Radiance was a gift, but he had to keep it in check. Getting lost in it, ignoring his body's limits, could turn a blessing into a curse.
His mind buzzed with thoughts, but his hands didn't idle. Despite the lingering soreness, he moved methodically, working in the kitchen.
He'd never studied cooking in his past life, but living on his own, he'd made do. His skills weren't gourmet, but they got the job done.
With what was left in the kitchen, he whipped up a few dishes that looked half-decent and set them on the table.
Another round of ravenous eating cleared the plates, finally banishing the hunger completely.
By now, the sun was up, its warm rays cutting through the morning mist. In the courtyard, Chu Mu paced slowly, digesting while trying to loosen his aching muscles.
The glowing panel flickered into view.
[Name: Chu Mu]
[Skills:
Basic Saber Technique (Beginner) 30/100]
[Spirit Radiance: 5.3%]
"Fifteen points of proficiency…"
Chu Mu mulled it over quietly. It wasn't a huge jump, and he didn't mind. That night, under Spirit Radiance, the real gain wasn't the handful of points—it was how the original owner's fragmented memories had fully merged with him, erasing the sense of disconnect.
That was the true prize of that session.
Lost in thought, he paced slowly, stopping at the courtyard gate. The house had seen better days; the lacquered gate was peeling, with some corners chipped and worn.
Through the gate, the clamor of the outside world was clear. With a grating creak, the rickety gate swung open, revealing a whole new scene.
The house wasn't big, but its spot was prime—right along the town's main street. Opening the gate plunged him straight into the bustling market.
The morning mist still lingered faintly. Under the sunrise, the street hummed with life: vendors hawking wares from shoulder poles or carts, shop assistants shouting from storefronts, and workers trundling ox carts, collecting waste from homes.
The gritty, vibrant life of the common folk in this ancient world spilled out before Chu Mu's eyes.
It wasn't his first time seeing it, but every glimpse left him a little dazed.
His past life… it was really just that now. A memory, nothing more. No going back.
He felt a strange gratitude—grateful that his past life held no ties to bind him. If there had been, he couldn't imagine the weight of it.
After a long moment, he snapped out of it, pursed his lips, and turned back toward the bedroom.
The original owner wasn't from some wealthy clan. His father, a patrol officer, was often gone from dawn to dusk, sometimes absent for half a month on busy assignments.
The bedroom reflected that simplicity: a wooden bed, a cabinet, and nothing more.
Following the original owner's memories, Chu Mu dug through the cabinet and pulled out a locked wooden box. Inside was a stack of paper "banknotes."
Oddly, based on his past life's knowledge, ancient currencies were usually metals—copper, silver. Paper notes, when they existed, were for big transactions. Even official notes like the Song dynasty's "jiaozi" or Ming's "bao chao" never fully replaced metal coins.
People trusted hard metal over paper backed by mere promises, which could be printed endlessly.
Yet, from the original owner's memories, metal currency didn't exist. Paper notes were it—always had been, as far back as he knew.
But the denominations—one copper, five copper, ten copper, fifty copper, hundred copper, one silver, five silver, ten silver…
The breakdown screamed that metal currency had once ruled, until some bold emperor vaulted past that era into one of paper backed by trust.
That alone proved this Great Chu wasn't any dynasty he knew from his past life.
"These notes are beautifully made."
He picked one up, feeling its smooth texture—not the rough grit of normal paper, but something finer.
The paper alone wouldn't have shocked him. What did were the intricate ink paintings on each note—mountains, rivers, cities, palaces, each denomination a unique work of art.
They were practically frame-worthy.
In his past life, he'd have shrugged it off, but here, in an ancient world with its limited technology, crafting such pristine notes was mind-boggling.
He puzzled over it for a while but came up empty. No use overthinking it—he was new here. Answers would come with time.
He grabbed a few notes to tuck into his robe, then hesitated as he went to lock the box. After a beat, he took every note, carefully stashing them in his robe and double-checking to be sure.
This was the original owner's entire fortune, including his father's pension.
Three hundred twenty-two silver, sixty-eight copper. His monthly patrol salary was only eight silver—a pittance by comparison.
Leaving that kind of money in a flimsy cabinet? Too risky.
If it got stolen, he'd be out of luck. Even the Patrol Division's mess hall charged for meals!
…
*(End of Chapter)*