"Patient's heart rate is dropping, prepare to defibrillate!"
"No, his pupils are already dilating…"
"Try again! Increase the current!"
The cacophony in his ears, blurry vision, and the inability to speak—Felix felt that this world was truly messed up.
After giving hope, it suddenly plunged one into despair.
Nearing forty, and finally making a name for himself in the business world, Felix had believed his life was about to take a turn.
Well, it certainly did.
His brand-new car had barely driven a kilometer when it met a runaway truck head-on.
The final outcome, I believe you've already figured out.
Indeed… only the living get to talk!
…"Cough… cough, cough!"
The violent coughing made Felix suddenly curl up, as icy cold air rushed into his lungs, bringing a burning, searing pain.
He struggled to open his eyes; the scene was a bit dim.
After his eyes adjusted to the light, the first thing he saw was a dirty, damp wooden ceiling, covered in cobwebs and mold.
As his senses returned, a foul stench assailed his nostrils.
A mix of rotting matter, excrement, and some kind of cheap alcohol nearly made him pass out again.
"It seems the truck was as effective as hitting the jackpot," Felix muttered to himself, his throat so dry it felt like it would crack.
He struggled to sit up and looked around.
After his eyes adjusted to the dim environment, what greeted him was a narrow, dilapidated attic.
The only window was a broken skylight on the roof, through which a few rays of light penetrated, illuminating the dust in the air.
This environmental shift was truly thorough, worthy of a truck.
"Oh… slowpoke, you're actually not dead?"
A hoarse voice came from the corner.
Felix looked in the direction of the voice; a man in a tattered burlap shirt with a scruffy face was leaning against the wall, holding a dark liquor bottle.
"I thought you wouldn't make it either, but you actually dodged this damned cholera."
The man took another large swig of alcohol, his eyes revealing a sense of numbness.
Cholera?
For Felix, that word only existed in history books and news.
Where did the truck send him?
He looked down at his pale skin and thin limbs, even his clothes were coarse cloth.
Sure enough, it wasn't his body!
His body, after retirement, had been regularly exercised, with well-defined muscles, definitely not this frail appearance.
Subsequently, a flood of confused memories rushed into his mind.
After a long while, Felix came back to his senses.
The original owner of this body was Felix Argyle, a nineteen-year-old Irish immigrant who wasn't very bright and lived in a daze; his parents had both died of cholera two weeks prior.
Not being very intelligent, he inherited the small savings his parents left behind and struggled to survive in New York.
A few days ago, he fell ill after being caught in a winter rain, suffering from a persistent high fever, and then… his soul from the 21st century, for some unknown reason, took over this young body.
Or perhaps this body was originally his, and for some reason, he had been in a daze for nineteen years?
Shaking his head, Felix pushed these thoughts out of his mind; now was not the time to think about such things.
"Excuse me, what year is it… now?"
Felix decided to first figure out what time he had traveled to.
"What year?"
The drunkard seemed to have heard the funniest joke, bursting into laughter.
"Oh… poor boy, it seems your mind is completely broken to ask such a question. It's obviously the 1860th year since the birth of Lord Jesus."
1860!
Felix secretly breathed a sigh of relief; thankfully, it wasn't worse.
Although this era in America wasn't great either, after all, the American Civil War seemed to be about to break out.
However… Felix glanced at his surroundings again, and couldn't help but frown.
New York in 1860, especially the Five Points District in Lower Manhattan where he was currently located, was one of the most notorious slums in the world.
This was a breeding ground for crime, disease, and poverty.
Cholera, tuberculosis, typhoid… any disease that could be treated in later generations was a death sentence here.
"Kid, if you haven't died of illness, go find something to eat."
Seeing Felix acting strangely, the drunkard burped and then ignored him, embracing his bottle and falling into a deep sleep.
It was fine until he mentioned it, but then Felix's stomach started to growl.
Without any self-pity, Felix calmly accepted the fact of his transmigration, even feeling a little happy.
After all, he was just a soul left, and now he had a chance to live another life; who would refuse?
Besides… he's already here, isn't he?
And based on the experience Felix had gleaned from all the novels he'd read, he couldn't say for sure if he was soul transmigration or born anew, because the original owner of this body had always been a bit slow-witted.
Many protagonists in novels are like this, aren't they? After a great calamity, they recall their past life.
Enough, let's not talk about those extraneous topics.
Currently, Felix had only one task: to survive in this chaotic 19th century.
