Chapter Five: I’ve Truly Never Encountered a Move Like This Before

Chasing after girls, chasing after girls—at long last, I finally have a girl I can chase. Brimming with excitement, Mingtian hopped and skipped down the path to the back mountain like a fool, drawing curious glances from the woodcutters nearby, who wondered who this idiot was.

Indeed, her being a woman was a trump card that worked perfectly, striking right at his soft spot. Under Mingtian’s threat, the lady doctor had no choice but to surrender and untie him.

After that, Mingtian put on an act, bowing to his father with flowery, bookish compliments before regaining his freedom.

What Mingtian couldn’t understand was how this lady doctor, disguised as a man, had managed to fool everyone. He’d observed—she wore no makeup. Ancient women were usually so unattractive that as a modern man, Mingtian could hardly tell men from women; only by their chests or by their clothes could he discern their gender.

It was no exaggeration—wealthy families could at least use cosmetics to accentuate femininity, but the poor had no such means.

Third, to Mingtian’s eyes, this woman was far more attractive than the average, but ancient standards of beauty differed; to the locals, she was just a delicate-looking man.

And lastly, she was undoubtedly poor. Severe malnutrition in childhood had left her... completely flat-chested.

Not a hint of a chest—flat as the butcher’s chopping board by the roadside.

“You’re here.”

Sure enough, at the appointed place, the lady doctor had already built a small campfire and sat hugging her knees, dressed in the same plain clothes as yesterday.

“I’m here.” Mingtian waved and smiled. Though today’s meeting had a serious purpose, never having spent time alone with a woman left him somewhat flustered.

“First date and you’re late—some man you are.”

“Ha, sorry…” Mingtian scratched his head awkwardly, then suddenly caught the oddity in her words: “Wait, what did you say? Date?”

He was nervous—not because she called it a date, but because she used the word “date” itself.

Though Mingtian didn’t know much history, he was certain that word shouldn’t exist in this era.

As if reading his thoughts, the lady doctor patted the earth beside her, inviting him to sit. “What, did you think you were the only one who crossed over?”

“I—damn!” Mingtian was stunned.

“Mmm, that bleeped-out reaction—looks like I guessed right.” As she spoke, the lady doctor threw another stick on the fire.

Silence fell. Damp wood crackled softly in the flames.

Mingtian felt a surge of irritation.

What the hell? What’s going on? Isn’t it supposed to be one transmigrator per world? No cheat skills, fine, but now there’s a competitor too?

Wait, she’s a woman. With this kind of mysterious background, maybe she’s destined to be my main wife?

At the thought, Mingtian couldn’t help but grin slyly.

“Thinking of making me your concubine, aren’t you?” The lady doctor nailed him with a question that made Mingtian tense up.

“Uh… what are you talking about? Hahaha, you’re imagining things.” Mingtian quickly feigned ignorance, scratching his head.

Yet her next words sent a million llamas stampeding through his mind.

“I know what you’re thinking. When I first crossed over, I thought I’d be the hero in a novel—master kung fu, gather a harem—until I realized I was a woman.”

A sense of foreboding rose in him. “W-what do you mean, you realized you were a woman?”

The lady doctor turned her head, her moist eyes now exuding the weary despair found only in middle-aged men who’d achieved nothing by fifty.

“Who told you transmigrating as a man means you stay a man? Sorry, I’m the counterexample.” She reached over and shook Mingtian’s hand like a comrade. “Name’s Han Zhaoxi. Died at forty-eight in my last life, but you can call me by this life’s name—Yin Chan.”

“Han Zhaoxi? Sounds like one of those weird names K-pop fans’ parents would give… Are you sure you were over forty?”

“Stupid name, right? I don’t like it either.” Yin Chan smiled. “But you’re misunderstanding—transmigrators aren’t all from the same era. I’m from 2458. What about you?”

“2017,” Mingtian replied, woodenly.

“Well, from my perspective, you and the locals are practically antiques.” She tossed another stick on the fire.

Outwardly calm, Mingtian was exploding inside.

What’s going on? This isn’t how it’s supposed to go! There aren’t supposed to be two transmigrators! Mass transmigration stories are all from the same era, aren’t they? And now there’s gender swapping too? And from her tone, maybe we’re not even the only two.

“How did you know I was a transmigrator?” Mingtian asked, but immediately slapped himself for being an idiot.

“When your father left, you mentioned topping up your phone credit. Who has phone credit in this era?” Yin Chan retorted coolly.

So that was it.

“By the way, why did you want to see me? Don’t tell me you think I’m prettier than the average woman and wanted to add me to your harem?” Yin Chan asked pointedly.

“Actually, I just wanted to ask how you wash your hair. I can’t stand bathing and shampooing with rice water.” Mingtian pouted helplessly. Take her as a concubine? Her? What a joke!

Sure, by ancient standards she’d be passable, but she’s a forty-something uncle inside! To get intimate with her would be like...

The image was too horrifying to contemplate.

