Whoosh—

Whoosh—

The icy waves pounded against his eardrums one after another. Ye Tao tried to reach out to pull the blanket closer, but he couldn’t muster the strength. His limbs felt as if they were bound, and his eyelids were as heavy as a thousand jin. Only after mustering every ounce of strength did he finally open his eyes—only to be startled by the sight of a stranger’s face staring back at him. 

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the sky: “He’s come back from the dead!”

This was immediately followed by two dull thuds as Ye Tao’s upper and lower halves hit the ground one after the other. Pain spread through his body; his numb limbs regained some sensation, and his head buzzed from the impact. Though he still had little strength and his limbs lay in disarray, he finally recalled his situation.

He’d rescued a child at the beach, but when coming ashore, he’d chosen the wrong spot. The reef was high and covered with barnacles and raw oysters, making it difficult to climb. Others scrambled to pull the child up, and a man took off his shoes and jumped down to help him, but Ye Tao, clinging to the lifebuoy, smiled and said it wasn’t necessary.

This was the beach he often visited; he just needed to gather his strength and swim toward the shore.

But it seemed as if the heavens were determined to make things difficult for him. A huge wave crashed down, slamming him against the seabed. The lifebuoy slipped from his grasp, and bitter seawater choked his airways. He immediately spread his limbs, but was swept away by a powerful undercurrent and dragged toward the ocean floor.

Gravel and sand churned, and Ye Tao was tossed about with them, as if he were inside a washing machine. In the chaos, his body slammed violently against the reef.

He had thought he was surely doomed, but to his surprise, he could still see the sun. He moved his arms and legs; his back ached a little, though he wasn’t sure if it was from hitting the reef or from the fall just now.

Panicked footsteps came and went. 

Having narrowly escaped death, Ye Tao was in high spirits. He closed his eyes again, and as a hand tremblingly reached for his carotid artery, the corners of his lips curled up, and he raised his eyelids mischievously: “I’m not dead.”

He’d swallowed water, and his throat burned fiercely; his voice was hoarse. His half-dry hair clung to his forehead, and with his pale, ashen complexion and striking features, he looked just like a water ghost. The one checking his pulse was a boy of twelve or thirteen named Luo Xiaoyi, who was out working with his father for the very first time. They’d specifically chosen a day with good weather and made sure to go out during daylight hours, but they never expected to run into something like this. Terrified, the boy fell backward, landing hard on his butt. Unable to get up, he scuttled backward along the ground, his face contorted in horror as he wailed, “A ghost! A ghost!”

No sooner had he finished screaming than he got smacked on the head: “In broad daylight? Where would a ghost come from?” 

Luo Xiaoyi clutched his head, looking thoroughly wronged: “Didn’t you say it was a zombie rising from the grave?”

Luo Xiaojia cleared his throat twice, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Who knows? Maybe he wasn’t quite dead yet and came back to life. Go take another look.”

“But the official already examined the body—how could he not be dead yet?” Luo Xiaoyi, still shaken from the scare, refused to fall for his trick this time, shaking his head like a rattle. “I’m not going. If you want to go, you go.”

The two brothers muttered back and forth. To Ye Tao, their accents sounded very strange—not Mandarin, and seemingly not a local dialect either. He was completely confused by what he heard, but finally sensed that something was off. 

What on earth was he getting himself into? 

He’d nearly sacrificed his life acting heroically—even if they weren’t rushing him to the hospital, surely they shouldn’t have just dumped him on the ground like this?

Ye Tao straightened his head, which had been tilted to one side when he hit the ground, and immediately caught sight of a tall mast. Thick canvas was tied to the mast, resembling a large folded umbrella; the wind vane at the top fluttered in the breeze, and flocks of water birds flew overhead.

Huh? On a boat. Was I rescued by fishermen?

But this boat… Ye Tao stared blankly at the wood grain on the mast, then ran his hand over the deck beneath him—the knots in the wood were clearly visible. This didn’t look good.

Turning his head again, he saw two boys wearing coarse linen tunics. The older one, with his head wrapped in a bandana, held a long bamboo pole, while the younger one, with his hair combed back and tied into two buns on top of his head, was clinging to the older boy and hiding behind him. Their faces—which bore about fifty to sixty percent resemblance to one another—both wore the exact same look of wariness.

This is very bad.

Ye Tao put aside his playful mood, sat up, and, despite the pain from the injury he’d sustained when he hit the reef behind him, forced himself to speak seriously: “Where is this? Was it you who saved me?”

The brothers didn’t understand his words, but seeing that he could sit, move, and speak—and that he hadn’t grown black fingernails—and noting that though his voice was hoarse, his tone was gentle, they didn’t think he was a ghost, or at least not a malevolent one. The wariness in their eyes faded; they lowered the long bamboo poles they were holding, muttered a few words to each other, and left together, casting several glances back at Ye Tao before they went.

Ye Tao was puzzled. Seeing that no one was paying him any attention, he had no choice but to stand up on his own. The spot on his back where he’d hit the reef ached terribly, but fortunately, it didn’t hinder his movement—so it probably hadn’t damaged any bones.