According to his memory, he found a small, cloth-wrapped lump in a hidden side pocket of his underwear.
He opened it and looked; sure enough, it was the one hundred dollars from his memory.
This was Felix Argyle's entire inheritance, and his only capital to survive in this era.
"I must leave here first."
This attic was a huge source of infection; every minute he stayed, the risk of infection increased.
He leaned against the wall and weakly stood up.
Walking to the skylight, he took a deep breath of the relatively fresh air outside.
What his gaze met outside the window were dense and ugly wooden buildings, and narrow, muddy streets.
In the distance, women's screams and men's curses could be heard, mixed with children's cries.
This was the New York slum of 1860, a place filled with endless despair.
"Survive, then get rich."
Felix silently encouraged himself, his eyes gradually becoming firm.
He knew the general direction of American history, knew how the impending American Civil War would tear the country apart, and also knew what vast wealth opportunities the war would create.
He also understood basic scientific principles, knew the importance of hygiene, and even remembered some key technological inventions.
This knowledge, spanning over a hundred years, was a gold mine in this era.
"A hundred dollars, though relatively little for one wishing to start a business."
Felix murmured, a smile playing on his lips.
"But for me, it's enough for now."
Tightly securing the money on his person, Felix pushed open the creaking attic door and stepped down the shaky stairs one by one.
The first thing he had to do was to leave here, eat some clean food, and drink a cup of clean hot water.
Then, make money!
Felix leaned against the grimy wall, carefully making his way down.
The drunk in the attic seemed to be asleep, but in this lawless land, any carelessness could be fatal.
The dollars in his pocket was enough to make many people kill.
After leaving the dilapidated building, a stronger stench assailed him.
The street was so narrow that only one carriage could pass, and the sides were piled high with garbage, animal entrails, and human excrement.
Black mud squelched underfoot, and several large rats scurried past him, oblivious to his presence, disappearing into the heaps of trash.
This was the real Five Points, a paradise of crime and a hell of civilization.
Felix subconsciously covered his nose and mouth, his brows tightly furrowed.
In this filthy environment, cholera vibrio lurked in every drop of sewage and every piece of garbage.
He had to leave here as soon as possible.
"Hey, kid, new here?"
A hoarse voice came from a nearby alley.
Felix Argyle caught a glimpse of two men out of the corner of his eye; they leaned against the wall, their gazes like vultures, scanning passersby, searching for seemingly weak and vulnerable prey.
Clearly, Felix Argyle, pale and just recovering from a serious illness, perfectly fit their criteria.
Felix Argyle didn't stop, nor did he turn to look at them, uttering two words in a calm, almost indifferent tone.
"Get lost."
The voice wasn't loud, but it made the two ruffians pause.
They were accustomed to the fear and retreat of newcomers and had not expected such a reaction.
"What say ye, accursed Irish bastard!"
One of the men felt offended and, enraged, straightened up from the wall.
Felix Argyle finally stopped and slowly turned around.
There was no fear in his eyes, only a cold gaze that swept over the two men.
He had noticed long ago that they were unsteady on their feet, their eyes unfocused, and he could smell the cheap liquor on them from afar.
Clearly, these were typical street thugs, blustering but cowardly.
"Get lost, or I promise you won't see tomorrow's sun."
He wasn't bluffing.
In his previous life, to secure a contract for an African mine, he had spent a month in a war-torn region, surrounded by heavily armed mercenaries.
He had even personally wielded a gun in counterattacks and seen blood.
That kind of aura, honed on the edge of life and death, was not something two street drunks could compare to.
The two men were intimidated by his cold gaze.
Both felt a dangerous aura emanating from Felix Argyle that belied his slender appearance, similar to the real gangsters in the district—something only those who had truly seen blood possessed.
"Damn it, let's go."
The leader muttered a curse and pulled his companion back into the alley.
After all, they were just petty thugs, not desperadoes; there was no need to provoke someone like that.
Although the crisis was resolved, Felix felt no relief.
Because he knew this was just the beginning.
In this land, kindness and weakness could be considered synonyms, both leading to the same outcome.
That was to be bullied to death.
Felix quickened his pace, heading towards the Bowery District, which was relatively prosperous and safe in his memory.
He needed to find a cheap but clean place to stay, and most importantly, a fireplace where he could boil water.
Boiling water, in this era, was the cheapest and most effective disinfectant.
After passing through a few chaotic streets, the stench in the air gradually lessened, and the surrounding buildings became slightly more orderly.
