Outside the inn, a noisy crowd had gathered to watch the place surrounded by government soldiers. Word had already spread that someone was killed, and the onlookers whispered among themselves. Curiosity is perhaps a universal human trait—everyone wanted to see what the corpse looked like.
At the moment, however, the crowd was far more interested in the man who had suddenly dropped out of the sky into the high-ranking officer’s arms. He looked utterly strange: short hair, bizarre clothing, and pale skin. Someone muttered under their breath, "Is he a monk?"
Yang Xuanse pushed through the pain, trying to negotiate with the guy who was still holding him in a princess carry. "Bro, isn't this position a bit... improper?"
Before the words fully left his mouth, a head wearing an official's hat popped out from a window above the inn and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Your Highness! He jumped straight out of the crime scene! There's a corpse in the room!"
"Wait, no—!"
Yang Xuanse tried to explain, but with a sudden clack, the noble-looking guy tossed him straight onto the ground. For a second, Yang Xuanse felt like all the air had been knocked out of him.
He couldn't breathe a single gulp of air—not from the pain, but because his lungs genuinely locked up.
Perhaps only people falling from great heights experience this kind of near-death sensation: the noise around him instantly blurred into a muffled haze, his mind slowed down to a crawl, and though his mouth was wide open, no air would enter.
It took a good while before he could even register what was happening. In a daze, he was yanked up by soldiers armed with long spears. His hands were forced behind his back at an agonizing, contorted angle, and he was forced onto his knees. Two spear shafts pressed hard into the back of his knees, while four more bore down ruthlessly on his back and hands.
The sheer pain forced a blood-curdling scream out of him: "Aaagh—!"
Pinned flat to the dirt moments ago, his forced transition into a kneeling, bent-over posture left him with no choice but to stare at the sea of boots around him. Standing right at the front was the man who had just caught him. The boots on his feet were even delicately embroidered with cloud patterns in gold thread.
Before Yang Xuanse could regain his senses to offer an explanation, the golden-embroidered boots shifted.
"Keep him restrained for now," a voice commanded. "Investigate the scene first. Also, send a coroner up to check the room."
The voice was low, deep, and pleasing to the ear. Even with his dulled mind, Yang Xuanse couldn't help but think one thing—what an expensive voice. A rare imperial tone.
Even if he lacked real-life experience with time travel, Yang Xuanse had read enough web novels to know the rules: once you land in ancient times, never act like those arrogant Mary Sues or Gary Stus who stand out right off the bat. Doing so was a guaranteed speedrun to an early grave.
In a strictly hierarchical feudal society, the ruling class held absolute power over life and death. Yang Xuanse grit his teeth and bore the pain, not daring to twitch a muscle for fear that the soldiers behind him would run him through with a spear.
This posture was pure agony. He wasn't fully kneeling, nor could he straighten his back; his spine had to bear the full strain of holding himself up. As a frail college student, Yang Xuanse couldn't hold out for long and kept sinking downward.
However, the soldiers employed professional techniques used for restraining prisoners. They neither gave him any leverage to hang his weight on nor allowed him to collapse entirely onto the ground.
Yang Xuanse whimpered weakly, "Officers... can't I just lie on the ground, please? This is so exhausting..."
Nobody answered him. It was not only awkward, but a cold shoulder of the highest degree.
After what felt like an eternity—long enough for tears to squeeze out of his eyes from the pain—movement finally echoed from inside the inn. The man who looked expensive from head to toe strolled out and stood before Yang Xuanse, ordering the guards to lift him up slightly.
In his hand, the man held a blood-stained towel wrapping a short dagger. He asked coolly, "Did you kill him?"
Yang Xuanse shook his head frantically. "No, no, no! I didn't kill anyone—!"
"Then explain how you managed to appear inside a sealed guest room," the man interrupted, his eyes fixed on him.
"..."