He gently moved his shoulders to loosen his muscles and joints, all the while looking around in all directions.

Standing up, he saw that the mast wasn’t actually that tall. The boat wasn’t very large either—about two or three meters wide, perhaps five or six meters long, with the mast story or so, and the wrapped sail showed signs of mending.

The small, old sailboat was moored in a corner of the dock, surrounded by other vessels of similar size coming and going—without exception, all of them wooden boats.

No speedboats, no steel-hulled fishing boats, not even a duck boat; nor were there any high-rises in the distance. As far as the eye could see, there were only low thatched huts.

Ye Tao rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was still asleep. In the 21st century, even tribes on the African savanna who lived by hunting had started using smartphones—could there really be a corner of the world with such a thriving water transport system yet not a single trace of industrial civilization?

Could he have traveled back in time?

Ye Tao pinched his arm, but then decided that wasn’t a reliable test. He crouched down, wrung out a corner of his shirt, and used the water to write the vertical calculation “7,643 × 2,846” on the deck of the boat.

He knew himself all too well—he’d never passed a math test in his dreams. Whenever he encountered a problem he couldn’t solve, he’d immediately zone out; he certainly didn’t have the ability to do four-digit multiplication in his head. 

While he was poring over the calculations, Old Man Luo, having left behind the newly hauled coffin, was helped onto the boat by his two sons. As soon as they boarded, they saw that the floating corpse the coroner had just examined had come back to life; it was crouching on the ground with its back to them, and they were startled.

Ye Tao, however, paid them no mind. He stared at the vertical calculation on the deck—half-finished but already yielding a result—his expression grave. Oh no, he’d actually figured it out. 

With his father present, Luo Xiaoyi regained a bit of his courage. He took two steps forward, stood on tiptoe behind Ye Tao to peer at the characters he’d written, and as soon as he made them out, he jerked his head back and exclaimed, “That’s just gibberish!”

He got hit on the back of the head again. Luo Xiaojia snapped, “You don’t even know how to read—what do you know about ‘gibberish’?” 

Luo Xiaoyi retorted defiantly, “I may not recognize the characters, but I know what they look like. That’s definitely not how they’re supposed to be written.” Luo Xiaojia’s words piqued his curiosity, and just as he was about to step forward to take a closer look, Ye Tao had already turned around and stood up.

The two brothers stopped in their tracks, and both stepped back in unison, revealing Old Man Luo standing behind them. 

Old Man Luo：“……”

Ye Tao listened to them muttering for a while and thought their speech sounded a bit like Minnan. Upon closer listening and piecing together the context, he was able to roughly guess what they were saying. 

Familiar with Minnan, he switched to that dialect himself: “I was out at sea on a boat when it capsized. Did you guys rescue me? Where am I?” 

He spoke slowly and repeated key words, and the three men—the father and his two sons—all understood. Luo Xiaoyi spoke up eagerly: “This is Quanzhou. You were pulled out of the water by workers at the dock. We were just about to take you to Louzeyuan to bury you.” 

Quanzhou？

How could Quanzhou look like this? Is this Quanzhou from hundreds of years ago?!

Seeing that he looked dazed but had a clear gaze and was able to speak—which didn’t at all resemble a case of a corpse coming back to life—Old Man Luo concluded that the coroner must have made a mistake.

As for the unfamiliar accent, Quanzhou was a hub where merchants from all over the world gathered—who hadn’t encountered a few foreigners? Besides, he looked Han Chinese; perhaps he was someone who had converted to Christianity—who knows how he ended up in the sea.

All that mattered was that he was alive. As long as he was alive, he wouldn’t rise from the dead to harm anyone, and there would be no need to take him to Louzeyuan for burial.

Old Man Luo pondered for a moment, then said to his two sons, “You two stay here and keep watch. I’ll take this young gentleman to the Maritime Trade Office.”

The Maritime Trade Office had officials stationed at various docks, and these minor matters near the docks fell under its jurisdiction. He retrieved the receipt signed by the coroner.

He told Ye Tao to follow him, then turned back to instruct them, “You’re young and frail; that coffin is quite heavy. Leave it there until I return to carry it.”

When Ye Tao heard him mention the coffin, he glanced over and sure enough saw a varnished coffin resting on a wooden cart not far away; on the deck lay a thin coffin and two rolls of straw mats. This was likely a boat specifically used for transporting corpses.

He had once kept vigil at his grandmother’s wake, so he wasn’t afraid of this. After Old Man Luo finished giving his instructions, he followed him off the boat.

Ye Tao’s outer garment had been washed away by the water while he was rescuing people; he was left wearing only a pair of shorts and a tank top, along with a coarse hemp robe that some kind soul had draped over him. After standing up, he draped it over his arm. Other than that, he didn’t even have a pair of shoes—he was barefoot. 

The boat’s planks were so old—smoothed by years of sun and wind—that they didn’t hurt his bare feet. Once off the boat, he stepped onto uneven stone slabs covered with fine gravel. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Ye Tao lifted his foot and rubbed the sole against the top of his foot.