Although the clothes of the pedestrians on the street were still ordinary, they were at least much cleaner.
This was the Bowery District, the entertainment hub of New York's lower class; though it was also filled with cheats, thieves, and prostitutes, there was at least a basic sense of order.
Felix walked into a small tavern that looked relatively decent.
The tavern was smoky, several sailors were loudly playing drinking games, and a gaudily dressed woman was flirting with a customer in the corner.
Felix walked up to the bar and spoke to the burly bartender, placing a 1-cent coin on the oak bar.
"A glass of clean water, freshly boiled."
The bartender glanced at him, then at the coin, and impatiently poured a glass of water from a steaming kettle in the back kitchen, placing it heavily in front of him.
Felix didn't drink immediately but waited for the scalding glass to cool slightly.
He carefully observed the water, found it very clear, and smelled no odd odor before taking small sips.
The warm water flowing down his parched throat made him feel as if he had come back to life.
After finishing the water, Felix started a conversation, pushing over another 5 cents.
"Hey... buddy, do you know where there's a cheap, clean basement for rent nearby?"
Information had a price, and spending a little money often saved a lot of trouble.
Seeing the coin, the bartender's expression softened considerably.
He pocketed the money and wiped the bar with a greasy rag.
"Just call me John. Walk two blocks east, there's a widow named Mrs. Hudson; her basement seems to be empty. But that old woman has a strange temper, and her asking price isn't low."
"Okay, thank you, John!"
After finding his target, Felix turned and left the tavern.
He needed a permanent base.
An independent basement would ensure privacy and also facilitate him setting up a simple laboratory and workshop.
Following the bartender's directions, Felix quickly found Mrs. Hudson's house.
It was a two-story brick and wood structure, much tidier than the surrounding houses.
He knocked on the door, and it was opened by a thin, stern-faced white old woman in her fifties.
She held a rattan cane used for beating carpets and eyed Felix Argyle warily, scrutinizing him from head to toe.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Mrs. Hudson's voice was as rigid as her expression.
Felix took off his hat and bowed slightly, trying to appear well-mannered.
"Good day, madam, I am Felix Argyle. I heard from John at the tavern that you have a basement for rent?"
"My basement isn't for rent to drunks and hooligans."
Mrs. Hudson's gaze lingered on Felix's old clothes for a moment, a hint of disdain in her tone.
"Then I fit perfectly. I neither drink excessively nor cause trouble. I just need a quiet place to do a small business."
Felix looked at her frankly, responding neither servilely nor arrogantly.
He knew that dealing with this kind of lower-class, respectable person with some assets and a high opinion of herself, excessive humility would only make her look down on him.
Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow, asking with some surprise, "What kind of business?"
"Food processing," Felix opened up, describing it with a mix of truth and fabrication.
"War might be coming, madam, and soldiers will need food that lasts longer and tastes better. This is a promising industry."
He deliberately mentioned war and prospects, successfully attracting Mrs. Hudson's attention with these words.
Although she was a widow, she knew what war meant.
"Come in." She stepped aside, letting Felix enter the house.
The house was very clean, emitting a scent of soap and lemon.
Felix Argyle nodded silently; this indicated that the landlady was a clean person, and the basement's hygiene should not be too bad.
The entrance to the basement was in the kitchen.
Mrs. Hudson lit an oil lamp and led Felix downstairs.
The basement was not large, but it was very dry, with stone walls, a small fireplace with a chimney, and a small back window.
Most importantly, it was very clean, with no signs of rats or cockroaches.
"The rent is 2 dollars a week, one month must be paid in advance, and no bringing people back indiscriminately."
Mrs. Hudson laid out her conditions.
2 dollars a week, which was 8 dollars a month, a considerable expense for an ordinary worker.
But for Felix , this price was completely acceptable.
"Deal, madam."
Felix didn't bargain, straightforwardly taking out 8 dollars from his pocket and handing it over.
"This is the first month's rent."
Seeing Felix pay so readily, Mrs. Hudson's expression softened somewhat.
She took the money and handed Felix a key.
"Remember my rules, young man."
She gave one last admonition and then turned and left.
Felix let out a long sigh of relief.
He placed the oil lamp on the fireplace, looking around his small space. From today on, this would be his starting point.
He still had 90 dollars on him.
These 90 dollars would be his lever to move an era.
Felix sat on the cold stone steps, his eyes gleaming with the light of ambition.
"Next, it's time to let the people of this era see what industrial revolution truly means."