Surviving the Ancient Angst Novel [Transmigration] - Chapter 18

Since I had promoted in rank, my place of residence had to change accordingly.

If the previous White Jade district was a desolate, quiet rural village, then the Green Jade district was a bustling, sophisticated small town. Even at this late hour, the streets were filled with people coming and going. Colorful glass lanterns hung beneath the eaves, illuminating several blocks like broad daylight.

I observed the passersby: some were Green Jades, some were Yellow Jades all tied with white strings. It was easy to tell them apart: the Green Jades mostly walked along the sides of the road, while the central path was reserved for Yellow Jades passing through on horseback or in carriages. The class divide between the rich and poor was strikingly obvious.

When those Yellow Jade “heroes” passed by on their high-headed horses, looking spirited and imposing, several Green Jades watched them with eyes full of excitement and envy. This included the man leading me.

“I wonder when I’ll be qualified to ride a horse,” he muttered in a low voice, looking somewhat defeated.

“How long have you been here?” I took the opportunity to strike up a conversation.

“A year.”

Ah, so he’s survived four Hunts. “That’s quite impressive,” I praised him sincerely.

“Not really,” the Guide shook his head with a bitter smile. “I’m just scraping by at the bottom. If I died in the Hunting Ground tomorrow, it wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone.”

I nodded but said nothing. This was the fate of us “extras” in these tragedy-filled novels. I understood him, and I felt even more sympathy for myself.

“We’re here. You’ll be staying in this house.” The Guide patted my shoulder and pointed to a blue-stone house with cured meat drying under the eaves. The meat was still fresh and soft to the touch, not yet hardened by the sun it was clearly made recently.

Walking inside, I noticed that the carved window frames were decorated with paper-cut “Double Happiness” characters that had been damaged by the rain. The characters were hand-cut, with visible ink marks where the outlines had been traced. The craftsmanship was extremely crude.

“Is someone living here with me?” I looked around but didn’t see anyone.

The Guide whispered, “One person lived here yesterday, but he was taken away by Ji Xing today and hasn’t returned. I suspect…” He looked left and right, then leaned in close to my ear. “…it’s not good!”

Who is Ji Xing? I pushed the question to the back of my mind. “What if he comes back?”

The Guide said, “If he does, you’ll just have to squeeze in with him. He’s riddled with illness; he won’t live long anyway.”

The implication was clear: this house would be mine alone sooner or later.

Riddled with illness… My heart skipped a beat, and I had a nagging sense of foreboding. But the Guide’s parting words left me even more confused.

“I had someone put a few jars of good wine under the bed in your room.” He smiled and patted my shoulder, wearing the expression of a man who does good deeds in secret.

After the Guide left, I pushed open the door to the left side-room. The quilt on the bed was messy, clearly recently occupied. I squatted down to check under the bed, but it was empty no wine. This must be the room of the original tenant, not the one prepared for me.

The blue-stone walls were covered with “Double Happiness” characters of various sizes. The handiwork was crude, but the person who cut them had clearly been very dedicated the floor was littered with discarded scraps of red paper. Since this was someone else’s room, I only gave it a brief look before closing the door.

I pushed open the door to the right side-room. The quilt was neatly folded on the bed, and the wooden table and chairs were so clean they didn’t have a speck of dust. On a nearby bookshelf lay several open books.

I stepped forward to take a look, and my worldview was instantly shattered!

They say there are masters in every trade, but these books… the bold and explicit illustrations of men “playing” together pushed the boundaries of variety! There were hundreds of poses, and not a single one was repeated. And they were all men. The author of these books was truly a specialized talent in male beauty!

Even with my vast experience from the modern world, my eyes were opened. I closed the books. The title was even more audacious six large characters: A GUIDE TO JOINING THE EASTERN WASTELAND!

Hoh, talk about guts.

I flipped to the title page. Written in brush and ink was a couplet:

“One must remember the soaring ambitions of youth, having once promised to be the best in the world!”

“This series is dedicated to the benefit of every poor little soul who failed a suicide attempt.”

It was thick with sarcasm. I found it fascinating and flipped quickly to the final page. There, in wild calligraphy, was written:

“Phoenix, Phoenix, why not fly high and return home? Why die here for no reason!”

“Swan, Swan, how can you bear to stay in the shallows…”

Next to the text were several yellowed circles with blurred edges, looking like dried tear stains. I touched the rough paper with my finger, feeling a wave of emotion. Another tragic soul, most likely.

I closed the books, stacked them neatly, and carried them out of the room. I rolled them up and stuffed them into two large flower vases on the altar in the main hall. I’d let the God of Wealth “purify” them with his aura and perhaps elevate the author’s moral character in the process.

Having finished this, I felt quite sleepy. I went back to my room, lay down, and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

That night, I had a nightmare that was far too vivid. It was a nightmare that, even many years later, would still cause my heart to race uncontrollably.