Nobita's Time Heist

Even more critically, Wang Mang channeled all his pent-up energy into these matters. He not only changed the name of the Xiongnu, but also changed Goguryeo to Lower Goguryeo, and changed all of the more than one hundred kings enfeoffed by the Han Dynasty to marquises.

With his exceptional experience, he quickly alienated all the previously amicable vassal states. In fact, Wuzhuliu was merely the first to rebel. Although he had few supporters within the Xiongnu themselves, if the scope were expanded to a wider territory, many had already responded to him and joined the rebellion. Their individual strengths may have been weak, but their combined numbers gradually formed a force to be reckoned with.

Under Wang Mang's irresponsible collapse therapy, this clearly nascent dynasty actually began to show signs of impending doom, as one would expect at the end of a dynasty.

This large ship, which has been continuously repaired and patched since the Han Dynasty, is about to sail into the dark and turbulent sea.

Chapter 223: Famine in a Great Year, People Eat Each Other

The cawing of crows circled over the village, giving Huang Amao a bad feeling.

He himself found it strange that when the pink wooden door opened, it didn't take him home, but instead led him to a mountain path some distance from the village. Living in the village, he had gone up the mountain every day to collect medicinal herbs, so he knew this path intimately. Even though it was now dark, with only the weak moonlight illuminating the earth, he could still find his way back to the village.

According to Da Xiong, this door would take him to the place he desired, and as long as the destination was right, even the ends of the earth would seem close at hand. It was thanks to this door that the group was able to travel without hindrance from Tongxin Village to Chang'an, and then from Chang'an to the northern border, making them far more flexible and mobile than the 300,000-strong army.

But... as he walked along the familiar path, feeling the unusual silence in the mountains, Huang Amao understood.

He is afraid.

"No, it's alright... In this remote village deep in the mountains, no outsiders will come in for ten years." Huang Amao comforted himself while absentmindedly kicking pebbles. "Besides, the village doesn't need much money. If we avoid large transactions, the impact should be less, right? In the end, there's nothing of value to plunder in Tongxin Village."

"It must be because it's so late. Everyone's probably sleeping at home. They're not like the noble gentlemen of Chang'an who have so many activities to do at night. The New Year holidays have just passed, and spring plowing is about to begin. Things will get busy soon, so it's understandable that they want to rest early... Yes..."

Hidden among the trees, the mountain path ended, and the village before them was eerily quiet. A few well-off families in the village raised chickens, and to protect them from medium-sized predators in the mountains, they also kept guard dogs. But now, the village was so quiet that not even a bark could be heard. It was only dusk, yet not a single wisp of smoke rose from any of the chimneys. A oppressive grayness spread out in the air, like a gaping maw, swallowing the small village nestled in the mountains into silence.

In his extreme anxiety, Huang Amao had no time to comfort himself. He quickened his pace, leaping over the bushes in a few quick steps and rushing down the path. The first thing that came into view made his pupils dilate instantly, and he gasped.

The once pristine farmland was now a mess, like a birthday cake that had been played with by a mischievous child, cut into pieces here and there, with only a few square outlines still vaguely discernible. However, this farmland was originally irregular, and in an attempt to divide it into perfect nine equal parts, they crudely added in areas where nothing could grow. Even so, it was only barely passable.

But it doesn't matter anymore.

The land was abandoned, nothing was planted there, only vigorous wild grasses, which, without the need for farmers to tend to them, still stubbornly grew in the cracks of the soil. They had grown to ankle height, and at first glance, they looked like overgrown weeds on a desolate grave.

"Aru?! Aru!"

He practically sprinted, panting heavily. As he ran, the houses seemed like silent giants, standing still, coldly watching him. His shoes crunched underfoot, the ground uneven, as if he were stepping on something brittle. He'd never felt this way before in the village, but in this situation, he didn't care what he was stepping on; he rushed to the familiar yet unfamiliar house.

No one responded to him.

The room was eerily quiet. I tried to push the door open, but it was as if something was blocking it, and I couldn't open it easily.

