Chapter One: What Year Is Tonight?

Warm liquid splattered onto Li Jianguo’s body.

Piercing cries and the clash of metal filled his ears, the noise overwhelming.

Li Jianguo opened his eyes and was met with the face of a woman. She appeared to be just past her twenties and had a gentle, attractive appearance. Yet at this moment, her pale and delicate features were contorted in pain.

The woman was hunched over Li Jianguo, but her arms supported her weight, as if she feared pressing down on him.

“Baby, it’s all right, don’t be afraid!”

She lowered her head, her gaze meeting Li Jianguo’s. Forcing a smile onto her wan face, she murmured softly and, extending an arm, cradled Li Jianguo to her chest.

Only then did Li Jianguo realize he had become an infant!

“Don’t let any of these traitors escape!”

A voice rang out with the force of clashing iron, carrying authority and menace.

The woman’s face changed; struggling, she rose to her feet. Li Jianguo, still reeling from the shock of his transformation, was horrified to see an arrow had pierced the woman’s chest from behind, its bloodstained tip gleaming coldly. She was gravely wounded, and Li Jianguo instantly understood that the warm liquid spattered on his face was her blood.

She had supported herself earlier to keep the arrow from harming him.

Li Jianguo stood stupefied. What on earth was happening?

At forty years of age, to suddenly become a baby and be swept into such chaos was utterly beyond comprehension.

Were there still people killing with bows and arrows in this day and age?

And if so, why did this look like a massacre, an extermination of a whole family in broad daylight? This was supposed to be a law-abiding society. Did these murderers not fear the law?

Anger surged in Li Jianguo’s chest. He shouted, “Stop!”

But he forgot he was now an infant. His vocal cords unformed, his furious cry emerged as nothing but a wailing infant’s shriek.

The woman held him tightly with one arm, careful to keep the arrow tip from touching him.

With her other hand, she seized a gleaming sword, gritted her teeth, and fled. Behind her came the twang of a bowstring and an arrow whistling through the air, striking her in the thigh. Unable to keep her balance, she collapsed to the ground with a thud. Li Jianguo slipped from her grasp, rolling a few times until he stopped two or three meters away.

“Sister!”

A roar rang out, followed by the clang of weapons and agonized screams.

A large, powerfully built man appeared by the woman’s side—about 185 centimeters tall, robust and muscular, his dark face bristling with a beard as sharp as steel needles. His sword-like brows and fierce eyes flashed with vitality. He wore a dark short robe, over which was a vest-like garment with half-length sleeves covering his upper arms. His hair was tied in a short topknot, sturdy black boots on his feet, and he dragged a heavy, blackened cudgel stained with sticky blood and something white and viscous.

He rushed to the woman and gathered her in his arms.

“Baby… Sister, where’s the baby?”

The woman, breathing faintly, was still worried about Li Jianguo, now an infant.

The man spotted him instantly, dropped his cudgel, and scooped Li Jianguo up.

In that instant, Li Jianguo took in his surroundings. It seemed to be a village, now engulfed in flames. In the firelight, panicked villagers fled in every direction, while countless men in black, clad in leather armor and wielding swords, chased and slaughtered them. The air was filled with screams and cries of agony—Li Jianguo was truly shocked! Judging from their attire, this was not the era he once knew.

He had transmigrated.

A popular word on the internet, even the subject of film and television. But when exactly was this?

The man held Li Jianguo with one arm and the woman with the other. His voice trembled, “Sister, the baby’s here—look!”

“Brother, take care of the baby. Take him and go, quickly.”

“We’ll go together…”

The man’s body shook slightly. Li Jianguo noticed the woman’s face growing ever paler, the spark of life fading from her eyes. He began to understand: this woman was his mother. As for the man, he didn’t seem to be his father—judging by their terms of address, they were more likely siblings. So then, who was the child’s father?

The woman’s gaze was full of love and reluctance as she pressed her cheek to Li Jianguo’s.

“Brother, I can’t go on… Take the baby, find his father…”

Her voice grew fainter, barely audible.

The man asked loudly, “Sister, where is his father? Tell me!”

“His father is…”

The woman reached out to touch Li Jianguo’s face. But before finishing her words, her hand froze in mid-air and fell limply. Her eyes, still open, stared at Li Jianguo with deep sorrow.

