Chapter Five: Find a Good Man and Marry Him

My soul had traveled from the twenty-first century into the body of a man in the Ming Dynasty who also went by the name Zhang Chen. This transition triggered a series of changes across multiple disciplines—physics, chemistry, biology, and genetics. Zhang Chen, now a secondary-market scientist, chuckled; his strength had increased significantly, which was perfectly consistent with scientific laws.

Having greater strength meant having more capital to survive in these chaotic times, a thought that brought Zhang Chen some joy. This time, he intentionally reined in his power, ensuring his cloth shoes did not rip. He ran northward, heading toward Liu Village, located about five or six miles north of Zhang Village. A round trip covered roughly five kilometers.

A quarter of an hour later, Zhang Chen ducked into a small grove by the road. Leaning against an unrecognizable sapling, he burst into bitter tears. His soul had crossed over from the twenty-first century to the Ming Dynasty, which meant that the Zhang Chen of the twenty-first century was dead. Thinking of his parents, his wife, his children, and his friends back home, he was overcome with grief. He had finally found a secluded spot where he could weep until he was breathless.

After crying for more than half an hour, Zhang Chen pulled himself together. The Ming Dynasty had no place for tears, and weeping himself to death would be useless.

"Ming Dynasty, I have arrived, and I shall conquer!"
"Well, more accurately, I have arrived, and I intend to live a good life!"

After running for over an hour, Zhang Chen returned home just as Xia Hua finished preparing the meal. She had been tracking the time; she brought over a brass basin of clear water for him to wash his face. After breakfast, Zhang Chen noticed that the sky had darkened at some point. Suddenly, a thunderclap tore through the sky, dark clouds descended upon the town, and a torrential downpour accompanied by fierce winds began to fall. Soon, puddles formed on the ground, and the dense rain drummed against the grey tiles of the house, gathering into streams that hung from the eaves like curtains of water.

As the bean-sized raindrops pelted the earth, creating a rhythmic clatter, mist danced with the wild wind, leaving the world in a blur. Zhang Chen smiled and hummed softly:

"The rain keeps falling, the atmosphere isn't exactly harmonious; under the same roof, you gradually feel your heart changing. You love him, yet perhaps you carry hatred as well..."

"Goodbye, twenty-first century. I can never go back!" His eyes grew moist before he realized it. "Farewell, my wife, find a good man to marry. Farewell, Ya Chun, find a handsome man and have a proper romance!"

"That's a lovely tune, Young Master. The song you’re humming is beautiful." Seeing the tears in the corners of his eyes, Xia Hua walked over to his side. She muttered a curse against Tian Ya Chun, "Young Master, once you pass the scholar examinations, you will surely find a lady who is prettier and kinder than Tian Ya Chun to be your wife."

Clad in a simple, plain-colored dress, Xia Hua looked as picturesque as a painting, her skin as fair as snow. Zhang Chen and Xia Hua stood near the doorway, where the mist-like drizzle was blown in by the wind. The rain was lingering, feeling cool against the skin as the long, fine threads of water fell slowly. Xia Hua lifted her delicate face, letting the drizzle land upon it.

"That is a certainty," Zhang Chen said, gently taking Xia Hua's small hand. "Once Niu distills that jar of wine a few times, I will remove that unsightly birthmark on your neck. With proper medicine, there will be almost no scarring."

Without a doubt, sixteen-year-old Xia Hua was a stunning beauty; had she been in the twenty-first century, she would have been the school beauty. But heaven was cruel to beauty; Xia Hua had a red birthmark the size of a fingertip on her neck. Zhang Chen had worked as a doctor for over a decade in the twenty-first century and was confident he could excise it. However, the medical conditions in the Ming Dynasty were abysmal—no sterile operating rooms, no antibiotics. Fortunately, the Ming Dynasty had grain wine; distilling it several times would produce high-proof alcohol, which could serve as a disinfectant.