Anxiety surged through Huang Amao's veins, and he couldn't care less about anything else. He began frantically banging on the door. The banging echoed through the quiet village, but no one came out to check. In this desolate world, Huang Amao felt inexplicably abandoned, as if he had entered a place that resembled his hometown, yet was completely different. The feeling of anxiety didn't improve at all; instead, it rose to his throat. He went from knocking to pounding, from pounding to smashing, and finally, he used all his weight to kick the old wooden door hard.

"Aru! Open the door!"

"Aru??"

"Aru————!!!"

……

"boom!"

"boom!"

"boom!"

Smoke and dust billowed up.

Every door was tightly shut, and in the silence, Huang Amao's knocking grew more and more urgent. Finally, she used her strength to kick the door open, and the force of the impact caused her to fall to the ground with a thud. But she didn't even have time to cry out in pain; she scrambled into her room.

The furnishings and layout remained unchanged, almost the same as before. The only wooden table was still there, though it seemed to have some scratches on its surface.

He didn't call out loudly anymore—if Aru was really inside, there was no reason for her not to open the door. Subconsciously, he had already prepared himself for the worst.

"Gudu..."

Swallowing hard, Huang Amao slowly straightened up, supporting himself on his knees, and let out a long breath. Even though no one was urging him, he felt as if something was blocking his heart. The room wasn't that big, and he quickly searched every nook and cranny, but still couldn't find anyone.

Apart from……

"No, no, no, no matter what, it shouldn't be that bad..."

……

In his room, he has endless time to convince himself, but what's the point?

Huang Amao's expression froze. He slowly turned his head to look at the stove in the house—the stove that should have added warmth and life to the home, but now it was cold and dark. With each step he took, his legs felt incredibly heavy, as if he were about to exhaust all the courage he had accumulated.

"Squeak-"

The half-open door was slowly pushed open, revealing a cold interior with no signs of having been lit.

An ominous premonition reached its peak at this moment. He tentatively opened the pot lid and found something inside. He picked up a long spoon and stirred it a couple of times in the pot, which was almost leaking out of the bottom. It made a crisp, crackling sound, and judging from the sound, it must have been some kind of hard object.

After pulling it out of the water, Huang Amao was finally able to see it clearly by the faint moonlight.

What was being cooked in the pot… or rather, what had been cooked in the pot before, was a human hand. This finger bone lay quietly in his hand, radiating a despairing, deathly white, telling a story that sent chills down one's spine.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

“When hunger reaches a certain level, people are capable of anything. Eating dirt and grass is merely to prevent stomach acid from corroding the stomach.” Asur’s voice echoed in his mind. “In my opinion, the next step…”

"They're probably going to eat people."

……

……

……

“——————!!!”

He distinctly felt himself scream, but his ears were filled with ringing, and he couldn't even hear his own voice. The white finger bone, like a snake, bit him hard, sending him staggering back several steps until he crashed into the wall and fell to the ground with a thud. The worst part was that even now, no one came to check on them. He felt his blood rushing to his head, and as the ringing subsided, he finally heard the hoarse scream that had escaped his throat.

"Om——"

His temples throbbed, and suddenly everything went black. Huang Amao silently slid to the ground and fainted.

Chapter 224: In Hell

He returned in the middle of the night, and when he slowly woke up, it was already dawn. The first rays of sunlight pierced the horizon, shining through the cracks in the wall and onto his face, forcibly waking him. For a moment, seeing the familiar roof and ground, Huang Amao thought he was having a nightmare that had lasted for months.

Without a new dynasty and without a plethora of dazzling new policies, the Xiongnu remained obediently hidden north of the Great Wall, their days long and leisurely. In short… Wang Mang's usurpation of the throne was like an unreal dream. It seemed wonderful on the surface, but once you actually stepped into that realm, you witnessed firsthand the cruelty behind the dream.

"Aru?"

The room was cold and empty; no one answered him.

Last night's memories, once hazy, became clearer. Huang Amao sat there blankly, as if his soul had left his body. The chair was right in front of him, but he didn't even have the strength to pull it over, and simply sat down on the ground. Suppression and pain were stuck in his throat, and he wanted to shout at any moment, but his lips seemed to be welded shut, and he couldn't open them no matter what he did.