Their contact had lasted only a brief moment. Yet from her every word and gesture, Li Jianguo felt a mother’s boundless love for her child.

Despite her mortal wound, she risked herself rather than allow harm to come to him. That gentle smile, that look of reluctance… In an instant, the blood in his veins resonated powerfully. Li Jianguo could not suppress a strange sadness, and his cries as an infant rang out.

Though he still didn’t understand what had happened, he had already accepted the identity of this young mother.

“Sister!”

The man cried out in sorrow.

Li Jianguo then heard a voice: “Yan Hu, drop your weapon and hand over the child!

“Before I left the capital, Lord Zhangsun privately asked me to look after you. Hand over the child and reveal Li the traitor’s whereabouts. Everyone here is under my command—I can guarantee your safe departure… What do you say?”

The man’s name was Yan Hu.

He gently laid the woman’s body down, holding Li Jianguo with one arm and snatching up the heavy cudgel with his other.

Could things get any worse?

Li Jianguo’s heart sank. There was no time to sort out his confusion; the greatest crisis since his transmigration was upon him. Instinctively, his chubby little hands gripped Yan Hu’s tunic tighter. He was utterly powerless and could only rely on Yan Hu for survival—even if he wasn’t certain Yan Hu was truly his uncle.

They were now surrounded by dozens of men.

If Yan Hu chose self-preservation, Li Jianguo’s fate would be grim indeed.

Yan Hu looked down at Li Jianguo, hugging him closer.

The speaker was a man of about 170 centimeters, slightly built, dressed in a blue robe. His eyes were narrow and triangular, his brows broken, exuding an air of cruelty. In particular, a mark on his cheek—no, not a birthmark, but more like a bird tattoo—caught Li Jianguo’s attention. He had never seen anyone tattoo their face before.

Yan Hu said, “To think a dignified Lishuai would stoop to this.”

Lishuai? What kind of official was that? Li Jianguo grew ever more puzzled, though he guessed from the name: this man was likely not Han Chinese.

The Lishuai smiled. “Yan Hu, there’s no need for empty words.

“Let me be clear: your brother-in-law’s deeds have not been forgotten by His Majesty. The descendants of Yuwen You are all dead; the few who escaped are no longer a threat. Only your brother-in-law remains a thorn in His Majesty’s side. I came to the capital on my father’s behalf and was honored with the post of Prefect of Qinzhou—it is my duty to ease His Majesty’s worries. So, once again, hand over the child and reveal your brother-in-law’s whereabouts. I’ll let you go. Otherwise, I’ll have to disappoint Lord Zhangsun.”

Heavens!

Li Jianguo was stunned. It seemed his new identity was far from ordinary.

“Well…”

Yan Hu appeared tempted. But in his arms, Li Jianguo sensed Yan Hu holding him closer. Yan Hu’s eyes darted, quickly surveying their surroundings, then he sighed heavily.

“Such righteousness, Lishuai!”

He glanced down at Li Jianguo, surprised the child wasn’t crying. In such a situation, any normal infant would be bawling, yet Li Jianguo, after a brief cry earlier, had remained silent.

“But you killed my sister and destroyed my family’s village—how can I let this go?”

Suddenly, Yan Hu stomped his cudgel on the ground, kicked the head to raise it, and darted aside, swinging the cudgel with a whoosh. With a thunderous overhead strike, he brought it down on a black-clad man. The move was swift and unexpected; the cudgel carried tremendous force.

Caught off guard, the target raised his sword, but with a metallic clang and a sickening crunch, the sword was knocked aside and his skull crushed. Yan Hu’s sudden attack threw his besiegers into confusion. Two soldiers moved to block his path, but Yan Hu spun his cudgel, sweeping it with gale force.

“Block me and die!”

With a roar, he smashed the cudgel into a soldier’s waist. Though blunt, the weapon wielded by Yan Hu’s powerful arms shattered bones and sent blood spraying as the man collapsed.

Ning Changzhen, the Lishuai, was momentarily stunned, then furious.

He’d offered mercy, but was spurned—now, not even Lord Zhangsun could object to what came next.

With a metallic ring, Ning Changzhen stepped forward. His hand barely moved, yet the long blade at his side flashed free, merging with his motion in a dazzling arc as he shouted, “Yan Hu, you court death!”