In the twenty-first century, hospitals with Traditional Chinese Medicine departments often concocted their own internal herbal medicines. The anti-inflammatory pills made by the TCM department of the Zhongzhou City First People's Hospital were effective at preventing infection—only slightly less so than erythromycin. Having worked there for over a decade, Zhang Chen knew the formula by heart. The people of the Ming Dynasty had not been "poisoned" by Western medicine and were generally highly sensitive to medication. For them, these pills were more than sufficient. Once the birthmark was removed and Xia Hua took the pills on schedule, the incision would remain uninfected, leaving almost no scar.

"This servant will listen to you, Young Master." Xia Hua, unaware that Zhang Chen had been a doctor, did not fully believe in his skills and had already prepared herself for the surgery to fail. "The Young Master isn't a physician; he surely doesn't know how to remove a birthmark." She lowered her head, thinking, *I am the Young Master’s personal maid; I belong to him. In life, I am his, and in death, I shall be his ghost. If the surgery fails and a hideous scar remains on my neck, it doesn't matter, as long as the Young Master doesn't despise me.*

"Fatty" Niu, on the other hand, was even more skeptical. He was in the kitchen distilling the wine, grumbling, "The Young Master says he once had a few ancient books from the previous Song Dynasty that contained medical methods and other strange knowledge. I’m the one responsible for organizing his books—how have I never seen these Song Dynasty texts?"

"The Young Master said he lost those Song Dynasty books when we moved from the Tian family a few days ago," Niu whispered to himself. He didn't dare criticize Zhang Chen openly, but since there was no proof, he concluded the Young Master was lying. He wasn't a good person; he was just making up an excuse to explain his strange knowledge.

Niu distilled the wine several times until he had half a bowl of high-proof alcohol. Under Zhang Chen's direction, he decocted several batches of herbs to produce over a dozen anti-inflammatory pills.

"Keep this a secret. These pills are the weapon that will make our fortune; the formula must be kept confidential." Zhang Chen tossed one of the pills in the air and kicked Niu. "You fat fool, if you leak the formula, I'll skin you alive."

"There are over a dozen ingredients; how could I possibly remember the formula?" Niu patted his thick chest, still not believing in the pills' efficacy. "Don't worry, Young Master. Even if you beat me to death, I won't leak the recipe."

The Ming Dynasty's anesthetic was the famous "Ma Fei San." Xia Hua drank half a bowl and, being sensitive to the medicine, fell into a deep sleep. After using the alcohol to disinfect the birthmark and the surrounding skin, Zhang Chen picked up a pig-slaughtering knife. As he prepared to make the cut, Niu let out a gasp of alarm.

*A butcher. The Young Master is using a pig-slaughtering knife to perform surgery on Xia Hua. He’s a butcher,* Niu thought, not daring to look. "Young Master, I'm terrified. I'm scared. Let me go outside."

"Get lost!" Zhang Chen kicked him.

Without proper surgical instruments, Zhang Chen had to use the butcher's knife for the procedure and a sewing needle to close the wound. Once Niu had left, Zhang Chen worked with swift, practiced hands to excise the mark. After arriving at Zhang Village yesterday afternoon, he had instructed Niu to buy sheep intestines, which were then dried and prepared for use. Zhang Chen used the thin sheep intestines as sutures to close Xia Hua's incision.

Five minutes later, the surgery was successfully completed. Zhang Chen walked out of the bedroom and scolded Niu, "Buy more sheep intestines. They make excellent surgical sutures!"

In the twenty-first century, medical sutures were primarily made from the intestines of sheep. Lacking the technology to produce modern sutures, Zhang Chen simply used dried sheep intestines cut into strips.

Niu agreed and then added, "The rain has stopped, and the sun is out. I'll head to the county seat this afternoon. Young Master, we should recruit some strong men to be our guards. There are many refugees on the road, and it’s not safe without protection. We don't need silver to recruit them; just feeding them will be enough."