The sky over the late Yuan dynasty hung heavy and murky, as if the heavens themselves were tainted by plague. Outside Gudong Village, Chen Zijian—now masquerading as Zhu Chongba, a time-traveler from the future—stood atop a small hill, gazing at the village below. Three months in this era had accustomed him to this body and its name, but the hellish reality before him remained jarring.
A foul stench wafted on the breeze, enveloping the village like an invisible net. At the village entrance, crude wooden signs hung from a withered tree, scrawled with charcoal warnings of "Plague" and "No Entry." A crow perched on one sign, its ominous caw echoing before it took flight, as if unwilling to linger in this cursed place.
Zijian adjusted his conical hat, took a deep breath, and strode into the village.
"Three more dead, and they were walking just yesterday!"
"Heavens, what sin has our village committed…?"
"They say the Li family's girl, only sixteen, passed in the night…"
Fragmented voices mixed with sobs reverberated through the village. Zijian wove through the sparse crowd, his heart tightening at the sight before him—a ragged woman knelt in the mud, clutching a small, lifeless body. The infant's face was ashen, blood staining its lips. The woman's eyes were hollow, her soul seemingly departed with her child, neither weeping nor wailing.
"This must be the 'Great Plague of the Late Yuan,'" Zijian thought. "A key factor in paralyzing the government and hastening the Yuan's collapse."
As a man of the 21st century, Zijian understood plagues scientifically. This was likely the Black Death or cholera, not the "divine punishment" the villagers believed.
The villagers eyed the stranger with cold, even hostile, gazes. A burly middle-aged man stepped forward, blocking his path. "Outsider, halt! Our village is plagued. No strangers allowed!"
Zijian calmly removed his hat, revealing a face weathered by the elements. Since assuming Zhu Chongba's identity, he had learned to emulate Emperor Hongwu's commanding presence.
"I am Zhu Chongba, here to cure the plague," he said, his voice low and authoritative.
"Cure the plague?" The man scoffed. "Boy, even seasoned physicians have failed. You think you can do better?"
Zijian scanned the crowd, their faces etched with despair and suspicion. He knew that without their trust, his modern knowledge was useless.
"Fellow villagers," he raised his voice, ensuring all could hear, "this plague is no divine curse but a product of foul air. Follow my orders, and within three days, we can halt its spread!"
"Another fraud!" someone shouted from the back.
"We've sacrificed thrice, and the plague god still won't leave!" another voice echoed.
Unfazed, Zijian continued firmly, "Foul air spreads disease; cleanliness prevents it. Trust me and do three things: first, boil all drinking water; second, isolate the sick from the healthy; third, clean your homes daily with vinegar and lime."
"Utter nonsense!" An elderly man with a goatee stepped forward—Old Li, a respected village elder, as Zijian gathered from the villagers' murmurs.
"I've lived sixty years and never heard of 'foul air' spreading disease!" Old Li's voice trembled but was resolute, his cloudy eyes glinting with stubbornness. "This is divine wrath, and only sacrifice can appease it!"
Zijian knew that in this era, superstition trumped science. Challenging an elder's authority was no small feat, but breaking this mindset was essential to save lives.
"Elder Li," Zijian bowed respectfully yet firmly, "I don't claim you're wrong, but I've studied medicine with a Taoist master and know ways to combat disease. Give me three days. If the plague worsens, punish me as you see fit."
Old Li opened his mouth to retort, but the village chief intervened. "Enough, Old Li. In times like these, any hope is worth trying." He turned to Zijian. "Young man, what's your plan?"
Zijian allowed a faint smile, thinking, *Step one: gain their trust.*
---
Over the next three days, Zijian worked tirelessly. He organized villagers to clear stagnant water, disinfect homes with vinegar and lime, and isolate the sick in empty huts at the village's east end. He taught them to cover their faces with cloth strips for protection and had them gather wild chrysanthemum, dandelion, and garlic to brew a medicinal broth. While not a cure, these herbs could boost immunity and alleviate symptoms.
