Chapter 1: The Song Dynasty's Peach Blossom Spring

Su Ze finally managed to open his eyes, awakening from an endless, long dream.

Within the dream lay a beautiful fishing village, reminiscent of the Peach Blossom Spring, where he had spent an immeasurable amount of time. Yet, a voice constantly whispered by his ear: “Return! Return!”

Rising from his icy cold bedding, the late winter wind slipped through the cracks, piercing the iron-like quilt. Su Ze let out three existential questions from the depths of his soul:

Who am I? Where am I? What am I supposed to do?

I am Su Ze, a failed author of historical fiction in the throes of a midlife crisis.

But then, another set of memories surged into his mind. Su Ze, born in Bianjing, had just passed the Guozijian qualifying exam, preparing to take this year’s provincial examination.

The provincial examination, also known as the Ministry of Rites Exam, was the gateway to the palace examination personally hosted by the Emperor, akin to the metropolitan exam of Ming and Qing dynasties.

He rose from the bedding and surveyed the bare, poverty-stricken room. At last, the two sets of memories began to merge.

The memories from modern society prevailed, and Su Ze finally confirmed that he had transmigrated!

He quickly pieced together the era and his whereabouts.

As a transmigrator, he was undoubtedly fortunate—he had landed in the second year of the Qingli era of the Great Song.

Drawing upon his memories and historical knowledge, he knew that Qingli was the reign title of Emperor Renzong of Song.

It had been eighty-four years since Zhao Kuangyin ended the cannibalistic chaos of the Five Dynasties.

There were still eighty-three years until the fall of Bianjing, the humiliation of Jingkang, and the demise of the Northern Song.

In other words, he had arrived precisely at the midpoint of the Northern Song dynasty.

The dawn light shone through a hole in the wall, illuminating the desk. The previous owner of this body had deliberately left this hole, emulating the tale of “boring through the wall to steal light” to urge himself to read every morning.

To Su Ze, this was self-imposed suffering for the sake of hardship.

At this moment, Su Ze noticed a book on the desk.

“Record of the Peach Blossom Spring”?

Su Ze recalled this was a famous essay by Tao Yuanming, a renowned writer of the Jin dynasty. In his previous life, he often read this piece, yearning for a pastoral life away from the city.

Life in Bianjing was anything but easy.

His predecessor, living in Bianjing, must have also longed for the idyllic countryside.

Yet Su Ze also knew that for peasants of the Song dynasty, there was little pastoral poetry—only land annexation and exploitation by petty officials, far from the leisurely existence depicted by Tao Yuanming.

Just as Su Ze was about to put the book away, a beam of light suddenly shot out from the pages. A wave of dizziness struck, and his vision went black.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a small boat.

The boat drifted slowly downstream, flanked by dense groves of peach trees, their blossoms hanging from the branches in full bloom.

Sitting up in the boat, Su Ze saw that the waterway soon reached its source, where a mountain stood with a small opening, as if light shone from within.

Was this... the Peach Blossom Spring?

Had he transmigrated again?

Having experienced transmigration once, Su Ze’s nerves seemed less strained. As the boat passed through the mountain’s opening, the view suddenly broadened.

Just as described in Tao Yuanming’s “Record of the Peach Blossom Spring,” after passing through the mountain, the vista opened up: flat lands, neatly arranged houses, fertile fields, beautiful ponds, mulberry and bamboo groves.

Was this truly the Peach Blossom Spring?

Yet, gazing about, he saw that although there were houses, they were all in ruins, and the distant fields were overgrown with withered grass.

The boat gradually came to a stop before a dilapidated dock. Su Ze stepped ashore and saw no sign of the Peach Blossom Spring’s residents.

A chill ran down his spine. An uninhabited Peach Blossom Spring—this was no pastoral idyll, but the setup for a horror tale.

At that moment, the ground of the dock suddenly trembled. A tuft of grass by the roadside stirred, and a little creature, shaped like a radish, leapt out of the earth!