Yan Hu had struck first; Ning Changzhen followed. The distance between them, once ten paces, was now greater after Yan Hu’s assault.

Yan Hu, with Li Jianguo in one arm, cut a path through his foes, nearly breaking free. But Ning Changzhen’s blade was upon him, its cold gleam slicing toward Yan Hu’s back.

Having just felled a soldier, Yan Hu sensed the approach of the blade. This was no ordinary attack; the blade’s force was concentrated and lethal.

Yan Hu cursed inwardly, adjusting his grip so the cudgel’s head met his back—an old technique known as “Su Qin carries the sword.”

There was a tremendous clang as the blade struck the cudgel, a surge of force passing through the weapon into Yan Hu. Blood spurted from his mouth, but the blow’s force hurled him seven or eight meters forward, tumbling through the air.

Barely touching down, another soldier lunged from the side. Yan Hu spun nimbly, dodged, seized the man’s blade, then barged forward with all his strength, sending the man flying.

Ning Changzhen, his strike having missed, reached out to catch his own man, steadying him with a twist of his elbow.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Yan Hu, wielding the captured sword, cut down two more men and dashed to a warhorse. He hoisted Li Jianguo onto the horse’s back, grabbed the reins, mounted, and slashed the horse’s flank. With a neigh of pain, the animal bolted into the night, scattering any who tried to block its path.

Ning Changzhen was beside himself with rage.

“After them! Don’t let that traitor escape!”

But pursuit was not so easy. The horses had been scattered during the massacre, and gathering them took time.

Eventually, Ning Changzhen assembled a dozen mounts, mounted himself, and called out, “After me! The rest of you, scour the village—leave no survivors!”

A dozen men rode after him, while the remaining soldiers responded in chorus.

—

Clutching Li Jianguo, Yan Hu spurred his horse onward.

Blood streamed from his mouth and nose, droplets falling onto Li Jianguo’s face. Ning Changzhen’s blade had clearly wounded his internal organs. If not for his sturdy frame, Yan Hu would likely have lacked the strength to ride at all. He galloped for over half an hour before exhaustion overtook him.

Yan Hu knew Ning Changzhen pursued under imperial orders—he would not relent until the task was done. If caught in his current state, death was certain. He did not fear for himself, but the child…

This was his beloved sister’s flesh and blood—he could not let the child perish.

With this in mind, Yan Hu reined in the horse and looked around, spotting a massive boulder with a crevice nearby. He dismounted with Li Jianguo and hurried over.

“Baby, it’s not that your uncle wants to leave you, but it’s too dangerous to keep you with me.

“Be good and hide here… When I’ve shaken off Ning Changzhen, I’ll come back for you. Do you understand?”

As he spoke, he placed Li Jianguo in the crevice, forcing a smile onto his rugged face.

Li Jianguo’s eyes widened, and he made babyish noises. He did not wish to be separated from Yan Hu, but he understood—given the circumstances, this was the best option.

It was a matter of survival.

Even if he objected, Yan Hu would never know.

Yan Hu pressed his cheek to Li Jianguo’s, then used vines to cover the crevice.

He listened carefully—hoofbeats echoed in the distance, growing nearer.

Reluctant as he was, there was no time for sentiment. Gritting his teeth, he mounted and rode off along the road at a gallop.

Hidden in the crevice, Li Jianguo soon heard the thunder of hooves draw close, then fade away.

From his awakening to now, only an hour or two had passed.

Yet for Li Jianguo, this was the most harrowing hour of his life.

He had become an infant, lost his mother, and was hunted by killers…

Scene after scene flashed through his mind, leaving him exhausted.

He did not know how old his infant body was—surely less than a year. His brain, not yet fully developed, was overwhelmed by events and fatigue.

He closed his eyes and soon slipped into a deep sleep.

Yet even as he slept, a nameless terror gripped him.

He had never believed transmigration was possible, but now, experiencing it, he felt only fear—not joy.

Confucius said: “The Master did not speak of strange phenomena, feats of strength, disorder, or spirits.”

It was not that such things could not be spoken of, but rather that one dared not, or did not know how.

After this ordeal, Li Jianguo wondered if ghosts and spirits did indeed exist. Otherwise, how could he have become an infant in this world?

It was all too bizarre.