Chapter 1: Don’t Give Up on Treatment

Fang Jifan rubbed his eyes. He stared blankly at the crimson canopy curtains in front of him. In the distance was a musical instrument adorned with precious stones and a red sandalwood round stool.

A person in green clothes and a small cap stood before the canopy. He stared intently at Fang Jifan, then broke into an annoying grin, dripping with a sickeningly flattering tone. “The Young Lord wakes…”

Fang Jifan’s heart gave a jolt. This was… transmigration. Transmigration! Because he clearly heard this man in black attire speaking the Fengyang official dialect. As an expert on the history of the Ming Dynasty, Fang Jifan was one hundred percent certain. The layout of this room, and this inexplicable man – in his own era, even with enormous movie budgets, such an authentic scene could never be created.

Surprisingly, he felt only a thrum of excitement, not fear. After years of dedicated learning, he hadn’t expected to actually witness ancient times today!

An ancient person… Looking at this grinning, annoying fellow, Fang Jifan couldn’t help but wonder, “Is this… a true ancient?”

“Is this the Hongzhi Reign?” Fang Jifan spotted a calligraphy scroll on the wall, the signature bearing the name of a calligrapher famous during the Ming’s Zhengtong era. He also noted the distinctive style of the adorned instrument stand by the bed. It was characteristic of the mid-Ming period, unpopular after the Hongzhi reign. The stand looked newly made. Putting it together: this undoubtedly had to be the Hongzhi era.

The man in green clothes and cap nodded, yet his gaze remained fixed on Fang Jifan.

Getting the confirmation, Fang Jifan abruptly sat up on the bed. He slapped his thigh, voice thick with excitement. “Is the Prince Ning still around? Are there still rebellions by the ‘Little Prince’ up north? Has the handicraft textile industry begun to flourish in the south?” Fang Jifan’s face was animated with excitement. “The current Emperor… truly a Sage Monarch! This is a time ripe with opportunity…”

Fang Jifan was thrilled. This was a fantastic era! As a True Man committed to learning and studying history, he had always felt profound regrets. He hadn’t done much in his previous life. Who would have thought he’d finally find a place where his skills could be put to use?

Fang Jifan fought back a laugh. Working in the library, specializing in Ming history, he wasn’t just deeply knowledgeable about the era as a whole; he could recite local records practically from memory. To put it less elegantly: ask him about the number of thieves apprehended in a specific county on a specific date, and his astounding memory could probably dig it up.

Anyway, his previous life had been lonely, drifting through existence. Coming to this era didn’t seem so bad at all. Fang Jifan even felt a flash of admiration for his own unusually large heart.

The face of the green-clad, capped fellow, however, changed. He spoke hesitantly, “Young Lord… you… you said… ripe with opportunity?”

“Yes!” Fang Jifan rallied himself. I’m a Young Lord, so this guy must be either a pageboy or a personal servant right here. His excitement hadn’t faded; he was full of animation. “A True Man in this world should naturally strive to aim for passing the imperial examination, to accomplish great deeds and earn merit…”

Before he finished the sentence, the green-clad man’s expression shifted from puzzlement to profound sadness. He cried out loudly, “The Young Lord… the Young Lord… is having an episode again! Quick… Somebody come!”

Fang Jifan was startled. What… what was going on?

Bang!

The door crashed open as it was slammed by several burly, tough-looking men. They looked about as fierce as wolves and tigers.

The sunlight outside poured in, but their bulky frames blocked much of it.

Then, a slightly trembling man wearing a Confucian robe and a goatee – visibly a scholarly type – scurried in, carrying a medicine case. “The Young Lord… the Young Lord’s illness…is having an episode again!” he urged anxiously. “Quickly, quickly, needles!”

At the command, the burly men rushed towards Fang Jifan. In an instant, they had him pinned down.

Fang Jifan’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. Damn it all to hell! he roared inside his mind. That old man had already pulled out inch-long silver needles from his box. With an expression mixing grave concern and determination, he addressed Fang Jifan, “The Young Lord suffers from Brain Illness! You must never avoid the doctor! Come on, come here, don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid… One little needle and you’ll be fine…”

Fang Jifan stood frozen, his jaw practically slackening in panic. “I… I’m not sick…”

While selecting a needle, the physician shook his head sagely. “Ah, but this is exactly the symptom during past episodes! Young Lord, bear with it. This needling technique of mine was handed down from my ancestors! Curing sickness where it exists, enhancing health where none resides! Please lie steady now, Young Lord!”