On the fourth morning, the village chief banged on Zijian's temporary hut, voice trembling with excitement. "Brother Zhu! A miracle! Only one new case yesterday, seven fewer than before! Your methods work!"
Zijian felt a flicker of relief, but he knew this was just the beginning. The late Yuan's plagues thrived not only on poor hygiene but also on famine and displacement caused by endless wars. Only addressing these root causes could truly curb the epidemic.
As he pondered his next steps, a commotion erupted.
"No! Absolutely not!"
"We followed that outsider's ways, and people are still falling ill!"
"It's because our sacrifices weren't sincere! The gods are angry!"
Zijian frowned and hurried to the village square, where Old Li was rallying the crowd.
"Fellow villagers," Old Li's voice quavered, "this plague is divine wrath. Only a pure sacrifice can appease it! I propose we offer a chaste maiden to quell the gods' anger!"
Silence fell, then Old Li pointed at a young woman in the crowd. "Peishi, eighteen, unmarried, with only her elderly mother left—she's the perfect choice!"
Zijian followed his gesture to a young woman in a blue cloth dress, her face pale as paper. Her delicate features held a defiant spark, jarring against the grim surroundings. She stumbled back, eyes wide with fear and helplessness.
"Human sacrifice?" Zijian's heart jolted. "Such superstitions were indeed common in the late Yuan."
Without hesitation, he stepped in front of Peishi, standing tall. "This is absurd! The plague is caused by germs, not gods. Sacrifice only adds to the sin!"
"Germs?" Old Li sneered. "What do you, an outsider, know? Sacrifices have appeased gods since ancient times!"
The crowd grew louder, some siding with Old Li. Zijian knew preaching science would backfire. He needed an explanation this era could grasp.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke loudly, "Germs are tiny creatures, invisible to the eye, spreading through foul air. Like fish in a river—visible, but their eggs are as small as dust, yet grow into fish. Germs are the same, minute but deadly, thriving in dirty water and stench. Boiling water and isolating the sick cuts their spread."
He knelt, sketching a simple rod-shaped bacterium in the dirt with charcoal. "This lives in filth and can kill if it enters the body."
The analogy, though not scientifically precise, was relatable. But Old Li, unrelenting, lunged to grab Peishi. As chaos loomed, Zijian drew his waist knife, shielding her, and roared, "Whoever touches her dies!"
The blade gleamed coldly in the sunlight, and Zijian's eyes radiated real menace. Old Li staggered back, and the restless crowd quieted.
"Zhu Chongba, don't go too far!" Old Li blustered, his bravado faltering. "Would you defy the whole village for an outsider girl?"
Zijian sneered, "I'm saving not just her but all of you. Cling to superstition, and you'll doom yourselves." Scanning the crowd, he softened his tone but kept its authority. "Famine and plague go hand in hand. The court has abandoned us common folk. Only self-reliance will save us. Follow baseless rituals, and this village will perish before the plague does!"
Perhaps it was Zijian's resolute gaze or his words stirring their survival instincts, but the crowd fell silent. Finally, Old Li sighed, grudgingly conceding, "Fine, we'll try your way. But if the plague worsens, don't expect mercy!"
The crisis eased, and Peishi, tears streaming, thanked Zijian profusely. Her eyes, pure as mountain springs, reminded him of someone from another time.
---
Spring gave way to late summer. Under Zijian's guidance, Gudong Village not only contained the plague but began to recover. Villagers adopted better farming methods, stored ample grain, and forged simple weapons for self-defense.
One morning, Peishi washed clothes by the stream, her graceful figure reflected in the clear water. Since the sacrifice incident, her feelings for Zijian had deepened. Recalling his bravery in defending her, her heart fluttered.
As the stream babbled and she hummed softly, unaware of danger, a coarse voice shattered the calm. "Well, well, a beauty in the wilderness!"