"Gu..."

It wasn't until his stomach growled that he realized he hadn't eaten anything all night. He instinctively stood up, intending to walk towards the stove, but the moment his eyes fell on the pot, he let out a piercing scream.

As if bitten by a ferocious beast, Huang Amao turned and ran without hesitation—he had cooked countless meals in that pot, yet now he was utterly terrified of that deep black liquid. He was afraid that in broad daylight, the moment he lifted the lid, he would see with his own eyes what was inside. Then, he would have no excuse left.

"Ha ha……"

He didn't know where to run; his feet seemed to have a mind of their own, constantly moving. Many things sifted through his mind, but nothing remained. He ran wildly, the village houses flashing past his eyes.

He ran, ran, running without stopping, running without considering his own physical limitations. Strangely enough, only at times like this did his body seem oblivious to fatigue. His mind kept sending out the command to "run," until finally, at a certain moment, he exceeded the limits his legs could withstand. Suddenly, the uneven ground cracked, and his ankle felt like it had been bitten by a snake. He lost his balance and fell heavily to the ground, a sharp object hitting his face.

Warm blood gushed out, and Huang Amao instinctively blew his nose, wiping the blood from his hands. It must have been a cut on his brow bone; upon closer inspection, it was a broken seashell, its edges remarkably sharp. Huang Amao froze, turning back in disbelief, only to see the road littered with tiny seashells, tortoise shells, and copper coins! They seemed to bear witness to something, scattered on the ground, receiving no treatment befitting currency.

"Ah...Eh..."

These things made his heart clench quickly, and he let out a slightly delayed breath. Now, no matter how much he wanted to escape reality, it was impossible.

They came, looting the original fields, currency, and villagers, leaving nothing behind. Perhaps they were bandits and thieves who rose up everywhere, or perhaps they were imperial troops relying on the emperor's power... In short, this world, like a gluttonous old man who devours people without spitting out the bones, emptied this small village completely, leaving behind a pile of inedible scraps at the bottom of the pot!

In just a few months, this simple young man, who originally made a living by gathering herbs in the mountains, experienced a dreamlike existence. He witnessed firsthand the lives of the highest levels of government in the country, saw the emperor who was once revered as a saint by the people, and witnessed how he had brought hell to the world in an extremely short period of time.

……

"Don't you know? Wang Mang is a renowned good man! He's far, far better than that wicked Liu family emperor. As long as he's around, he can definitely turn this world around!"

The words spoken months ago, like a boomerang, pierced his brow once more. Huang Amao felt utterly bewildered, as if it were all unreal. Looking up, he saw the building in front of him, blackened by fire. From the scattered ancestral tablets, he could vaguely discern that this had once been the ancestral hall of Tongxin Village. What was once the best house in the village was now nothing more than a pile of ashes.

"Why...why did it turn out like this..."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"Snapped!"

Was it fate, or just a coincidence?

Something happened to fall at Huang Amao's feet. Looking in the direction of the sound, he saw a long-dried bird's nest, reinforced with twigs and pebbles. Huang Amao paused for a moment, then something came to his mind. He walked over and turned the nest over. The egg white gushing out gave him a premonition of what he was about to see.

It was impossible to tell what kind of bird laid the eggs, but they were all broken.

This little house, which should have been nurturing new life, has now become the culprit that destroyed them. Before they could bask in the spring sunshine and spread their wings to fly, these birds that should have been born died, perished in this unusually cold winter.

Interestingly, Huang Amao witnessed this silent murder. His thoughts suddenly drifted far, far away, and amidst the vast sea of ​​memories, he instantly grasped those eight words.

Under the covering of the nest, how can there be no eggs.

When the whole world becomes the murderer, no matter how tall the tree is, it cannot protect them.

"Ha...haha...hahahahahaha! Ahahahahahahaha—!!"

