The next morning, Wuji woke up feeling truly rested for the first time since arriving in this world. Sleep had long eluded him—first because his body had yet to fully recover from the fever, leaving him with lingering headaches, and second, because his mind had been in turmoil. Whether it was his soul struggling to adapt to this new vessel or the sheer weight of his past memories pressing against the limits of an eight-year-old brain, he couldn’t say.

  But one thing was undeniable—he remembered everything. Every moment from his past life, from the day he was born to the day he died, was etched into his mind with perfect clarity. Yet, what unsettled him even more was the realization that his memory had far surpassed what it once was. He had been a genius in his previous life, but now his recall was on an entirely different level—almost unnatural in its sharpness.

  That thought disturbed him. Was this an effect of transmigration? He doubted the body alone could be responsible. From the fragmented memories of its former owner, he knew the boy had been bright and curious, but certainly not someone capable of absorbing information with perfect precision after a single glance.

  Something had changed. And he needed to find out why. The nature of the soul was elusive, shrouded in mystery, and he had no clear path to understanding it. For now, speculation would get him nowhere.

  More immediate concerns took precedence. A month had passed, and his body had finally healed. Though still thin, he was no longer malnourished. His mind, too, felt sharper, unburdened by weakness. Most importantly, yesterday’s resolve had given him something just as crucial—a sense of direction. Rather than drowning in uncertainty, he would take things one step at a time, methodically unraveling the mysteries of this world.

  And the first step? Learning the Yulian language. For that, he would need Mother’s help.

  With that thought, Wuji pushed himself up from the bed and stretched, feeling the stiffness in his limbs. He headed toward the bath area. Over the past month, Mother and the other attendants had offered to help him bathe, but Wuji—an old man in spirit—had firmly refused.

  The bathroom was bare and utilitarian—stone walls enclosed the space, the rough floor cool beneath his feet. At the center sat a wooden bucket brimming with water, a small luxury prepared in advance by the caretakers. It was a special privilege given to children under the age of ten, as they were still too small to fetch and carry water on their own. Beside it rested a delicate dish filled with fine white powder—the closest thing this world had to soap. As he leaned over the bucket, his reflection wavered on the water’s surface, and for a fleeting moment, he was caught off guard once again.

  Even after a month, the face in the water still felt unfamiliar. Pale skin, smooth like white jade, dark black hair framing sharp yet delicate features, and striking blue eyes that seemed almost unnatural in their clarity. Compared to his past life, where exhaustion and long hours had left their mark on his appearance, this face was... breathtaking. His old self wouldn’t even hold a candle to this. Realizing he was indulging in vain thoughts unbefitting of an eighty-year-old mind, Wuji scoffed at himself and pushed them aside. He pinched a bit of the white powder, rubbing it between his fingers before scooping up water. The cool sensation jolted him fully awake, washing away the last remnants of sleep.

  Once finished, he dried himself and slipped into his gray robe. At first, he had found the rough fabric unbearably uncomfortable, a stark contrast to the smooth, tailored clothes of his past life. But after a month, he had grown accustomed to it—it no longer felt like a foreign skin. With that, he made his way to the room where Mother worked, the place from which she managed the orphanage. Reaching the wooden door, he knocked lightly and waited.

  Wuji pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was modest, its wooden walls coated in a protective brown paint to prevent rot. In the center stood a sturdy wooden table, its surface cluttered with neatly stacked papers, inkstones, and brushes. The scent of aged wood and faint traces of ink filled the air.

  His gaze shifted to the woman seated at the table—Qin Jingwen, or as he called her, Mother. She was beautiful, her long black hair flowing down her back, her warm brown eyes carrying a gentle kindness. At the sight of him, a soft smile graced her lips.

  "Hmm, Wuji," she asked, setting aside her brush. "What is the matter? Do you need something?"

  Wuji met her gaze with determination. "Mother, I want to learn to read and write Yulian."

  Qin Jingwen blinked, momentarily taken aback. "You want to learn to read and write? Why the sudden interest?"

  He had anticipated this question. Keeping his expression earnest, he replied, "Because I want to read the storybooks you read to me… by myself."

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  A flicker of surprise crossed her face before it softened into amusement. "Oh? So my little Wuji is eager to learn?" She chuckled. "That’s quite an unusual request for someone your age. Are you sure you won’t get bored?"

  Wuji shook his head. "No, Mother. I really want to learn."

  Qin Jingwen studied him in silence, her gentle eyes searching his face as if weighing the sincerity in his request. After a moment, her lips curved into a warm smile.

  "Alright then... if you truly wish to learn, I will teach you." Her voice was soft, yet there was a quiet strength behind it. "If any of the others are interested, I will announce it during lunch. It will be good if more children learn."

