Chapter One: A True Gentleman

“What smells so good?”

Yang Lin groggily sat up, blinking his eyes open, and found that his shabby old kennel had somehow become beautiful. Delicate gauze drapes and bead curtains, all edged with gold thread, surrounded him—truly exquisite.

Still dazed from his slumber, Yang Lin thought he must be dreaming. He managed a wry smile and muttered, “Oh, kennel of mine, after all these years you’ve finally matured—not only did you learn to tidy yourself up, you’ve even evolved.”

Wait—that’s not right! A chill shot from his heels straight to the crown of his head, snapping him awake in an instant. This was no ordinary place: an ancient rosewood bed exquisitely carved, elegant wooden cabinets, a soft and ornate carpet beneath his feet, and a precious sword with a jade hilt and golden scabbard hanging on the wall. The air itself was thick with opulence.

He knew his own situation all too well: alone in the world, all his possessions together wouldn’t buy a single chair in this room.

Could it be that some wealthy lady, smitten with his looks, had kidnapped him to her chamber for a bit of historical roleplay? He considered his own thin, scrawny frame—clearly not the type a rich woman would fancy—and let out a long sigh of relief, though a faint sense of disappointment lingered in his heart.

It must still be a dream, he finally concluded. Only a dream could explain what he saw before him.

He climbed out of bed, stepping onto the velvet carpet—soft and smooth to the touch. For a moment, Yang Lin felt as if he were floating. If this was a dream, he wished it would never end.

There was a bronze mirror before him. Yang Lin walked over, intending to see how dashing he looked in ancient garb, when a handsome yet slightly pallid face appeared in the reflection—one both familiar and strange.

The moment he saw that face, a torrent of memories and emotions flooded his mind, making his head throb.

…

So it wasn’t a dream after all. As the memories and feelings settled, Yang Lin finally understood: he had crossed into another world.

His heart skipped a beat, a flicker of excitement stirring within him. After all, he’d led a lonely, rootless life before—this transmigration could be a blessing. Especially when, in this new life, he was the pampered son of a wealthy family. One look at this bedchamber said it all.

From the memories he’d absorbed, Yang Lin learned he’d arrived in the Song Dynasty—under the reign of the famed artist-emperor, Zhao Ji, also known as Emperor Huizong.

By coincidence, he was still called Yang Lin. He was now the only son of Yang Tong, a wealthy merchant from Huainan East Circuit, raised since childhood on poetry and classics.

Yang Tong had just one son, and he was immensely proud of Yang Lin, who was both accomplished in his studies and upright in character—truly the apple of his eye.

Old Yang was a businessman who believed everything in this world could be solved with money. So when his son sat for the imperial examination, he greased the palms of every official in Yangzhou, ensuring his son passed with flying colors and could proceed to the next round of provincial exams in the capital.

Yang Lin, full of youthful ambition, was packing to head for the capital when he happened to overhear a conversation between his father and another. That was how he learned his success was tainted by bribery. The revelation so infuriated him that he coughed up blood and was bedridden for half a month.

After understanding all this, Yang Lin couldn’t help but shake his head, thinking how the previous owner of this body had been made foolish by too much studying. Coddled from birth, he’d never known the harshness of the outside world, and had truly believed in the lofty ideals of the virtuous gentleman. Yet his own father had paved the way for him, and he’d still been so enraged as to fall ill—without ever considering that if he’d been born into a beggar’s family, he might never have had the chance to study at all.

Fairness and justice are best left for storytellers to praise; life is, after all, a brutal contest.

As Yang Lin was still trying to digest and merge with this new identity, he heard the quiet shuffle of footsteps outside. Not yet sure how to face anyone, he hurried back into bed to feign sleep a little longer.

The door creaked open. A pretty young maid with twin buns struggled in, balancing a wooden tray with several bowls of medicine. Once inside, she deftly closed the door behind her with her heel.