Ahhhhhh!

Following a shriek that echoed like a stuck pig, all noise from Fang Jifan abruptly ceased moments later.

His limbs were clamped down by strong hands. Panic seized Fang Jifan as that physician plunged a silver needle directly toward the back of his skull. He stopped screaming, biting his lip in silent terror. He forced himself utterly still and dared not move a muscle, fearing any twitch would cause the old man to miss his mark with that deadly point.

Most importantly, he had always harbored a deep fear of needles!

This incredibly long needle, forcibly thrust into his head – it was no cure; it was attempted murder! Damn it all!

Even before the needle had been withdrawn, the deeply troubled old physician pinched his beard and shook his head once more as if truly defeated. “There is no cure for being brainlessly insistent,” he sighed heavily. “This old man merely follows ancient prescriptions to temporarily manage symptoms. True recovery? That lies entirely with Young Lord’s own fortune now.”

The fellow in the green clothes and cap hid close by the bed’s edge again. He choked out quiet whimpers: “Young Lord… Young Lord… Physician Fang was called by your father, the Earl. Don’t fear. A few months of needles and you’ll be whole again. The Earl commanded it by letter: he prioritized nothing over your road to wellness. No method could be too severe… In short, you must never dare to avoid the treatment… Young Lord, you are the Earl’s sole heir. You must bear it… bear it now…”

Fang Jifan felt sickly pale and trembled as ice seeped into his core.

…

Noon.

The view outside was pleasing, yet Fang Jifan had never paid it any thought.

This marked the twenty-seventh day since he came to inhabit this world. Naturally, he endured countless needles driving home in those days. Each time felt like venturing dangerously close to the Gates of Hell.

Remembering an ‘esteemed’ physician from antiquity inserting silver pins deep into the base of one’s skull, then gently twisting and turning… the mere memory sent shivers through Fang Jifan even now.

Twenty-seven days had granted him experience enough to grasp the entire picture.

This body previously belonged to the sole son of Fang Jinglong, Earl Nanhe Bo of the Great Ming.

Fang Family’s inherited title of Earl had been earned through valor during the Jingnan Campaign. Ancestors had followed Zhu Di, the Prince of Yan, from Beiping all the way to Nanjing; the future Emperor appreciated loyalty and honorably granted the family an unshakeable post and rank.

As for the previous occupant of this body…

Well… no wonder merely referencing a True Man accomplishing anything seemed utter craziness to those here. The original body owner stood as an utterly vile scoundrel: unrivaled rogue heir endangering the capital city treasury itself, the very nadir among the reputations of all younger wastrel sons! Truly infamous and rightfully feared!

Days prior, the rogue heir actually took ill; thus this Physician Fang was called for a cure. Presumably due to severe mental imbalance as well… treatment never ceased fittingly… Now Fang Jifan had transmigrated. Others misread his different personality from the wastrel son’s old ways as lingering illness… Naturally… treatments persisted…

So incredibly foolish.

Fang Jifan revisited his introspections: he had been too naive! Arriving afresh to this reality, what demon possessed his tongue to speak of accomplishing merit, serving the nation and populace? It practically begged for condign punishment!

A hedonistic wastrel known for infamous depravity suddenly exhibiting sane nobility? In others’ uncomprehending eyes, what possible explanation existed save “Patient must be insane?”

Alright then. To renounce treatment truly, he must become a deeper parody of Fang Jifan’s original malicious essence than the historical one ever had been.

Just then, his bedroom door already rattled open; a lovely-faced young maid entered nimbly. Closely behind stood Fang Jifan’s personal servant boy, unmistakably the lad with the green attire and small cap: Deng Jian.

Another day stirring… Fighting begun once again…

Taking a deep breath, Fang Jifan mentally braced himself. Over the past twenty or so days, he had uncovered predictable patterns and broadly mapped gaps within this family background. Naturally, concerning previous Fang Jifan barely concealed traits: he absorbed nothing short of absolute comprehension by now.