Peishi dropped her clothes, startled. Looking up, she saw five or six Yuan soldiers in Mongol attire surrounding her. Their leader, a scar-faced deputy general, leered at her.
"S-Sir, I'm just washing clothes…" Peishi retreated, only to be pushed back by a soldier.
"Washing clothes?" The deputy general grinned wickedly. "I'd love to see a beauty wash herself too."
The soldiers laughed lewdly, one reaching for her dress. In panic, Peishi grabbed a streamside stone and smashed it against the nearest soldier's forehead, drawing blood.
"You wretch!" The soldier roared, raising his whip. Defiant, Peishi fought back with another stone, screaming, "Let me go! Help!"
Zijian, patrolling nearby to scout terrain and guard against Yuan raids, heard her cries. Since taking Zhu Chongba's identity, he'd made these rounds regularly. He sprinted forward, assessing the situation in an instant.
"Stop!" he bellowed. Before the soldiers could react, he charged, knocking one down with a fist, seizing his sword, and positioning himself in front of Peishi.
"Who are you to meddle in my affairs?" the deputy general snarled, hand on his sword hilt.
Zijian sneered, "You wolves prey on the innocent. Today, none of you leave alive!"
Enraged, the deputy general swung his blade, its arc fierce. Zijian dodged, countering with a slash to the man's arm. The body he inhabited seemed trained, its movements fluid and precise. Blood sprayed as the blade cut through armor.
The deputy general screamed, retreating. "Kill him!"
The remaining soldiers charged, but Zijian moved like a specter, his modern combat training blending with the body's instincts. Within moments, three soldiers lay groaning on the ground.
Seeing the tide turn, the deputy general, clutching his wounded arm, mounted his horse. "You'll pay for this, your whole village!" he spat before fleeing with his men.
Peishi, trembling, collapsed, tears streaming. "T-Thank you, Brother Chongba… If you hadn't come, I…"
Zijian helped her up, soothing, "Don't fear, they won't return easily." But inwardly, he calculated, *That threat is serious. I need to prepare.*
---
"Brother Chongba, can this really shoot fire?" Peishi asked, eyeing the strange device in Zijian's hands.
Since the stream incident, Zijian had begun crafting weapons in secret at the village shrine. Using modern knowledge, he designed a crude hand cannon—a primitive firearm revolutionary for the late Yuan.
In the quiet night, candlelight flickered in the shrine, casting shadows on Zijian's focused face, accentuating his resolute features. Peishi ground herbs for the formula, stealing glances at him, her eyes soft with affection.
"It will," Zijian said without looking up, adjusting the device. "Mix saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal in the right proportions, and it creates an explosive force."
"Amazing," Peishi murmured. "You know so much, Brother Chongba."
"The sea of knowledge is vast," Zijian replied with a smile, glancing up. "I just know a bit more."
Pausing his work, he stretched, sweat beading on his forehead. Peishi, noticing, gently wiped it with a clean cloth. Their eyes met, and time seemed to freeze.
Peishi's eyes sparkled like a starry sky in the candlelight, pure and deep. "My savior, can this really save the village?" she asked softly.
Zijian gazed at her, a strange warmth stirring within. In this chaotic era, emotions were a luxury, yet human nature transcended time.
"With you by my side, I could save the world," he blurted, startling himself.
Peishi's cheeks flushed, and she lowered her gaze, her silhouette captivating in the candlelight. Zijian's heart raced, a new sensation stirring.
"Peishi," he said, voice low, "I don't know what the future holds, but I swear I'll protect you."
Tears glistened in her eyes. "Brother Chongba, you've saved me twice. I could never repay you…"
Before she could finish, urgent footsteps and shouts broke the moment: "Brother Chongba! Trouble! Yuan soldiers—hundreds of them!"
Zijian and Peishi stood, exchanging a resolute glance. The chaos of the era left no room for romance; survival was paramount.
Zijian strode to the door, already strategizing. This battle would determine his foothold in the late Yuan—and mark his first step toward reshaping history.