Chapter 1: Slacking to Stay Alive

The afternoon sun over Chang'an was vicious, hot enough to fry oil out of the bluestone pavement. Heat waves distorted the view in the distance; the air felt like it had turned to amber, thick and still, with not a single breeze in sight. Lu Yan had only been transported to this world for less than two shichen, and he couldn't dig a single copper coin out of his pockets.

He stood in the most secluded corner of Zhuque Avenue, facing a table so worn down it was on the verge of collapsing. Its legs looked like they might give out under the scorching sun.

On the table sat a single, coarse porcelain teacup. Inside, half a cup of murky tea swirled with a few floating leaves. Next to it stood a lonely wooden sign, the characters scrawled crookedly: "Mr. Lu, tells tales of the strange and weird. Listen to the story, save your life."

He’d just learned to write these characters. The strokes were stiff, reeking of illiteracy and desperation, looking like they’d been scratched into the dirt with his feet.

A few vagrants idling nearby eyed him with suspicion, their whispers buzzing in his ears like mosquitoes. Some pointed at the sign, mocking Lu Yan for being a fraudulent charlatan; others looked with concern at his empty hands, guessing he was so starving his head had gone.

Lu Yan took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to rant internally. On the outside, he maintained the composure of polished jade, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table with a soft tap-tap, masking his inner anxiety. He was screaming in his head: Great Tang, can’t you at least grant me some starting funds?

Even a land deed would be fine! Making me eat dirt under this blazing sun is the ultimate insult to any transmigrator.

Just then, a chaotic sound of footsteps approached, accompanied by an air of arrogant swagger. Dust kicked up and swirled in the sunlight. Lu Yan narrowed his eyes, muttering, "System, you bastard, if you don't respond, I’m going to starve."

"Yo, Mr. Lu. Fancy name, huh?"

A rough, piercing voice rang out. A fat man with a face full of beefy flesh stepped in front of the table. This was Wang Biao, a minor enforcer under the local thug Zhao Tiezhao. He specialized in bullying the weak and forcing unfair sales. Behind him trailed two henchmen, thin as monkeys, each holding half a brick, their eyes radiating unmasked threats.

The brick edges were rough, clearly not polished. If it hit someone’s head, it’d be death or disablement. Lu Yan didn't stand up. He just leaned lazily back in his high-backed chair, his fingers twirling tea dregs in the cup, a half-smile playing on his lips. His mind was cold: So it’s started already?

It seems the street order in Great Tang is even more primitive and wild than I imagined. This kind of market monopoly by fists would have been legally sanctioned long ago in his twenty-first century.

Looking at Wang Biao’s greed-flushed face and the coarse cloth shirt hanging open to reveal thick body hair, a sense of disdain washed over him. It was like watching a pack of half-evolved corgis.

"This table is in Zhao Laoye's territory. If you want to set up stall here as an outsider, you pay protection money." Wang Biao slapped a grease-stained wooden sign onto the table. The impact made Lu Yan’s teacup tremble; tea splashed across the surface, soaking into the rough grain of the wood.

He jabbed his calloused finger at Lu Yan’s chest, his tone nasty. "No money, get lost. Don't stand here blocking the way. You’re in the middle of our money-making route."

The henchman beside them clapped impatiently, the cracks echoing as if urging Wang Biao to hurry up and get rid of this nuisance so they could continue collecting their "tribute."

Lu Yan wasn't provoked by the rough attitude; in fact, he found it amusing. He picked up his teacup, blowing on steam that wasn't there, and said with deliberate slowness: "Mighty Wang, Chang'an is vast as the sea. No matter how wide Zhao Laoye’s turf is, can he really not squeeze in a few crannies?"

He paused. His gaze pierced through the gap in the teapot lid, locking precisely onto Wang Biao’s prominent Adam’s apple, which bobbed up and down with his breath, looking remarkably fragile. Lu Yan’s tone was terrifyingly calm: "But since you mentioned Zhao Tiezhao, I’ve heard his luck has been on the rise lately. Sadly, after a peak comes a decline, you know."

"You want to die!" Wang Biao’s face darkened. He tore off his veneer, lunging to flip the table. He felt this scholar not only failed to pay but dared to make passive-aggressive curses about their boss. He was practically begging for it. The henchmen were already on high alert, bricks spinning in their hands. The air snapped taut, the atmosphere around them seeming to freeze.

Lu Yan remained seated, merely lifting his chin to gesture: go ahead, hit me. He felt calm, even a bit bored. To him, these "killers" with bricks in hand were less threatening than the NPCs in the online games he played in high school. Too little charge time, insufficient damage output.

Just as the brick was about to come down, a crisp electronic tone suddenly rang in Lu Yan’s mind.

