Chapter 1: Crossing to the Bund, Burdened by Demolition

As the frigid river water engulfed Chen Lin, the last thing he saw was the dazzling skyline of Lujiazui. Those skyscrapers, once symbols of his career’s zenith, now stood like cold tombstones, witnessing his descent from a Ph.D. in Chemistry from a top-tier university to a debt-ridden failure.

Three months ago, he was in charge of a core R&D project at a major tech corporation, with seven-figure savings in his bank account and twenty million in research funding recently approved. When his girlfriend had nestled in his arms, plotting their future, her fingertips had brushed over a contract stamped with the gold-embossed title: "Head of Key Laboratory."

But now, the lab had changed hands, his savings were wiped out, and even the old house left by his parents had been mortgaged. As for that woman with the radiant smile, she had long since taken his hard-earned money and vanished through the airport’s VIP channel with an elderly white man.

"Liar..."

The agonizing pain of choking on water clouded his consciousness, yet the explosive pressure in his lungs was nothing compared to the suffocation in his heart. The tech giant had dismissed him, threatening to send him to prison if he did not return the funding. Debt collectors hounded him like maggots day and night, and the former academic star had become the laughingstock of the industry.

As the river water flooded his nasal passages, Chen Lin closed his eyes. Perhaps ending it like this was for the best.

When he opened his eyes again, the bone-chilling cold had turned into a stinging, needle-like pain.

"Brother! Wake up, Brother!" Rough burlap scraped against his cheek, and the hoarse cries of a child rang in his ears.

Chen Lin sat up abruptly, a violent headache forcing a groan from his lips. What met his eyes was not the white ceiling of a hospital, but a low, dilapidated thatched roof with blackened, crumbling rafters.

"Brother, you're finally awake!" A boy, so thin he was nothing but skin and bone, lunged at him, his voice thick with tears. "Father... Father was beaten to death by those government runners... Wuwuwu..."

Strange memories surged into his mind like a tidal wave.

1845, Shanghai County, the shantytown on the north bank of Yangjingbang Creek.

He was still Chen Lin, but he had become a fourteen-year-old boy. His father was a fisherman who scraped a living along the creek—diligent, honest, and responsible. His mother was a gentle, quiet mute with superb culinary skills, always able to turn simple ingredients into delicious meals. The ten-year-old boy beside him was his younger brother, Chen Gen, and the seven-year-old girl hiding in the corner, clutching a wooden doll, was his younger sister, Chen Miao.

A day ago, several well-dressed Westerners, surrounded by county yamen runners, had come to Yangjingbang to set up boundary markers, declaring that the area was to be annexed as a British Concession. His father, unwilling to part with the thatched house passed down by his ancestors, had argued with the runners while holding a fishing spear, only to be beaten to death under the old locust tree by the river. His mother had rushed forward like a madwoman, only to be dragged away by the yamen. Chen Lin had been knocked unconscious in the chaos, and had only just woken up.

"The British Concession... 1845..." Chen Lin murmured, his heart racing. Anyone who had completed compulsory education knew exactly what this year signified.

The *Shanghai Land Regulations* had just been signed. This land would become the domain of the foreigners, and they, the original inhabitants, were nothing more than lambs waiting for the slaughter. In the future, the land his family occupied would have been worth an astronomical fortune in development deals. It was a pity he had been reborn in the right place, but in the wrong era.

"Brother, what are we going to do?" Chen Gen stomped his feet in anxiety, his small, thin frame trembling with a mix of fury and fear. "Those runners said we are occupying the foreign masters' land and that they are coming to tear down the house today!"

Chen Miao shuffled over and tugged timidly at the corner of Chen Lin’s shirt, her small face sallow from hunger. "Big Brother, Miao Miao is hungry..."

Looking around, "bare walls" was an understatement for their current plight. There were no embers in the earthen stove, the rice jar was bone dry, and the only things in the corner were a few torn fishing nets, smelling of rot and fish. The only thing of any value was the small fishing boat moored by the river.

Chen Lin took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He had already experienced death; what was there left to fear? He possessed knowledge nearly two hundred years ahead of this era—could he really not feed himself and his siblings? This was a dark age, but it was also an age rife with opportunity.

"Ah Gen, help me find two wooden strips. Also, see if there are any tools in the house," Chen Lin said, forcing himself to sit up.

He had nothing now, but no matter how lofty his goals were, he had to survive first. To resolve the immediate crisis, he had to take a gamble. What did those "foreign devils" care about? They were natural contradictions—bloodthirsty and cruel to the core, yet they always loved to use hypocritical things to redeem and whitewash themselves.

Chen Gen was starving, but he boiled the last of the dried fish. He gave the broth to his brother, the meat to Miao Miao, and chewed only on the fish bones himself. Still, he stood up and began to act according to Chen Lin’s instructions.

Chen Lin rose as well and looked at the ancestral tablets in the main room. The Chen family had drifted here from elsewhere. They had no fields, so Chen Shuisheng had used his own two hands to buy a boat, build a hut, marry a wife, and start a family. During festivals, even if he only had a bowl of coarse rice, he would offer it to his ancestors first. Chen Lin understood that it was this very reverence for ancestors that had allowed the Chinese civilization to endure for thousands of years.

"Forgive me, ancestors. Your descendant Chen Lin is unfilial, but I must wrong you for a few years. I swear that in the future, I will build a grand ancestral hall and bring you back with honor."

He knelt and kowtowed three times, then carefully gathered the tablets. Chen Gen had returned with the wooden planks and the tools his father used to repair the boat.

"Brother, what are you doing?" Chen Gen asked, confused. He wondered why his brother was doing carpentry at a time like this.

"I’m making something that might just save our home."

Chen Lin scanned the thatched house, which consisted of one main room and two bedrooms. This was the home his foolish fisherman father had guarded with his life. This was the home his mute mother had built with her own hands, brick by mud brick. And this was the home this body had lived in for over a decade.

With the practical skills of a STEM major, he finished a half-meter-tall cross in no time. He mounted it on a wooden base and placed it on the altar where the tablets had once stood. Scanning it, he felt something was missing. He found a piece of white cloth and, lacking ink, used charcoal instead. His sketching skills from his past life remained; soon, a portrait took shape. He hung the cloth on the wall so it complemented the cross.

It was done.

"Brother, what is this?" Chen Gen asked, puzzled.

"This is the god of the foreigners. If they come, do exactly as I say."

Chen Gen looked at him with admiration. His brother had drawn the foreigners' god so easily—could this thing really be used to suppress them? Chen Lin knew he couldn't explain it, so he simply assumed the authority of an elder brother and instructed his younger siblings on what to do. He even used scraps of wood to fashion three small crosses, strung them on rope, and hung them around his own neck and those of his brother and sister.

...

Just as he was finishing his instructions, a cacophony of gibberish erupted outside. Chen Lin’s heart tightened. He peered through a crack in the door and saw two Westerners approaching with a group of government runners. One of the young Westerners wore a black robe with a cross hanging from his chest—clearly a missionary.

Chen Lin felt a surge of confidence.

"It's the foreign devils!" Chen Gen clenched his fists, fire in his eyes. "Brother, they were the ones who ordered the runners to beat Father to death."

Chen Lin pressed down on his shoulder. "Ah Gen, don't be impulsive. Remember the story of Han Xin the storyteller told us? We must endure humiliation and bear the burden, only then can we wait for the opportunity to take our revenge."