“Fine, I’ll take it that’s your real reason. But let’s get one thing straight…” Yin Chan’s eyes flashed with murderous intent.

“In my past life I was a man—a straight one! So I bleeping will never bleeping do anything with any man, will never let any bleep into my bleep, and if you ever dare or even think of bleeping me, I’ll rip off your bleep and deep-fry it with salt and pepper and stuff it up your bleep, then stir it around with your own bleep before—”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, STOP!” After that barrage of bleeps, Mingtian’s face twisted in disbelief. “Are you sending Morse code or something? Enough with the bleeps! You were a man, over forty—why would I be interested in you? Use your brain!”

Now I understand why that so-called god gave transmigrators this cursing debuff—otherwise, five thousand years of civilization would collapse in a few years.

After that, Mingtian and Yin Chan talked at length.

She admitted that, after realizing he was a transmigrator, her first thought was to kill him and avoid future trouble. After all, besides the Transmigrator Alliance, there were other groups, and not all were friendly. With him dead, she could tell his father he’d died from some evil spirit.

Fortunately, Mingtian was clever enough to avoid that fate. Yin Chan, having been a father in her past life and a mature person, apologized honestly.

He finally got the necessary information, though it left him frustrated.

The current era was the Northern and Southern Dynasties, the first month of the Yongtai era, in the Qi kingdom of the southern dynasties. This was the most turbulent year for Qi. The emperor, while not incompetent, was cruel—Qi Mingdi.

According to history, this emperor would die in six months, ushering in the reign of the most useless ruler in Qi, whose incompetence surpassed even the infamous King Zhou of Shang. Fortunately, most wars were on the frontier; this coastal southern town, Sumen, and the cities en route to Jiankang would escape the turmoil—a small mercy.

Yin Chan’s background was far worse than Mingtian’s. She was a descendant of the Western Jin imperial clan. Though her looks were agreeable to modern eyes, by ancient standards, without makeup she was truly ugly.

Having been a student of traditional medicine before transmigrating, she became a doctor here, hoping to achieve greatness in medicine. But if her identity were revealed, her mere existence as a woman would bring the punishment of castration and branding; add her imperial lineage and she’d face extermination of nine generations and 3,600 cuts of slow execution.

As for why she was so frank about all this, Yin Chan put it simply: “If you ever dare reveal my secret, your end will be worse than mine.”

Mingtian didn’t quite get it, but thought it best not to use this as leverage. After all, she was a “senior” transmigrator, having crossed over at birth, with seventeen years of experience, and hailing from 450 years in the future. She might lack technological advantage, but probably still had a hundred ways to kill him, without repeating herself.

The best way for transmigrators to survive was to form alliances; achieving greatness alone was impossible. Rumor had it there was a Transmigrator Alliance in the capital, but Yin Chan was broke and couldn’t afford the journey, so she worked as an apprentice at the Imperial Medical Bureau, hoping one day to open her own clinic and save up for the trip.

As for Mingtian’s most pressing concern—bathing—Yin Chan had invented soap. But the method violated ancient taboos: to make it, one needed to extract fat from corpses buried in the earth to produce lye suitable for human use. Ancient tools were so crude that animal fat was useless; only corpses worked.

This wasn’t just disrespectful—it was grave robbing, a capital crime. If she tried to market soap and the court demanded the recipe, she’d be executed whether she complied or not. No one respected intellectual property here.

Disgusting as it was, Mingtian, fed up with the reek of filth, still asked for a bar of soap.

In return, he and Yin Chan agreed to an alliance.

If they could contact and join the Transmigrator Alliance in the capital, he could finally escape his twisted family.

Mingtian would provide funding; Yin Chan would supply soap and directions to the alliance—perfectly aligned interests.

Thus, their alliance was forged.

Departure was planned for the day after tomorrow; tomorrow, the prefect of Jiangmen was to meet Mingtian, and refusing would mean death.

Things were looking up, Mingtian thought.

In ancient times, people’s living conditions were so poor that even beggars in the modern world were better off; average life expectancy was drastically low.

The saying, “A man living to seventy is a rarity,” was well founded. People’s health plummeted after fifty, and few lived past sixty.

Though Mingtian was a transmigrator, he was still a normal person, not the eternally eighteen hero of some novel. This harsh world imposed a very real time limit on his ambitions.

“By the way, I’m curious—how do ancient women deal with their period?”

“Old rags, filled with dry wood ash, tied tight. Washed clean and reused the next day.”

“Damn, that’s disgusting.”

“It is. By the way, your family’s rich—what do you use for wiping? I’m sick of using my fingers and dry lotus leaves. Twice, the leaves even cut me.”

“My family—my parents and I use salmon. It’s too expensive to give you. The top servants use bamboo sticks—want some? I can get you a bunch; they’re cheap and disposable.”

“A few more, please. Thanks.”

And so, the conversation ended. The two went down the mountain separately to prepare for the journey to the capital.

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