Chapter 137 Day 1 of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

Chapter 137: The First Day of Transmigrating into an Imperial Exam Novel

The moment consciousness returned, An Yi first perceived a heavy feeling of being trapped, not from external forces, but from his own frailty.

A sluggishness and heaviness spread from the very marrow of his bones, as if this young body had been drained of vitality, requiring immense effort just to lift a fingertip.

An Yi slowly opened his eyes. What greeted him was not the ceiling of a bedroom, but a yellowed, tattered, patched gauze mosquito net.

The air was filled with the musty scent of old wood mixed with cheap ink sticks, and faintly, a faint, bitter smell of stewed herbs, weighing heavily on his lungs, carrying an air of hopeless decay.

He did not move immediately, only moved his eyes just a fraction, calmly observing his surroundings.

The rammed-earth floor was uneven, with traces of dried water stains.

The plaster on the walls had long since flaked off, revealing the crisscrossing bamboo lattice beneath, like a carcass gnawed away by time.

The room was pitifully small, the furnishings stripped to the absolute bare minimum—a rickety wooden table, two or three chairs, every single one lopsided, and a low cabinet whose paint had peeled so much that its original appearance was almost unrecognizable.

The bed was so hard it hurt, the mattress thin as paper, doing nothing to ward off the cold.

This scene really fit the phrase "back to basics."

An Yi gave a silent smirk. Calling it simple would be generous; it was more like... utter destitution.

Sure enough, he'd transmigrated into another novel again.

Just as his life had come to another end.

Fortunately, he was used to it, his mind completely unshaken.

He just wondered when he would encounter the comment section that always chattered in his head?

Though not particularly useful, it was an old friend after all.

But even if he didn't encounter it, it didn't matter; he had long outgrown needing the comment section to guide his actions.

An Yi did not rush to sit up. The condition of this body was clearly very poor.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again, using his spiritual sense to scan his own body.

Good, An Yi could feel the energy from his ability flowing out from deep inside, like the most patient craftsman, easing every ache in this young body, inch by inch, driving away the debilitating weakness.

At the same time, he allowed a torrent of heavy, chaotic memories to flood into his mind.

An Yi.

The name of this body was also An Yi.

Seventeen years old, once a locally famous child prodigy.

Born a child of destiny, he passed the county-level civil service exam at fourteen, becoming a scholar (xiucai) famous for miles around. He should have had a bright future.

However, the original owner's luck was absolutely rotten.

Three years ago, his father, the family's breadwinner, died in an accident while working outside. The original owner had to observe a three-year mourning period, missing several chances to leap over the dragon gate (pass the exams).

To treat his mother, who fell ill from overwhelming grief, the family's meager savings were quickly depleted. The young scholar had to set aside his scholar's pride, selling calligraphy and paintings on the street to just barely keep him and his mother from starving.

After finally enduring the mourning period this year, ready to take the exams again and make a name for himself, his long-sick mother couldn't hold on any longer and passed away.

So another three-year mourning period started.

When it rains, it pours.

Those who had long been jealous of his early fame now found the perfect excuse to attack him, spewing insults like "Jinx," "Family Killer," and "Bad Luck Charm."

Caught between internal strife and external pressure, poverty and sickness, the seventeen-year-old original owner, broken in spirit and belief, was so angry and depressed that it killed him on this cold, hard wooden bed.

An Yi: "..."

Even though he'd been through multiple worlds, witnessing countless farewells and the ups and downs of life, his heart long since tempered to steel, he couldn't help a series of silent sighs.

This kid's luck was beyond terrible.

An Yi gathered his thoughts, sending a prayer for the original owner, hoping he could live a better, peaceful life in the next life.

He gently moved his fingers, feeling a faint spark of life slowly kindling in his body under the nourishment of energy.

So from now on, he was this young scholar.

A young scholar saddled with the name "Jinx," penniless, destitute, and with at least three years of his imperial exam path completely cut off.

An Yi raised an eyebrow. "Alright, that works."

Since he was here, he'd make the best of it.

