If we really do this, don't you want to become stronger? But this guy looks a bit unreliable. It doesn't matter, I saw that this guy was quite normal when he was alive; we just need to delete that part of his memory and seal it away.
In a daze, I opened my eyes and suddenly saw a beautiful woman smiling at me. Wow, this woman is so gorgeous, where did this little fairy come from?
I wanted to say hello, but as soon as I opened my mouth, all that came out was "ah, ah, ah." To my horror, I discovered I had become a baby. Oh, so I died in battle and now I've been transmigrated, but I somehow feel like something is missing.
Since I couldn't remember, I stopped thinking about it and called out to the system in my mind: "Are you there?" No answer. I tried all sorts of methods; it seemed I didn't have a system. Could my Golden Finger be something else? After experimenting repeatedly over the next few days, I finally had to accept a harsh reality: I didn't have a Golden Finger.
Could I be a prince? Speak of the devil—I heard a large group of people enter the room, babbling a bunch of things I couldn't understand. To sum it up, it seemed like they were saying I was useless and didn't leave anything behind, and then they left. Still, judging by the grand procession, they must be wealthy, or perhaps a minor prince. I felt a bit more reassured. As I thought, how could anyone transmigrate without a Golden Finger and not at least land a prince's gig? Sure enough, this family looked well-off. It seemed that as long as I slowly grew up, I could live a life of luxury and dissipation.
Thinking about this, I giggled out loud. The woman saw me smile and smiled back gently. I realized this must be my pretty mother, so I smiled back at her.
Because of the language barrier, every day I tried hard to listen to my pretty mother speak, attempting to understand. Through my unremitting efforts, by the time I was five months old, I could basically understand some words. Time flew, and in the blink of an eye, I was over a year old. By then, I could understand a lot of what was said.
I also figured out my identity: I was a little prince, and my mother was a noble consort. This was a total victory in the game of life! All I had to do was hold out until I came of age and was sent off to my fiefdom, and I would have whatever I wanted. Weren't novels always like this? Thinking of this and my future life, I couldn't be in a better mood.
It was just that my mother didn't seem very favored. She didn't even have a maid by her side, the food she ate was poor, and she clearly lacked any real power. Still, knowing I was a prince, why complain? I just needed to patiently wait until I came of age.
In the blink of an eye, I learned to walk. With my memories from a past life, this was a piece of cake. But living conditions were truly terrible; every day it was either corn or steamed buns, and I never once saw any meat. At first, I thought it was imperial thriftiness, but when I walked outside around the time I was turning two, I realized this wasn't thriftiness at all—I was being completely targeted. My mother was a noble consort, but her name was Noble Consort Ya—"Ya" as in the maid. Which consort would use that name? Clearly, there was a story here.
Since I was just a toddler, there was nothing I could do except eat steamed buns and drink corn gruel every day. I softly asked my mother, "Mom, did you offend someone in the past?"
She said, "No."
I said, "Our living conditions are so bad, didn't you know?"
She replied, "How are they bad? In the past, I used to eat wheat directly, and most of the time I couldn't even get enough to eat. Ever since I became a noble consort, I get to eat steamed buns and corn every single day. I'm so happy."
I immediately understood. My mother was a total airhead who didn't understand a thing. I asked her how she managed to become a noble consort.
She said someone told her that as long as she stayed with the King, she would have an endless supply of corn and steamed buns. So she happily agreed.
Looking at my foolish mother, I suddenly understood a profound truth: contentment brings happiness. It wasn't that I wasn't happy; it was just that I wanted too much.
I asked her, "How old are you this year?"
She thought about it, tilted her head, counted on her fingers, and said, "I have this many."
I asked, "How did you count that?"
She said each finger joint represented a year, and she had this many years. Her mother taught her this when she was very small, and she kept track of it carefully every year, and now she had this many.
I counted the finger joints—fourteen in total. I was two years old this year. Fourteen minus two equals twelve—meaning my mother was only eleven years old when she had me! Good heavens! Back in my previous life, that would have been a statutory offense with a five-year minimum sentence!
No wonder she looked so foolishly adorable. Ah, thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. No matter how foolish and stupid she was, she was still my own birth mother; I couldn't just throw her away, could I? Good thing I was here with my cleverness.
When I was a little over two years old, I was greeted by a group of uninvited guests. Every single one of them was dressed better than I was, and they claimed they came to play with me. They were all my damn older brothers and sisters, and not a single one was younger than me. They actually wanted to play "horse-riding," deciding that we would play rock, paper, scissors, and whoever lost had to be the horse. I put on an innocent, clueless expression and nodded.
Even though your big brother here is only two years old, in my past life I was already several decades old. Playing rock, paper, scissors with me was child's play! Taking advantage of my small size, I always threw my sign a beat later. Those guys weren't very smart, so I ended up riding them like horses the entire afternoon. One by one, they stomped off in indignation.
It had been so long since anyone played with me, so I was actually quite happy. When I went back to sleep in my mother's arms, I suddenly discovered something in my head. Wasn't this the information inbox my boss used to give me? Could this be my Golden Finger? I was so excited I couldn't sleep all night.
Early the next morning, after finishing my steamed bun, I impatiently activated my Golden Finger, only to realize I had wasted my excitement. It was all aircraft carriers, fighter jets, and cannons—all damn high-tech gear.
The problem was, how was I supposed to use any of this? I didn't know how to smelt steel, I didn't know how to build computers, and I couldn't even generate the simplest electrical current.
Wasn't my Golden Finger completely useless? Ah, if I had known, I would have read more books when I was young. Truly, books are never appreciated until they are needed, and by the time you realize it, your goose is cooked.