The maid approached the bed’s edge immediately and dipped in an appropriate courtesied gesture. “Rise now, Young Lord.”

Jifan stretched his lids deliberately wide, displaying undisguised annoyance. Resolve steeled him most firmly: “You embody that notorious rogue heir persona now! Zero slipping grips permitted!” the inner chant echoed powerfully.

With deliberate gruffness riding his tone he snapped, “What hour approaches so insultingly early? Laggard morning indeed! Cease blazing noise upon my genteel torture!”

The young maid recoiled slightly; her pretty face framing shifting into an expression taut with mild alarm. “The sun… has risen above three bamboo poles high…” she offered quietly in answer.

“Merely three bamboo heights?!” Fang Jifan bared teeth somewhat unpleasantly. “Does your Young Lord truly demand waking while trees remain merely painted in shadow? Retreat quietly! For one full cycle later we speak!”

Smoothly now, Deng Jian avoided all notice aside from ritual bows and whispers. “Young Lord, indeed very early indeed! Yet this humble servant feared Young Lord’s hunger brewing…”

“Fine… fine…” After ostentation fatiguing further delayed rising was impossible, Fang Jifan reluctantly surrendered any more rest and pulled himself upright. Settling near the girl awaiting aid with his robes, Fang Jifan deliberately pushed his expression shamelessly toward “lecherous.” He studied her chest with focused, challenging eyes and grinned. “Oh Xiaoxiangxiang… how grown my little blossom reveals! Approach your Young Lord eagerly… We investigate your generous gifts scientifically!”

Simultaneously, Fang Jifan’s hand swept along Xiaoxiangxiang’s rump, meeting silken curves unerringly, pinching lightly. Xiaoxiangxiang flinched violently at the totally unwelcome grasp. Red-rimmed eyes instantly sprung luminous pools tiptoeing towards watery spills.

Fang Jifan sighed internally; certainly against his inherent principles. However, noting Deng Jian watching expectantly, he created a theatrically boorish response. “Hahaha…” he snorted. “Such foolish shyness embedded deep! Never hide lovely treasures… Your Young Lord adores!” Fang Jifan proclaimed loudly enough to echo breathtaking confidence across the chamber.

Managing instinctively to swivel aside, Xiaoxiangxiang seized upon the gesture as vital signal to dodge to avoid touch escalation. Seeming needless exertion subsided. Nearby Deng Jian grinned entirely too widely: “Young Lord correctly discerning truly; Young Lord uniquely gallant beyond any doubt! Forever retaining intense personality this humble servant surrenders deeply in quiet respect…, utterly prostrate!”

“Insolent scum!” snorted Fang Jifan angrily as he smoothly shot out a foot in unanticipated action. Delivered squarely. Consequently Deng Jian collapsed heavily, sprawling spectacularly. Retorting immediately: “Does your Young Lord purportedly possess attributes you declare? Merely profoundly handsome objectively! Cleverness? Skill? Utter fabrication! Could even brilliance purchase sustenance? Bastard thing!” Fang Jifan used arcing curses toward the heap.

Denge Jian tumbled along floorboards upon impact, sudden howls emerged as tears abruptly overflowed unreasonably.

Mentally Fang Jifan paused. Even instinctively wondering: Had his boot delivered such unwarranted force? Regrets condensed sharply within. Sincere apologies obviously beckoned. Yet… more starkly: How exactly could he preserve polished mannerisms if attempting full tactical impersonation beyond scandalousness?

Suddenly unpredictably, Deng Jian scrambled upright returning seated position, lifting itself alertly. Facial muscles stretched tightly into expression fighting radiantly unstoppable delight impossible to conceal! Voice thick with intense overwhelming sincerity emerged powerfully upward: “The Young Lord’s ailment demonstrated remarkable improvement indeed! This lowly servant… this worthless subject… swells solely with true blessing! Tears pour forth enjoying painful rapture; truly: Purest overwhelming emotion!”

Huh…

Fang Jifan froze utterly into statue-like rigidity. Did this… actually satisfy them like behavioral proof?!