An Yi lay on the hard wooden bed, closing his eyes.

Mourning... imperial exams...

Almost instantly, in the depths of his consciousness, An Yi unhesitatingly drew a huge X over the path of the "scholar-official career."

What was it like to be a scholar-official? He'd had a taste of it before.

Every day buried in paperwork, scheming, and politicking—it was no picnic.

This time, forget it; he'd experience a different life, change his ways.

Moreover, according to the original owner's memories, although this world was set in ancient times, the current emperor could be considered wise and was still in his prime. The court's atmosphere wasn't as heavily skewed toward civil officials over military ones as in some ancient dynasties he knew. Scholars held status, but it wasn't supreme; military merit and practical skills were equally valued.

The imperial exam was still an important channel for impoverished scholars to leap into prominence, but the competition was fierce, as you'd expect.

Besides, didn't he still have to wait three more years?

"So, imperial exam—PASS," he pronounced coldly in his mind.

Then, what to do next?

An Yi didn't make up his mind immediately.

As for survival, it wasn't a problem for him.

Earning money was easy for him. Even if he didn't want to, wasn't all the stuff in his space just decoration?

Ever since he got the space, he had developed a hoarding habit. Now, there was simply too much inside.

From antique treasures to modern technological products, from rare medicinal herbs to ordinary grains, from supernatural items to interesting trinkets...

Piled up like mountains, beyond counting.

The collection inside had already grown so extensive that even he might not be able to recall every single item.

Unless he used his abilities to carefully inspect it.

After sorting out his thoughts, An Yi sat up in bed.

As he moved, his bones let out faint, crisp sounds—not the groans of illness, but subtle signs of the body being revitalized under the nourishment of new energy.

This body, due to long-term malnutrition and pent-up gloom, was extremely thin and light, almost weightless.

But within, the accumulated weakness and gloom were slowly yet steadily being dispelled, replaced by a latent strength his own—An Yi's strength.

With a thought, he took a mirror from his space.

The mirror showed his reflection.

He tilted his face slightly, carefully examining the features in the reflection.

Extremely young, still bearing a hint of youthful innocence.

His complexion was pale from prolonged lack of sunlight, and his lips were pale due to insufficient nutrition and vitality.

But the foundation of his features was excellent—delicate and handsome, with a straight nose. However, the original owner's thick, unshakable gloom and frailty shrouded it, making this beauty appear fragile.

Facing his reflection in the mirror, An Yi tried, very slowly, to curl the corners of his mouth.

The deathly pallor of gloom on the young boy's face seemed to be gently wiped away by an invisible hand. His pale cheeks, moved by this tiny action, revealed a faint, fleeting smile.

The most significant change was in his eyes—no longer the despair and numbness the original owner had known, but a deep calm.

The entire demeanor suddenly shifted, radiating an incongruous detachment from within.

"Hmm, the basics are not bad," An Yi murmured softly to his reflection in the mirror, his voice still somewhat hoarse.

Alright, he officially accepted this body.

He straightened up and once again surveyed this room, so bare that "destitute" was the only word for it.

Earthen walls, broken furniture, a bed that was anything but comfortable...

This was truly the first time he had started under such conditions.

His gaze finally landed on the rickety old desk.

Scattered on it were a few worn-out brushes with split tips, a rough stone inkstone, and a handful of papers with writing and drawings—likely items the original owner had intended to sell but failed to.

An Yi walked over and, with his still slightly pale fingers, picked up those drawings to examine them.

Most were common subjects like flowers, birds, fish, and insects. The brushwork was fairly neat, but rigid and lifeless—likely only fit for the lowest tier in the market, worth just a few copper coins.

The calligraphy, however, was not bad. The structure was upright, the strokes sharp, revealing a stubborn pride and arrogance typical of a young scholar who refused to bow his head. Unfortunately, in a place where even basic needs were a struggle, pride couldn't fill an empty stomach.

He neatly stacked the papers and placed them carefully in the corner of the desk.

These things, after all, were the few remnants left behind by the original owner in this world. They couldn't be casually thrown away.