Chapter 4: Surviving
The memories ended here.
Yang Tian sat in silence, opening his eyes to stare blankly at the ceiling.
In a corner, a fly struggled in a spiderweb.
He watched it until the spider drew near, then suddenly sprang up and plucked the insect out of the web.
Walking to the window, he saw sunlight piercing through a gap in the panes to strike the floor.
"Indeed, hardship is the natural state of human life."
Yang Tian pushed the window open. The blinding glare met him head-on; he squinted, shielding his eyes with one hand while reaching out the window with the other.
"Yet life never grows gentle because a person is grateful, nor does it turn harsher because of resentment."
Releasing his grip, he watched the little insect fly away into the sunlight.
"Solon, I will live a good life for you."
Whispering these words, Yang Tian patted his own face.
"Alright, alright, the movie is over, life goes on. Cheer up, *ao li gei*, I am the greatest!"
After a dose of mental chicken soup mixed with self-hypnosis, he began to sort out his current situation and standing.
"First thing: I am now Solon, Doglat Solon. I must remember that."
Thanks to the fusion of memories, Yang Tian felt no particular strangeness—a new life, a new name, a fresh start.
"Judging by the clothing of the people in my memories, I seem to have transmigrated to something resembling the Middle Ages?"
"Yet the yellow dress Solon's mother wore in the photograph didn't look like something from the Middle Ages. And there's an old refrigerator and a wok in the kitchen."
Solon looked up at the light bulb hanging overhead, feeling it rather out of place.
"A reclusive personality, parents both dead, no close relatives—this starting hand is a bit wrecked."
"Still, looking at it another way, practically no one can tell I'm not the original owner. Bah, bah, bah—I *am* the original owner."
Then he reflected further: "An orphan of a serviceman, with a regular pension, plus a starter-village elder (Grandpa Roger). It seems my basic livelihood is secure; no real problem there."
As he smoothed out his thoughts, Solon suddenly remembered something.
"Right—the Navy, pirates... Pirates? Holy shit, it wouldn't be the Straw Hat crew, would it?"
The anime scenes from his past-life memories gradually aligned with the scenes in his current memory.
"East Blue, white capes, 'Justice', anachronistic refrigerators, electric lights... Damn it, it matches, it all matches."
Solon's calves trembled slightly, and he sat down on the bed with unsteady steps.
"Finished. I thought this was a relaxing slice-of-life, but it turns out to be a life-or-death survival game."
Thinking of the world-shattering battles in the anime *One Piece* from his past life, his head began to throb.
Next, Solon looked down at his own slender arms and legs, his gaze dimming. His prospects were bleak indeed.
"Still, those top-tier powerhouse figures are few and far on, and high-level battles aren't something one generally encounters. As long as I don't deliberately get involved in those major events, basic problems should be minimal."
"Yet the seas are filled with far more low-to-mid-level pirates, and even an ordinary pirate is not someone the present me can handle," Solon said helplessly.
As an ordinary person who once lived in a peaceful era, killing seemed always to be just a word, or perhaps a news item.
Distant, unfamiliar, and curiosity-inducing, but practically never happening.
Yet now, in this world, that word had drawn much closer.
"How is anyone supposed to live like this?"
As if suddenly remembering something, Solon stood up and began pacing, muttering and rambling.
"System, golden finger, cheat—whatever you've got, just give me one! Amitabha, Bodhisattva save me..."
After a flurry of tossing and turning, upon realizing that only his soul had crossed over and nothing else came with it, the light in Solon's eyes died out completely.
"Without a cheat, how am I supposed to play this? It makes no sense! When other people transmigrate, let's not even talk about systems—aren't those standard equipment? Always coming with a beginner's gift pack, some mysterious reward, or AFK cultivation. When it comes to me, aside from the memories of an unlucky kid, there's nothing?"
"Even a game of League gives you 500 Gold Coins at the start! Damn it, are you kidding me?"
At that moment, Solon felt like dying.
He sat on the bed like someone who had lost his mind, continuously murmuring to himself:
"I'm done, I'm done. Can't play this anymore."
"Just destroy the world already. Hurry up, I'm tired."
"..."
Ten minutes later, Solon went downstairs.
Entering the living room, he saw the bag lying on the floor, hoisted it with one hand onto his shoulder, and walked toward the front door.
Just a moment ago, Solon had recalled a favorite passage from his past:
"In my early youth I knew the world's hardships, yet still I wished a flying swan to soar among the clouds. All the way through biting winds my body drifted like catkins, a solitary traveler tossing in the sea of fate."
He began to ask himself relentlessly:
"Could any suffering surpass that of an Immortal Venerable? Could any hardship be greater than that of a True Person?"
"Before it's even begun, you want to escape and give up? Didn't you just promise to live a good life for that child?"
"Right beside the bed is a bottle of medicine. If there's any unfinished medicine inside, would you really have the courage to drink it?"
"Your stomach just growled—shouldn't you go eat?"
Solon achieved enlightenment.
"Screw it. Ride the donkey and read the script as you go—take it one step at a time. Since I don't have the courage to die anyway, why think so much?"
With that, Solon got to his feet, ready to return to his new home for a meal, as he was indeed rather hungry.
Arriving at the front door, Solon placed his free hand upon it.
He felt both timid and excited.
The world behind the door seemed imbued with mysterious colors, fantastical powers, bizarre races, and unknown dangers.
This extraordinary realm, like an electric shock, stimulated his ordinary and somewhat numb soul.
Solon felt somewhat "high" right then, much like Dio after drinking old Joestar's blood.
With a fanatical gleam in his eyes and a slightly exaggerated expression, he pushed the door open with great excitement, strode outside, and prepared to greet his new life and embrace a new world.
Yet ordinary sunlight, an ordinary street, and—an ordinary pile of dog shit—were what he stepped into.
"Damn it, I just stepped outside."
A silent wail.
Solon, who couldn't even look cool for a single second, was disciplined by life once more.
Quickly dealing with the excrement on his sole, Solon shut the door and walked briskly toward Grandpa Doug's house as remembered in his mind.
The sun was leaning toward the west; it felt almost afternoon.
"I'm starved, I'm starved. I wonder what's for dinner today."
"In my memories, yesterday it was vegetable soup with hard bread. It was a bit awful. The staple food for people on this island turns out to be bread dipped in soup. Damn it, what kind of horse-and-cattle way to eat is that?"
Thinking of this, Solon's face darkened slightly.
"One or two meals would be fine, but eating that every day would honestly cost me my old life."
Lost in thought, he arrived at the doorway before he knew it.
Looking at the half-open door, Solon took a deep breath, pushed it open, and stepped inside.
"I'm back."
Little Irene was by the dining table, arranging flowers.
Hearing Solon's voice, the little girl didn't even put down the Ziluoflower in her hand; instead, she trotted over, looked up at him, and said sweetly:
"Welcome home, Brother Solon."
Looking at Little Irene before him, Solon inexplicably felt his old face flush red.
"Oh my god, is this an angel?"
"She even called me brother! Oh no, oh no, my heart is about to melt. This cuteness is foul play."