Seeing this, Old Man Luo turned back: “Xiaojia, bring me those straw sandals.”

Luo Xiaojia reluctantly brought over a pair of straw sandals: “I just wove these; I haven’t worn them even once yet.”

This time, it was Old Man Luo’s turn to slap him on the back of the hand.

“It’s just a pair of straw sandals.”

Ye Tao felt a little awkward, but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse the shoes. Even though they were woven from rice straw and rubbed his feet raw, they were better than nothing. 

He glanced at his wrist. He wasn’t sure if his only piece of jewelry had been washed away by the water; all that remained was a bare arm. He regretted not wearing more things on him—now he was truly penniless, unable to even afford a single meal. 

Old Man Luo led him toward the pier, explaining as they walked that he had been rescued from the water. After bringing him ashore, they placed him on the back of an ox, where he coughed up some water, but he remained unconscious, showed no signs of breathing, and was completely cold to the touch, so they followed procedure and summoned the coroner.

Since he had nothing on him to identify him, the coroner signed the report and instructed them to take him to Louzeyuan; now they were on their way to the magistrate’s office to settle the paperwork.

Old Man Luo had been hauling corpses for over a decade and had never seen anyone come back from the dead. He felt that Ye Tao was somewhat miraculous, a man of profound good fortune, and spoke with great patience.

As Old Man Luo spoke slowly, Ye Tao felt a chill of fear and cursed, “What a half-baked coroner—he can’t even tell if someone’s dead or alive!” 

If it hadn’t been for his good luck in waking up early, he would have been buried alive in the sea.

Old Man Luo, being of a certain age, wouldn’t join him in cursing the authorities; he merely smiled and asked, “Young gentleman, where are you from? Your accent sounds a bit different—is your home far away?”

Ye Tao thought to himself, This is the accent from who knows how many years in the future—of course it’s different. He couldn’t tell the truth, so he had to make up an excuse that wouldn’t be too easy to expose.

“My accent… I picked it up on my own. Is that off?”

Old Man Luo said admiringly, “You look like a scholar to me. Could it be that you’ve come from the North after the conversion?”

Ye Tao gave a vague reply. As he heard the old man mention the Jin Dynasty and the Maritime Trade Office, a suspicion began to form in his mind: this might be the Southern Song Dynasty. 

Ye Tao had “returned” his history knowledge to his teachers after the college entrance exams; he could barely tell one dynasty from another, but the Song Dynasty was different. There was a Maritime Museum in Quanzhou that displayed a Song Dynasty shipwreck—he’d visited it several times. Many of the city’s attractions were ruins from the Song and Yuan periods, and growing up, he’d inevitably heard stories about the glory days of what was once the world’s largest port. 

When you put it that way, it makes sense. Just as they were talking, they arrived at the Maritime Trade Office.

At government offices like this, ordinary citizens weren’t allowed inside unless they had important business, so they waited outside. They waited for a while before someone came out.

The man was of short stature, with a pair of sideburns, dressed in a long robe with narrow sleeves and a round collar, the front hem tucked into his sash. On his feet were a pair of worn leather boots, and his hat was unlike those worn by ordinary people. Old Man Luo recognized him and addressed him as “Officer Ding,” bowing deeply with a hunched back in great deference.

Ye Tao guessed he was a low-level civil servant.

Unlike Old Man Luo, Officer Ding had the patience to communicate with him calmly. He asked a few questions, all of which Old Man Luo answered on Ye Tao’s behalf, explaining that Ye Tao had come from the north to return to the right path but had encountered misfortune along the way.

Officer Ding sized him up from head to toe: “Do you have any relatives you can turn to?” Of course not.

Ye Tao would have liked to seek out his ancestors, but at this point, it wasn’t even certain whether they still bore the surname Ye.

Seeing Ye Tao shake his head, Officer Ding took back the paperwork Old Man Luo had brought, and Ye Tao was, in legal terms, back among the living.

He had assumed the next step would be to register him—a “floating household” drifter who had ended up here—but to his surprise, Officer Ding made no mention of the matter. When Ye Tao asked about it, Officer Ding replied, “As a floating household member, if you wish to register, you’ll have to wait two years.” 

Though he clearly had to tilt his head back to look at Ye Tao, his eyebrows drooped. After waiting a moment and seeing no response from Ye Tao, he pulled out the hem of his robe, let it fall, brushed off a bit of dust, and turned to leave the magistrate’s office with an expression of utter disdain—and perhaps a touch of superstitious aversion to bad luck. 

The constable standing guard at the entrance came to shoo him away.

Ye Tao paused, suddenly realizing that this was not the society he knew—there were no grassroots civil servants dedicated to serving the people. 

He was a handsome young man, with well-defined features; after moving about for a while, the pallor that had graced his face when he first woke had faded, yet seeing him with his head bowed like that was rather heartbreaking.

He was only a few years older than Luo Xiaojia. Old Man Luo sighed, “Young gentleman, if you wish to deregister, go to the Liu Family Tea House and ask for Matchmaker Zhang.”