Chapter Three: No Refuge in Sight

The next morning, over breakfast, Su Yuan, who was gradually settling into his new reality, decided to speak frankly with the plump woman. He made it clear that he was not her son and that he would soon be leaving to seek his fortune in the wider world. The woman, who had just finished her fourth bowl of rice, picked up a feather duster. In his childhood, Su Yuan had often felt the sting of his mother’s feather duster and his father’s belt; even now, the mere sight of the duster made him tremble involuntarily.

Leaping off the wooden bench, Su Yuan turned and ran. The plump woman hurried after him, but perhaps due to her size, she soon had to stop a short distance from the door, panting heavily. She pointed the feather duster at his retreating figure and shouted, “You little devil! Go ahead and run! If you leave this house, don’t ever come back!”

Because his body was now small, Su Yuan found himself winded after just a few steps. Still, the woman had already been left far behind. With the threat of the feather duster gone, Su Yuan saw no need to keep running. He slowed to a walk and began to take in the details of the village around him. Every household had a wooden gate and mud walls. Though the gates were all made of wood, their size and style revealed the relative prosperity of each family. As he went along, Su Yuan noticed that his own family’s gate was the smallest of all.

Others who crossed into new worlds often found themselves as princes cloistered in palaces or sons of wealthy families dressed in silk and brocade. Why, then, was his own fate so hard? Yet Su Yuan was not overly saddened by his lack of fortune. After all, in the modern world, he had been nothing more than the child of northern farmers.

Sometimes, after a long day at work, he would ride a shared bicycle through the city streets late at night, and a sports car would roar past, a beautiful woman in the passenger seat. At moments like that, Su Yuan would wonder: we are all people—why are our fates so utterly different?

Without realizing it, he had reached the edge of the village. For Su Yuan, who had only just arrived, leaving this place did not feel like abandoning his home. He felt rather like a newly graduated youth, filled with dreams for the future, convinced that fate would not be unjust.

“Little Su Hang, where are you going?” A shrill, piercing voice sounded behind him, sending chills down his spine. An ordinary child might have been frightened away, but this body housed the soul of twenty-six-year-old Su Yuan, and he was not so easily scared.

Turning around, Su Yuan saw an old man, stooped and beardless, with silver hair. Su Yuan pointed to himself in confusion. “Me?” The old man smiled and nodded. “Yes, you!” Su Yuan returned the smile. “Grandpa, I think you’ve got me wrong. My name is Su Yuan—Yuan, as in ‘distant’.”

The old man chuckled. “This child! I heard you fell in the water jar yesterday—seems your head really got filled with water! You’re Su Hang—Hang, as in ‘timber’.” The old man’s expression remained amused.

Su Yuan quickly realized that in this era, even one’s name might be changed. He did not dwell on it; his more pressing concern was to find out which dynasty in China this was. He bowed to the old man. “May I ask, Grandpa, what is the current dynasty?” The old man’s face seemed fixed in a smile, his eyes narrowed, his lips perpetually upturned. “Such a sharp little fellow! You don’t sound like a five-year-old at all! What else could it be? It’s the Southern Dynasty!”

Su Yuan felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. Not because he’d crossed into the Southern Dynasty, but because his knowledge of the Northern and Southern Dynasties was sorely lacking—like facing an exam and finding none of the questions matched what he’d studied.

He knew only that the Northern and Southern Dynasties came after Jin and before Sui, and that the four Southern Dynasties were short-lived. Beyond that, he knew nothing. Whom could he seek out for help? Clearly, diligent study was never a waste. With a sigh, Su Yuan realized that reality had struck him hard before he’d even left the village.

Despite his disappointment, he wanted to clarify more about this era. “Grandpa, may I ask if the imperial surname is Xiao?” The old man burst out laughing. “You silly child! The imperial surname is Su! I warned your mother before: your father’s surname was uncertain. To claim Su as your surname is risky. Thankfully, we live in a remote, poverty-stricken place, far from the authorities. Otherwise, if anyone looked into it, you’d be arrested and beheaded!”

Su Yuan was utterly bewildered. Su? Not in the Southern Dynasties, nor in any history he knew, had there ever been an emperor surnamed Su. He knew of only a few poets with that surname. Sometimes, joking with friends, he’d say, “My surname is Su, like Su Shi!” Su Yuan pressed further: “If there is a Southern Dynasty, is there a Northern Dynasty as well?”

At this, the old man doubled over with laughter. “Our Southern Dynasty has unified the world for years—what Northern Dynasty could there be?”

Only then did Su Yuan understand: this Southern Dynasty was not the one recorded in history at all. It was as if he’d encountered a question on an exam that lay entirely outside the textbook. A wave of disappointment mingled with relief washed over him. With things as they were, where could he possibly go? In the body of a five-year-old, what future could he hope for?