chapter 4

Eventually, Yīchéng returned to bed, but the nagging sense of weakness in this body lingered. It felt... off, as though the original owner had suffered some trauma. Yet no memories had come to him-not even a hint. Shoving the thought aside, he curled under the covers, shivering as the cold seeped into his bones.

Hours passed-or perhaps just minutes. Time blurred when your entire world had turned upside down. Suddenly, Angella's voice sliced through the haze, sweet and cloying like syrup.

"Host, wake up! You have to go to work now. What could possibly happen if you just lie there like that?"

Yīchéng groaned, still half-dazed. Resigned, he muttered, "Shoot."

Before Angella could start her tirade, he interrupted. "Wait. Why do I feel so cold right now?"

Angella responded with an unbearable cheeriness. "Why, you ask? Isn't it because you fell into the chilling Yīhuàn Pond?"

Yīchéng blinked, baffled. "And where might that be?"

Angella paused, likely recalling his sudden arrival in this world. "Oh, you don't know? Let me channel the memory of the original Mèng Yīchéng to you. Hold on."

"Right."

With a deep sigh, Angella delivered as promised. The memories crashed into him like a flood, and his head throbbed with the force of it. But then, like a dam breaking, the flood stopped-abruptly-and he was left with fragments, just enough to answer some questions but not nearly enough to make sense of everything.

Now, some things were clear-like why the family didn't find it strange when he ignored his mother or sister's questions. Apparently, the brooding, moody child was simply "being himself," and no one dared to disturb him.

Even at eleven years old, the original Mèng Yīchéng's words were treated like gold. Heaven forbid anyone bother the boy who walked around with an expression that screamed, You owe me 8,000 spirit stones.

And, of course, the cold made sense. The original Mèng Yīchéng had taken an unfortunate dip in the Yīhuàn Pond.

From what Yīchéng could piece together, the original owner had been practicing his cultivation and horse stance near the Yīhuàn Pond, a small, serene lake infused with spiritual energy, located on the Mèng Family Estate's Rear Mountain. Sounds peaceful, right? Not quite.

Enter the half-brothers and some paternal cousins-just your average gang of little troublemakers. They had dragged a eight-year-old kid (Mèng Xīngyào, of course) over with smiles so sweet you'd think they were offering him a gift. But no. It was all a farce. They claimed they brought Xīngyào there to give him some "pointers" on cultivation. it was just straight-up bullying, and even a blind man could see it coming.

As the little Xīngyào got pushed around, Yīchéng's original self did nothing. Neither he encouraged nor intervened to stop them, just a passive stare while he focused on his own practice. Now that was a classic example of "not my problem." Yīchéng couldn't help but scoff at the sheer audacity. A bit of brotherly compassion wouldn't have hurt, right?

Anyway, Xīngyào-clearly pushed beyond his limits-shoved his tormentors. In the ensuing chaos, the bullies lost their balance, tumbled, and guess who they landed on? Yep, the protagonist himself, who was unfortunately knocked into the Yīhuàn Pond. And just like that, unconscious and cold as hell, he stayed there, completely unaware of the absolute circus that had just gone down.

So, there he was, rendered helpless by his family, thrown into the water with zero backup, and now Liú Zhēn was stuck with the aftermath of this mess.

Yīchéng couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief. What kind of hypocrite of a protagonist was the original owner? The guy completely ignored a child smaller than him and acted like nothing was wrong. Here was a supposed "hero" who let bullying happen right in front of him without even lifting a finger.

It was laughable. The Mèng Yīchéng in the memories hadn't just been indifferent-he had actively chosen to do nothing. Not even a half-hearted attempt to stop the bullying. Maybe he thought ignoring the kid would make him 'mysterious' or 'cool.' But honestly, Yīchéng couldn't even tell if this was a case of arrogance or just pure apathy. Either way, it was a pretty pathetic display for someone who was supposed to be the hero.

So, somewhere out there, the poor little villain was probably enduring the full, unrelenting wrath of the protagonist's mother. Yīchéng shuddered at the thought, a cold shiver running down his spine.

The elegant young lady-who, at first glance, looked like someone who couldn't hurt a fly-unleashing her righteous fury on the poor villain was a terrifying mental image. It made him pull the luxurious blankets tighter around himself, almost as if he could shield himself from the wrath still hanging in the air.

Unable to hold back, Yīchéng's curiosity got the best of him. "So, where's Mèng Xīngyào now?" His voice had an edge, as though he were bracing for yet another bombshell.

Angella, the ever-cheerful guide, paused for a moment before answering, her tone suddenly shifting, almost like a car skidding on gravel. "Oh, about him... well, he's already had the worst of it. Picture this: he got a beating with sticks-nothing too obvious, no scars or anything, but definitely enough to make him wish he had a whole new life. And now? He's locked up, starving, no medicine, stuck in this cold weather. Yeah, he's probably on his last breath by now."

Yīchéng sighed deeply, shaking his head as he tried to shake off the unpleasant mental image. The thought that his own survival might depend on the fate of that poor guy-Mèng Xīngyào-was enough to make him feel lightheaded. He really didn't want to picture that.

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