Pain. A sharp, drilling pain in the back of his head. That was Jiang Le’s first thought as consciousness returned.  

Why does it hurt so much? he wondered. Did I overwork myself with all those part-time jobs?

Jiang Le had just finished his college entrance exams. With no parents to rely on, he had to juggle three jobs to save up for living expenses in university.  

Exhausted? Of course he was. But ever since his father died when he was eight and his mother abandoned him, this was the life he’d known. He was used to it. Some things were better not dwelled upon.  

So even though the pain in his skull was so intense it made him break out in cold sweat, he gritted his teeth and groped around for his cheap, beat-up phone to check the time.  

It’s almost time for my shift.

But the moment his fingers brushed against the ground, he froze.  

Something was wrong.  

Sure, his life was hard, but his father had at least left him a few “assets”—like the decades-old mattress with springs poking out. It wasn’t worth selling, so it had stayed with him all these years. Ragged as it was, it had served him faithfully, giving him decent sleep.  

Yet now, the surface beneath him wasn’t the familiar lumpy mattress. It was hard, cold, and slightly damp—like bare earth.  

Did I roll off the bed?

Jiang Le clawed at the ground, struggling to open his eyes and sit up. But as his fingers dug in, something gritty slipped between them.  

This isn’t right.

His eyes flew open.  

Fresh soil filled the gaps between his fingers. And beneath him—dirt.  

This isn’t my home.

His vision darkened for a second, dizziness threatening to knock him back down. Staggering to his feet, he ignored the tears stinging his eyes and scanned his surroundings.  

A barren stretch of land. In the distance, a village—at least proof of human life. If he could get there, maybe he could figure out how to return.  

He let out a shaky breath.  

Then his stomach dropped.  

The village wasn’t made of modern concrete houses but low, rammed-earth huts. Some roofs were even thatched with straw. A few slightly better-off homes had bricks mixed into the mud walls…  

Jiang Le had grown up in the countryside. His village hadn’t been wealthy, but every family lived in cement houses with white-tiled exteriors. Some even had two floors.  

There was no way this was a modern rural village. And this wasn’t some remote mountain area either.  

What in the heavenly grandmother’s name is this?! Who the hell sent me here?!

Before he could make sense of it, a flood of foreign memories slammed into his brain.  

Pain exploded behind his eyes, his vision flickering like static on an old TV.  

A few seconds later, he gasped, staring down at himself in disbelief.  

A faded gray short-sleeve shirt. Pants made of some coarse, threadbare fabric, patched up in places. And his shoes—  

Jiang Le hadn’t seen handmade cloth shoes in years. These were filthy, the big toe nearly poking through the worn-out fabric.  

Not just poor… but also dirty as hell!

A pang of bitterness hit him.  

Even after losing his parents at eight, he’d never dressed this shabbily. Kind neighbors had often passed down their kids’ old clothes—hardly worn, still clean and decent.  

He quickly sorted through the original owner’s memories.  

This body’s name was also Jiang Le. Fifteen years old—four years younger than him.  

Due to family circumstances, Jiang Le had taken a year off from school, making him a year older than his classmates.  

He pondered for a moment. Sure, I worked so hard to get into college, but… being four years younger after transmigrating isn’t exactly a bad deal.

As he sorted through the memories, something suddenly felt familiar.  

His expression quickly darkened.  

These events… they matched a period novel he’d once read—My 1970s. And in that book, “Jiang Le” was nothing but a cannon fodder character.  

Not only did the original Jiang Le meet a tragic end, but his entire family suffered horrible fates too.  

Oh, great transmigration gods! What kind of place have you sent me to?! I may not have been a saint in my past life, but I never did anything evil enough to deserve this!

No matter how much he cursed his luck, the transmigration gods weren’t sending him back.  

Because he’d just learned one crucial detail: his original body had died from overwork.  

Jiang Le: “…”

Well… thanks, transmigration gods, I guess? At least I get a second chance.