Yang Xuanse was struck speechless. Did ancient people even have a concept of time travel? He didn't even know how he had traveled through time himself; how on earth could he explain it clearly to someone else?
The man gave him plenty of time to think. Watching Yang Xuanse's expression shift from panic, panic-driven chaos, and inner conflict to sheer, dead silence, the man gave a subtle nod. "Mhm. It seems you can't explain it either. Very well. You can save the rest for the Dali prison."
With that, he turned on his heel to leave.
The moment the words "Dali prison" hit Yang Xuanse's ears, his mind instantly recalled the brutal, horrifying tortures inflicted on villains in the mystery novels he used to read.
As a reader, reading about those tortures felt satisfying, but he had zero desire to play the villain and experience them firsthand!
Desperately, Yang Xuanse blurted out, "I really am not the killer! If I were, would I be stupid enough to lock myself inside the room? Or rather, if I were the murderer and the window was the only exit, would I really need to jump out? Wouldn't the best way to clear myself of suspicion be to stab myself with a blade and play the second victim?!"
The moment these words were uttered, the surrounding soldiers looked visibly shocked. Clearly, none of them had ever considered such a possibility.
The man paused and tilted his head slightly, re-evaluating Yang Xuanse. He seemed genuinely surprised that this guy could actually produce a plausible defense. Yet, he let out a soft, amused chortle. "From the moment we met until now, you've done nothing but complain about being tired, scream about pain, and shed tears. That proves one thing: you wouldn't dare. Take him away."
Yang Xuanse was completely dumbfounded. He had never heard such a wildly unconventional piece of logic in his life. Before he could even snap out of his stupor, the guards grabbed him by his arms and hoisted him up, carrying him away like a pig on a spit.
As they dragged him past the man, Yang Xuanse thrashing madly. "No, no, wait—! That's not right! If I don't have the guts to hurt myself, that means I'm even less likely to hurt someone else! Have you never heard of the three elements of criminal psychology—aagh?!"
This time, no one paid him any mind. He was dragged off just like that. Yang Xuanse tried to yell more arguments to prove his innocence, but someone crammed a towel into his mouth—and a foul-smelling one at that.
Outside, the inn had been completely cordoned off by government forces. The guard whose shouted warning had led to Yang Xuanse's capture stepped up to the noble man and bowed respectfully.
"Your Highness, this man speaks with a strange accent and dresses oddly. The things he says are completely incomprehensible. what was that 'three' something? Could he be a lunatic?"
The man cast a sideways glance at him. "Once he enters the Dali prison, lunatic or not, he will spill everything he knows. Keep him locked up for now. Send someone to investigate the victim's identity, and notify the family to claim the body."
On the other side of town, Yang Xuanse was thrown into the prison of the Dali like a slaughtered chicken. To be honest, the cell was far smaller than anything depicted in TV dramas or novels.
He couldn't even stand up straight, and the environment felt unbearably oppressive. The guards slapped heavy shackles on him and confiscated everything in his pockets.
Guys rarely carried bags when going out, and Yang Xuanse was particularly lazy, having shoved all his heavy belongings into his roommate's backpack.
He only had his phone, a key ring, a pack of tissues, half a bottle of a drink, a web novel co-branded notebook, and a vintage fountain pen. Now, every single item had been looted. Yang Xuanse's heart bled, terrified that his limited-edition merch would get ruined.
He watched helplessly with wide eyes as the guards tossed his things into a wooden chest, logged them, and locked it up. Tears welled up in his eyes. "My co-branded merch... If I knew I was gonna end up here, I never would've brought them!"
Co-branded merch was expensive to begin with. He had only brought his favorite pieces along because he thought it would be fun to carry them to the immersive escape room event.
Being broke, he could only afford a couple of items. He had justified the purchase thinking they were practical, even if they were a bit pricey...
He brought them to take cool photos, but now? No photos, and his stuff was confiscated.