“Young master, time for your medicine.” The maid spoke without turning her head, clearly expecting no response—little did she know Yang Lin was secretly peeking at her from the bed. Her voice was clear and melodious, tinged with the soft lilt of the southern dialect.

Such a lovely maid, with such a figure—tsk tsk…

The girl set the medicine on the table, picked up a bowl, and sat by the bed. She scooped a spoonful, blew on it gently, and offered it to Yang Lin’s lips.

“Mother, that’s bitter!”

Yang Lin, caught off guard while admiring the pretty maid, suddenly had a mouthful of herbal medicine so bitter it pierced his soul. He couldn’t help but cry out.

With a loud clatter, the bowl fell from the maid’s hands. Her round eyes widened and her cherry lips formed an ‘O.’

“Young master is awake! Young master is awake!”

Half-terrified, half-overjoyed, the little maid flailed her arms and ran out. Yang Lin clambered out of bed and opened the small window. Sunlight stabbed his eyes, forcing him to shut them against its glare.

After half a month in bed, his body wasn’t used to the daylight. After a while, Yang Lin looked outside: it was a refined little courtyard, dotted with rare flowers and stones, winding corridors, and all the elegance and artistry of a southern garden. Beyond that, there was even a pond, a rockery, a small bridge, and a lakeside pavilion—nothing was lacking.

So much wealth! If only it were mine… Wait, it is mine! Ha—I've struck it rich.

Yang Lin was still reveling in his newfound fortune when a wailing cry suddenly rang out: “Lin’er, my son, where are you?”

A crisp voice replied, “Why, in the young master’s bedroom, of course!”

That blunt little maid…

With a crash, the precious ebony door was flung open. Yang Tong, heavyset and lumbering, strode to his son’s side in a few quick steps. Gripping Yang Lin’s shoulders, he cried, “Son, you’re finally awake! It was my moment of folly—let’s forget the exams. We don’t need that title.”

But Yang Lin was no fool. Having known poverty for half his life, he was the type who never let a chance slip by. There was no way he’d give up on such a golden opportunity as the title of provincial top scholar.

“Father, are you all right? I earned that title through honest study, not by theft or trickery. Why should I give it up?”

Yang Tong was left speechless, eyeing his son with suspicion—was this still his bookish, pedantic boy? Yet the familiar features, raised and cherished these sixteen years, reassured him. He dismissed the maid, then turned back, his face filled with guilt. “Lin’er, you’re still upset, so you’re talking back to me—ah, let me apologize. I shouldn’t have bribed Magistrate Cai for your title, staining your reputation. It’s all my fault. Let’s forfeit the trip to the capital and try again next year! I refuse to believe my son can’t win the title on his own merits.”

“Father, you’re being foolish!” Yang Lin saw the look of shame on his father’s face and felt a strange, warm affection—his inherited memories and feelings made him care for this rotund, middle-aged man.

Yang Tong, pressed into a chair by his son, felt a pang in his heart, but since his boy had just recovered, he decided to humor him. “Yes, yes, I was foolish. Don’t worry, I’ll mend my ways.”

Now Old Yang was so skittish, he took everything his son said as the opposite of what he meant. Yang Lin couldn’t help but laugh, but suddenly, inspiration struck.

After a pause, Yang Lin furrowed his brow and said with feigned gravity, “That mustn’t be! Scholars already grumble about how I won the title. If I withdraw now, it will only confirm the rumors about bribery, and if the authorities investigate, you could face charges. Besides, Magistrate Cai, whom we bribed, could be implicated too—if he wanted to harm us, it’d be all too easy. I may not wish to bear this title, but for your sake, for the Yang family, I must.”

These words left Yang Tong stunned, as if turned to stone, and soon his eyes brimmed with tears.

How touching—after all these years, his son finally cared for him! And Yang Tong felt a surge of pride.

Who doesn’t wish for their son to be a man of principle? Even a nouveau riche like Yang Tong, deep down, always took pride in his son.