He opened his eyes as a college student from the twenty-first century, only to find himself a ten-year-old boy collapsed on the road to escape famine.
His predecessor had died after being beaten by refugees, cold and starving. Now Wang Hai'an had inherited nothing but a small, battered body and a reality colder than winter: no System, no golden finger, no supernatural gifts of any kind.
After a long journey, he finally settled in a small village in the south.
This was his entire world.
He had to start from scratch, earning every brick and beam with his own hands.
Using his memories, he improved the simplest bamboo-weaving techniques, turning crude bamboo wares into goods that fetched a price at the market.
With an adult’s knack for planning, he led the villagers in digging irrigation canals and experimenting with raising fish in rice paddies…
There would be no overnight success, only steady labor through spring, summer, autumn, and winter.
No magic that turned stone into gold, only careful budgeting for daily necessities.
From barely having enough to eat to gradually filling the granaries; from a leaky thatched hut to a house of gray bricks and tiles.