  She had previously considered teaching Yulian to the children, but the response was underwhelming. Few saw the need to read and write the language, as most villagers worked as farmers, blacksmiths, or in other trades that didn’t require proficiency in Yulian. As a result, many children showed little interest. However, with Wuji displaying enthusiasm, she hoped his curiosity would inspire others, as children often thrive on competition.

  Wuji's heart fluttered, a small spark of hope lighting within him. This was it—the first step. The first piece of the puzzle to understanding this world.

  "Thank you, Mother." His voice was steady, but he couldn't hide the excitement in his eyes.

  With a small bow, Wuji turned and left the room, his steps light as if the burden of uncertainty had lessened, even if just a little.

  -----

  The sun hung high in the pale blue sky, casting soft rays through the cracked windows of the orphanage hall. The scent of warm broth filled the air. Children gathered in neat lines, their small feet shuffling against the worn wooden floor.

  Wuji stood behind Mei, their places fixed by age. Mei—being the youngest—stood first, her wide eyes glancing curiously at the pot where one of the caretakers ladled out steaming broth into simple wooden bowls. When her turn came, she clutched the bowl with both hands, her little face lighting up with satisfaction before she carefully moved to her seat.

  Wuji stepped forward next, receiving a bowl of thin broth and a small piece of coarse bread. The meal was plain—just as it had been every day since he'd arrived in this world—but he understood the hardship behind it. With around twelve children under the age of fifteen and only the meager stipend provided by the kingdom through the village chief, the orphanage struggled to keep everyone fed. The older children, those who had passed their fifteenth birthday and were considered adults, worked to earn their own living—yet some still shared what little they earned with the orphanage.

  There were five tables in the hall, each with a caretaker seated to oversee the children. Qin Jingwen rotated between tables every day, making sure no child felt overlooked. Today, she sat at Wuji's table, her gentle presence bringing a rare warmth to the otherwise somber meal.

  Once everyone had been served, a hush fell over the hall. As if by silent signal, every child pressed their hands together and began to recite the mealtime prayer in unison.

  "Heaven above and earth below, we give thanks for this humble meal. May the harvest be plentiful, our labor be steady, and our days be peaceful. As we nourish our bodies, may we find strength to face tomorrow."

  The soft, uneven chorus of young voices echoed against the stone walls, filling the hall with something fragile—something almost sacred. For a brief moment, the hunger, the hardship, and the uncertain future faded away, replaced by a quiet unity.

  Wuji's lips moved along with the others, his mind half on the prayer, half on the lessons that would come after.

  After the prayer, everyone began their meal. Though they ate the same food every day, it never lost its charm—it was always delicious, and all the credit went to Liu Hua. It was as if she wielded magic; everything she cooked carried a warmth that made it taste extraordinary. He still remembered the day when one of the children had a birthday—birthdays in the orphanage were marked by the day they arrived. That day, Liu Hua had prepared more than the usual broth and bread, filling the table with extra dishes. The flavors were unforgettable—it was nothing short of heavenly.

  Well after having there lunch, Mother said she had an announcement to make and then all the children listened to her carefully.

  "I’m thinking of teaching Yulian reading and writing. If anyone is interested, raise your hand."

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Wuji’s hand shot up without hesitation.

  Sitting beside him, Mei blinked in surprise before tugging on his sleeve. "Brother Wuji, why do you want to learn Yulian? We don’t need it, right? We can just work on the farms and earn money. Even Brother Feng, who’s already twenty, doesn’t know Yulian, and he still earns enough to eat three meals a day and buy new clothes every year!"

  ‘This girl…’ Wuji sighed internally. From a purely practical standpoint, she wasn’t wrong. The villagers lived simple, peaceful lives without needing literacy. But for him, things were different. He wasn’t just a child—he was a scientist, a man who once sought to unravel the mysteries of the universe. How could he be content with farming when an entire new world of knowledge lay before him?

  Still, explaining quantum mechanics to a six-year-old was out of the question. So, he smiled and gave her a reason she would understand.

  "I want to read the storybooks Mother reads to us every night by myself."

  Mei tilted her head. "But you can just ask Mother to read them again. She won’t say no, right?"

  Wuji shook his head. "And what about when we grow up, like Brother Feng? When we have to work all day, we won’t have time to listen to Mother reading stories anymore."

  Mei’s eyes widened as if he had just revealed a great truth. She clenched her tiny fists, puffed up her cheeks, and with a determined nod, shot her hand into the air. "Then I want to learn too! I want to read the storybooks by myself!"

  Seeing the two youngest kids eager to learn, a few other children hesitated before raising their hands as well. In the end, including Wuji and Mei, six children had volunteered to learn Yulian.

  Wuji smirked inwardly. 'A small step, but a good one. Knowledge is power, after all.'

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