Su Ze was so startled he nearly fled back to the boat. But upon closer look, the radish-like figure was not frightening at all—in fact, it looked rather... cartoonish?

Besides, he had nowhere to escape, and the radish creature seemed utterly harmless.

Then, the little figure spoke:

“Welcome back, Master of the Peach Blossom Spring.”

Why did this voice sound so familiar?

Su Ze recalled the long dream before transmigration. The voice that had finally expelled him from the dream was none other than this radish creature’s, driving him from slumber.

Master of the Peach Blossom Spring?

The radish figure seemed delighted to see Su Ze, hopping and bouncing to his side.

“Welcome back to the Peach Blossom Spring. You are the current master of the Peach Blossom Spring.”

The leaves atop the radish's head swayed endearingly, and Su Ze couldn’t help but reach out and touch them.

Was this his golden finger?

From the memories of this body, Su Ze knew that compared to the countless transmigrators who became emperors or great ministers, his starting point was exceedingly ordinary.

Though the Su family could be considered a notable clan, no one had ever achieved high rank; they were merely a group of commoners living in Bianjing.

Otherwise, Su Ze would not be living in such abject poverty.

Though he had passed the qualifying exam and earned the right to take the provincial exam, the acceptance rate of the Song dynasty’s civil service examination was far lower than that of the modern civil service exams.

Having spent his thirties as a shut-in writing novels, unable to outcompete even his modern peers, Su Ze had no illusions that transmigration alone would ensure he topped the exam.

From his memories, he understood that his predecessor’s abilities were average at best; it would be difficult to succeed in the fiercely competitive provincial exam.

Zeng Gong, one of the Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song, also passed the qualifying exam in his youth but languished for ten years before finally attaining the degree of presented scholar.

If one could not become an official, life as a commoner in the Song dynasty was harsh.

Otherwise, why would there have been so many peasant uprisings throughout the dynasty?

Now, with this golden finger in hand, transmigrating to the Song dynasty finally brought a sense of security.

“Is this the Peach Blossom Spring?” he asked.

“Yes, this is the Peach Blossom Spring.”

“But where are the people? Why are all the houses and fields abandoned?”

Tao Yuanming’s record described many people in the Peach Blossom Spring—old and young, living in contentment.

“It has been far too long since the last master of the Peach Blossom Spring. Lacking nourishment from the ‘Vital Qi of Literature,’ the Peach Blossom Spring has withered once before. Now, finally, you, the new master, have arrived.”

“Vital Qi of Literature? What is that?”

“The ‘Vital Qi of Literature’ is the energy that sustains the Peach Blossom Spring. Whether recruiting ‘Spirit Seedlings’ or constructing various facilities, all require the expenditure of Vital Qi of Literature. Even their maintenance depends on it.”

With this explanation from the radish sprite, Su Ze quickly understood. This so-called “Vital Qi of Literature” was essentially the currency of a game.

So, the Peach Blossom Spring was a kind of sim-farming game he could enter and exit at will?

“How does one obtain the Vital Qi of Literature?”

“The Vital Qi of Literature arises from the cultural treasures created on Chinese soil—poems, essays, songs, calligraphy. All these works contain Vital Qi of Literature, which the master may absorb to nourish the Peach Blossom Spring.”

Su Ze only half understood, but it sounded as though acquiring this “Vital Qi of Literature” wouldn’t be difficult.

After all, he had transmigrated to Bianjing during the Northern Song. The city teemed with literati—Yan Shu, Ouyang Xiu, Fan Zhongyan, Liu Yong—some of the era’s most eminent men of letters. Surely, he’d have the opportunity to acquire Vital Qi of Literature.

Just then, the radish sprite suddenly announced:

“A visitor approaches! Master of the Peach Blossom Spring, allow me to send you back.”

At that, the summons of “Return! Return!” echoed in his ears, and he sat up from his desk.

Staring at the hole in the wall, he found himself once more at home in Bianjing.

A clear, youthful voice called from outside the door:

“Is Master Su in? I am Wang Anshi of Linchuan. Hearing of Master Su’s great talent, I wish to seek your instruction.”