[Ding! Strong hostility and crisis detected. Historical Echo System activated. First mission triggered: Use environmental narrative to resolve the conflict.]

Lu Yan blinked, feeling a surge of secret satisfaction: Finally! Watching the brick raised by Wang Biao, his mouth curved into an unfathomable smile. If fists couldn't solve the problem, he’d switch tactics. He stood up. He didn't dodge; instead, he spread his arms as if embracing the entire world. "Mighty Wang, hold on."

"Since you’re here, why not hear this humble Daoist’s first story? Consider it... a prelude to the rain."

"Rain?" Wang Biao paused, then let out a scoff. "It’s high noon, where’s the rain coming from? Cut the fake spirit tricks!"

The henchmen behind him roared with laughter, their voices echoing off the silent street, sounding obscenely loud. Lu Yan stopped speaking. He just stood there quietly, his eyes clear in an eerie way.

He began mobilizing the power granted by the system, forcibly binding the absurd yet terrifying concept of "Netherworld ghost troops passing through" to the current scorching weather.

"Today in Chang'an, the sun beats down, and hearts are anxious. But doesn't this heat feel... off?" Lu Yan’s voice dropped, becoming low and slow, like he was chanting an ancient incantation. "This heat isn't from the sky. It's condensed 'Yin energy.' The heavier the Yin, the weaker the Yang. When Yin and Yang intersect, an unusual rain will come to wash away this mortal dust."

On the last few words, Lu Yan’s gaze sharpened, as if piercing through Wang Biao’s skin to the depths of his soul. Wang Biao’s laughter stuck in his throat. A chill crept up his back for no reason. He felt the surrounding air truly freeze; the muggy heat no longer felt annoying, but viscous, like a wet towel pressed over his face, making it hard to breathe.

Suddenly, a dull rumble of thunder rolled deep within the clouds. Looking up, the sky was still a wash of blue, but the sound was real enough to make his scalp tingle, as if it came from the nine depths of the underworld. Immediately after, a single drop of cold water fell from the sky, landing precisely on Wang Biao’s bald head.

"Tick. Drop."

The sound was amplified infinitely in the quiet street.

Wang Biao looked up in horror. He only saw Lu Yan still standing there, his expression indifferent, as if admiring a meticulously arranged rain scene. More raindrops began to fall densely. At first, just a few stragglers; in the blink of an eye, it had turned into a localized downpour.

The rain only poured within ten paces of Lu Yan and Wang Biao. The boundary was scary clear, as if an invisible wall separated the dryness elsewhere from the wet cold here.

"Under... underworld ghost troops?" Wang Biao’s voice began to shake. He instinctively stepped back, his foot slipping into the muddy water. He stumbled. His henchmen had already lost their minds with fear. Some knelt down, banging their heads on the ground; others clutched their heads and scurried away. The bricks fell to the ground, shattering into pieces. They had never seen such a violation of natural order, and couldn't comprehend the causality behind it.

Lu Yan pulled his hands in, adjusting his rain-soaked collar. His tone returned to that polished-jade demeanor: "The rain has stopped. The story should end. Mighty Wang, next time you pass by, remember to bring an umbrella. Also, this story... costs one copper coin."

The downpour vanished instantly. Sunlight returned, as if everything that just happened had been an illusion. But Wang Biao was soaked to the bone, his pant legs caked in mud, looking like a drowned rat. He looked at Lu Yan. The arrogance was gone from his eyes, replaced only by deep fear and awe.

Stammering, he fished two copper coins out of his shirt and placed them on the table with trembling hands, then left by crawling and rolling away. Lu Yan picked up the coins, weighing them in his hand. They made a crisp sound. His mouth curled up, but internally he was ranting: With this purchasing power, isn't this hyperinflation?

Two copper coins. Couldn't even buy a cup of tea. And they said "save your life"? That's literally selling your life.

At that moment, from the dilapidated teahouse next door, a suppressed cough came through. The sound was faint, but it cut through the crowd's noise, reaching Lu Yan’s ears clearly. He narrowed his eyes, looking past the bustling crowd to the window frame on the second floor of the teahouse. There hung an unassuming wooden sign: "Qinfeng Teahouse."

His heart stirred. According to historical records, at this moment, the Crown Prince Li Zhi was in his youth. Though not yet on the throne, he had already shown extraordinary political savvy and sharp intuition.

"Looks like this future emperor isn't in the best mood today." Lu Yan murmured, a glint of mischief flashing in his eyes. He set the two copper coins down, straightened his clothes, and lifted his spine. Now that he had his golden finger (cheat ability), and his first "life-extortion money," the stories ahead might no longer just be street-corner trivia.

He looked up toward the teahouse, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

"Li Er, Li Er, it looks like we’ve just formed a bond."