Angrily, Yang Xuanse slumped against the wall and kicked at a rat scuttling across the floor. "Eat, eat, eat, that's all you know how to do! Why don't you eat through the wall instead so I can get out? Going from a detective novel to The Shawshank Redemption—this isn't how it's supposed to work!"
The rat: Bro, excuse me???
The poor little creature decided to turn around and continue nibbling elsewhere. Even though it had just been kicked, it was willing to forgive the giant food-provider.
After fuming for a while, Yang Xuanse felt uncomfortable sitting and wanted to find a clean spot to lie down, only to realize what the rat was actually eating... was a human finger.
A literal human finger.
Yang Xuanse dropped to his knees on the spot. "I'm sorry, Rat Bro! I didn't mean to kick you! Please don't eat me... I apologize..."
He was so deeply immersed in his self-entertainment that he failed to notice the outer heavy doors opening again. The head jailer rushed over and bowed low to the newcomer. "Crown Prince..."
"How did he react after being locked in?" the Crown Prince asked.
The head jailer recalled the scene and reported, "He cried, threw a fit over us taking his belongings, and... talked to a rat."
The expressions of both the Crown Prince and his attendant went completely blank for a second. Clearly, such behavior only solidified their belief that Yang Xuanse was completely out of his mind. Who else but a lunatic would converse with a rodent?
Regaining his composure quickly, the Crown Prince said in a deep voice, "Bring his belongings to the interrogation room. And bring him over as well."
The newly locked chest was unlocked, and its contents were laid out on the main desk. The Crown Prince took the head seat, scanning the items inside. Every single object lay beyond his realm of comprehension—including the paper.
He pulled out a sheet of tissue paper, flattened it on the desk, and picked up a calligraphy brush, intending to write something on it. However, he quickly discovered how terribly soft the paper was, absorbing the ink like a sponge and bleeding instantly. A look of deep disgust washed over his face. "What kind of paper is this? Even the coarse paper used by commoners is sturdier than this trash."
Setting it aside, he picked up the notebook. This, at least, he could recognize as a book. The paper felt remarkably fine and smooth. Most notably, it was filled with neat, beautiful handwriting, though many of the characters were unfamiliar to him—almost as if they were simplified versions of real characters.
Meanwhile, Yang Xuanse was still trying to negotiate with Rat Bro, pleading with it not to nibble on him if he fell asleep tonight. Before they could reach an agreement, the cell door was abruptly swung open. A group of guards hoisted him up again, dragging him toward the interrogation room.
Even though the room wasn't filled with terrifying torture devices, the grim atmosphere was still a massive psychological shock to a modern person.
Yang Xuanse desperately wanted to refuse entry, but the guards forcibly shoved him right in front of the main desk.
He collapsed onto the floor with a loud thud, only to be yanked up again by the guards to force him into a kneeling position.
After being dragged and battered along the way, Yang Xuanse felt certain his body was covered in black-and-blue bruises. He looked up tearfully, ready to scream "I'm innocent!" just like characters in historical dramas did. But then, his eyes caught sight of his co-branded notebook spread open on the desk—and the expensive-looking man holding an ink-filled brush, about to write directly on it.
Yang Xuanse instantly let out a high-pitched, ear-splitting shriek. He hadn't even been this hysterical when he was arrested!
"AAAGH—! No, no, no! You can't! STOP RIGHT THERE!"
Before he could finish his scream, a cold blade was suddenly pressed against his neck. Like a squeezed rubber chicken getting its neck choked, his voice cut off instantly.
The man didn't react at all. With absolute calm, he wrote on the blank page of the notebook:
"Summer, 29th day of the 5th Month, 34th Year of the Yongrui Reign, Great Yu Dynasty. Recorded at the Hour of the Snake."
This was Yang Xuanse’s very first day in this era. Someone had recorded the precise moment of his arrival.
From this day forward, his life story would be penned by a single man.
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