Intense emotions overwhelmed his mind. He didn't know why he was laughing; he just felt that if he didn't laugh, his chest would burst. So he laughed loudly and forcefully, as if he wanted to squander all the laughter he had ever experienced in his long life in this one moment.

"So that's how it is! So that's what it means... Ha, ha ha ha ha, aha ha ha ha! From the moment everyone pushed him onto the throne, it was all destined... Now, all of this... is the retribution we must bear..."

Suddenly, a surge of strength burst forth from his weary body, and Huang Amao rushed into the abandoned ancestral hall, frantically rummaging through the ruins, constantly moving aside the charred black stones and wood. He worked with utmost seriousness and dedication, as if he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life on this task. Sharp stones and splinters of wood cut his hands, and blood flowed out, but he seemed oblivious, letting the blood drip into the gray crevices, still searching with unwavering focus.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

……

Finally, their persistent efforts paid off. A crackling sound came from the pile of rocks as dark yellow roots pushed aside the broken wood and stones pressing down on them, growing out and slowly spreading towards Huang Amao. The dripping blood awakened it, and this familiar tendril snaked its way over, growing vertically like the tongue of a carnivore, gently licking Huang Amao's hand.

"what?!"

Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the roots with his backhand, gritted his teeth, and pulled with all his might, uprooting the ghost ginseng from the ground. Whether it was a stroke of good fortune or a premonition... back then, in the ancestral hall's underground, when Da Xiong had the boy use fire to destroy these ghost ginsengs, he didn't exterminate them all, but secretly left one alive.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

That day. That night. The man he knew best for the past ten years looked into his eyes with utmost seriousness before he breathed his last, and gave him these words of advice.

"Ah Mao... remember this, these things will come in handy sooner or later... the world is about to descend into chaos..."

"Under the collapsed nest..."

"How can any egg remain intact?"

……

By then, Liu Ran's voice was already very soft, so soft it was almost an illusion. After saying those words, his pupils dilated, and he stopped breathing.

Somehow, when Huang Amao met those unfocused eyes, he seemed to suddenly understand him.

He didn't know why, but he did it.

Those were Master's last words.

Chapter 225: The sun is so red, why is it still so cold?

"Is that a ghost ginseng?" A rough voice, like a whetstone, suddenly came from behind, carrying a deathly calmness. "I've never seen such a large ghost ginseng before. The feng shui here is really good. Nestled against the mountain and beside the water, surrounded by yin energy, it's very suitable for raising these things."

"..."

Mechanically turning his head, he saw a man dressed in a yellow robe, resembling a Taoist priest, about thirty or forty years old, in his prime, with a strange expression. He seemed to be smiling, but if you got closer, you would find that his gaze passed straight through you, looking into the void behind you.

“We’ve met before, remember? I was by Wang Mang’s side when he hosted a banquet for the Empress Dowager at Weiyang Palace.”

Is that right?

It seems that among the ministers attending the banquet, there was indeed such an unidentified figure.

Why did he leave Chang'an? And why did he specifically come to this small mountain village to talk to an unknown nobody like himself? Huang Amao no longer had time to think about these questions. He only felt a dull ache in his head, much like the reaction when he had a fever earlier. Thinking about complicated things made him feel very tired. At this moment, he only wanted to pour out all his thoughts and feelings at once.

"It hurts a lot," he said meaningfully, then laughed, "This isn't food for the living. If you eat it without any processing... your body will be torn apart alive."

Hearing this, Huang Amao's eyes regained a little luster. "Will I die immediately?"

"No, you will be reborn in a different, powerful form." The yellow-robed Taoist suddenly burst into laughter, looking Huang Amao up and down, as if a tutor had seen a student produce an outstanding graduation project and smacked his lips in satisfaction. "Just like a lotus growing from mud, or gold being refined in flames, this meaningless, weak, and powerless body that can only be exploited by those above... is no longer needed."

"You will become even greater, and all the people in this world will look up to you. You will lift your foot and crush them as easily as crushing a swarm of ants that have offended you."

His words were difficult to understand and strange, just like Da Xiong and the others, giving Huang Amao a strange sense of unfamiliarity.

However, at this point... he didn't care anymore.