012. When the Dream Ends

One moment, the world was an ocean and mulberry fields; the next, life was worth less than grass. This was Li Xi’s impression when he first arrived in the Tang Empire. Was this the renowned Tang dynasty of history? Li Xi wondered as soon as he opened his eyes. At that moment, he was lying beside a bustling street, a tattered hemp cloth reeking of kitchen slop covering his body, and beneath it, he was stark naked.

His clothes were gone—perhaps melted away in the passage through the wormhole, or maybe stripped from him while he was unconscious after crossing over. It didn’t matter. Every transmigrator faced some initial embarrassment, and as an avid reader of historical web novels, Li Xi was mentally prepared.

Tang dynasty—yes, it must be the Tang dynasty. After quietly observing the attire of passersby, Li Xi reached this conclusion. He couldn’t quite recall what Tang men wore, only that it wasn’t the Manchu jackets of the Qing. He did have a vague impression of the women’s clothes, thanks to his wife.

There was a time when Tang-style outfits became fashionable in their small county town. His wife, who fancied herself an arbiter of taste, scoffed at them: “Tang costume? It’s just yellow robes and Manchu jackets with a Tang tag. Real Tang attire is…” To give “Li Lang” a direct impression, she made three trips to the Jiangnan region and flew four times to Guangzhou and Shenzhen, painstakingly amassing a collection of supposedly authentic Tang dynasty garments. The money and effort she spent were nothing, but now, with no place to display or store the garish wardrobe, it had become pure baggage.

Li Xi tried to persuade her to donate the outfits to her cousin’s bridal photography studio, so love-struck couples could experience the grandeur of the Tang dynasty, cultivating a heroic spirit of patriotism and love for the motherland. His wife dismissed the idea outright, “Don’t even think about it! I know you lost a thousand yuan playing mahjong with your cousin last time. You’re not using my treasures to pay your debt. Forget about cultivating youth patriotism; I’ll start by cultivating your love for me.”

From then on, Li Xi found himself living with a Tang dynasty woman. This “Tang Lady” spent her days in voluminous skirts, painting dramatic eyebrows, straining to emulate Yang Guifei’s famed curves (though in reality, she was just a B-cup), and spending an entire day coiling her hair into elaborate knots.

There was method to her madness. Afraid of gaining weight but unwilling to diet or exercise, she justified her growing post-marriage waistline with Tang dynasty rhetoric. She argued, “Only broad-minded, refined men appreciate the beauty of plump women. Look at our Tang dynasty—unparalleled in splendor, standing atop the world—why? Because Tang men had open hearts. That’s why Tang people loved peonies and curvy women. By the Song, Ming, and Qing, scholars not only adored stick-thin figures but wanted to saw off the bamboo’s feet. Why? Because the Song and Ming were bullied by outsiders; scholars became conservative, self-absorbed, and narrow-minded.”

Finally, she’d interrogate Li Xi: “So, are you a broad-minded, high-aspiring man, or a conservative, self-obsessed, narrow-hearted one?”

Li Xi would reply, “I am a broad-minded, high-aspiring man who happens to prefer slim beauties—a synthesis of the finest qualities from Tang, Song, and Ming.”

These debates, like many thereafter, always ended with Li Xi’s capitulation. The boldness and passion of a “Tang woman” were not to be trifled with. In her pursuit of women’s liberation, her means were limitless, her courage unyielding, her perseverance relentless.

After countless lessons, Li Xi firmly established the impression of Tang women as plump, bold, and dignified. In the Tang dynasty, plump women were admired, women piled their hair high, and their low-cut dresses revealed their chests—these “facts” were now deeply engraved in his mind.

These “facts” helped Li Xi quickly determine that he had transmigrated to the Tang, not the Song, Ming, Qing, or any ancient era. But was this really the Tang dynasty founded by Li Yuan? It didn’t seem so. He saw none of the dazzling grandeur his wife so often described.

On these streets, the beggars lining either side outnumbered those in front of his county’s long-distance bus station, and their industry was highly self-disciplined—rarely did they resort to force. High self-regulation meant the profession was well-developed; the begging trade in the Tang was far ahead of modern times.

Of course, perhaps it was the intimidating patrol officers that kept order. Those thugs, brandishing clubs as they prowled about, had no qualms about violence. One blow could crack a skull, and still they wouldn’t stop until blood splattered—weren’t they worried about being filmed and put online?

If such brutal law enforcement happened today, his department might even be commended as a “civilized law enforcement unit,” with model officers emerging everywhere.

As for the supposed prosperity and abundance—had he seen it? No, not at all. Aside from the endless rows of beggars, the townsfolk all wore anxious, soulless expressions as they shuffled by. Their haunted eyes and zombie-like gait did, perhaps, bear a certain resemblance to some “celestial empire” airs.

Well, let this be the legendary Tang dynasty. Since he was here, he had no choice but to endure.

What truly baffled him, though, was the language. Despite coming to this central kingdom, he couldn’t understand a word anyone said. That made no sense—even if language evolves rapidly, and a millennium’s passage alters pronunciation, he should at least recognize a few characters. Even if they used traditional script, even if there were no punctuation, even if the text ran right to left, top to bottom—surely he’d recognize something.

But not a single character was familiar. The script looked somewhat like seal script, but clearly wasn’t. If it were, with his grounding in classical texts, Li Xi would have recognized at least a few. Yet here, the writing was utterly alien.

He couldn’t speak their language; he couldn’t understand a word; he couldn’t read a single character; he knew nothing of their customs. Li Xi felt that this transmigration was a tough one—his previous experience and learning were useless.

He regretted not having practiced martial arts instead of reading so many web novels. At least then he could have performed on the street for coins, hawked remedies, or found some job that didn’t require speaking—like highway robbery. Anything would be better than fainting from hunger as a beggar.

The memory of his first days in the Tang as a beggar sent chills through his body. His later experiences, after he stopped being a beggar, left him even colder. Why was it so cold today?

Wait—who took my blanket?!

With a start, Li Xi leapt from his folding bed. Before he’d even opened his eyes, he felt a fierce wind strike his face—a palm strike, a stealthy attack aimed at him. The adversary meant business!

Fortunately, he had some experience with fending off sneak attacks.

Practice makes perfect—as the old saying goes. In his previous life, he mainly worked in internal archives, but during special times, he’d been assigned to grassroots enforcement squads. After years of “battle,” he wasn’t about to let someone slap him around. Without authority, how could he enforce the law? How would peddlers fear him?

Dodge—

Even with his eyes shut, he smoothly executed the “Iron Bridge” move: feet planted firmly, legs supporting his body like pillars, his upper torso elegantly bending backward, head tilting, long hair flying—a deft, unhurried evasion of the deadly, rock-shattering palm that came his way.