When Cheng Jinzhou first arrived in this world, he spent countless hours studying the mysterious ring from his sickbed. Unfortunately, whether he tried storing items inside it or conjuring gold and silver treasures, he never succeeded—much like his graduate research project.
With a heart long accustomed to disappointment, Cheng Jinzhou had always called his repeated failures "perseverance in research." So when he finally achieved a breakthrough, he was stunned into silence.
A book materialized in the void, as tangible as if it were real. With a mix of excitement and trepidation, Cheng Jinzhou gingerly flipped it open to reveal the cover—a glossy, eye-catching image of a voluptuous woman, her skin radiant, with the ornate English script "Playboy" emblazoned above her.
"Playboy?" Cheng Jinzhou nearly blurted out loud.
Flipping further, he was met with page after page of nude models, their curves and allure on full display. High-definition photographs, interviews, and tantalizing captions—it was enough to stir any man's desires.
In his old world, he would have gladly traded two drawers' worth of novels for an American edition of Playboy. But now, he could only laugh bitterly at the absurdity.
Cautiously, he glanced up at the elderly tutor, who merely gave him a sidelong glance before resuming his rhythmic head-bobbing—clearly oblivious to the anomaly on Cheng Jinzhou's finger.
The young scholar exhaled in relief before whispering to the ring, "Even a basic chemistry textbook would be better than this."
His lips barely moved, his eyes pleading.
The mist within the ring remained unchanged. So did the Playboy.
In a coaxing tone, he tried again, "How about we switch to something else?"
Still, the mist swirled, the magazine stubbornly in place.
A man starved for stimulation, Cheng Jinzhou swallowed hard, torn between temptation and frustration. With renewed determination, he muttered, "Ring, change!"
The mist persisted. The Playboy stayed.
...
Even the longest lessons eventually end. As the tutor's figure disappeared beyond the doorway, the classroom erupted into chaos. The more impatient children snatched up their satchels and bolted, while the calmer ones exchanged hushed gossip, glancing around furtively.
Cheng Jinzhou stood, feeling both familiar and foreign in this space. It was only his third day at the private school, yet his mood was entirely different.
Before, he had been lost in fear and confusion. Now, at least, there was a glimmer of hope. In this backward yet fantastical world, even a Playboy magazine could spark optimism—especially since the Cheng family held considerable influence and lived comfortably.
With a self-satisfied smirk, he casually tucked the Three Character Classic under his arm and strode out without a word to anyone, carrying himself like a university student from another world.
The younger children barely spared him a glance, too absorbed in their own games.
Two neatly dressed pageboys in blue robes stood waiting at the entrance. The moment Cheng Jinzhou stepped out, they scurried over—one carefully taking his book while the other dashed back inside to fetch his writing tools. A servant at his side grinned obsequiously. "Third Young Master, will you take the carriage or the sedan chair today?"
The school was close to the ancestral estate—walking wouldn't have been far—but Lady Cheng, ever the doting mother, had insisted on providing both options.
"The carriage," Cheng Jinzhou decided. The sedan chair, carried by two men, was even more cramped than the two-wheeled cart.
The family's legitimate sons each had their own means of transport. Some, who had begun training in astral arts early, activated the star arrays tattooed on their bodies, wobbling unsteadily as they sped past, kicking up dust in their wake.
Cheng Jinzhou frowned as he watched from a distance. When he first arrived, he had been fascinated by these speed-enhancing abilities. Now that he understood their mechanics, they only gave him a headache.
This world had grasped the relationships between celestial bodies far earlier than Earth. For millennia, they had harnessed the mysterious forces between planets. The most refined and distinctive application was the star array—tattoos that allowed users to channel power from beyond their world. According to the Holy Temple, this was borrowing the might of the gods.
And divine power, it seemed, granted not just superhuman strength and flight but also enhanced vision and perception...
Yet to Cheng Jinzhou, this so-called divine force was likely just Newton's universal gravitation with some extra quirks. People in the 21st century had used similar principles to build tidal power plants, but compared to this, modern technology paled in wonder.
If divine power were simply a matter of getting a tattoo, Cheng Jinzhou would have been eager to try. The problem was, in this world, wielding a star array required not just a sturdy physique but also rigorous study.
Because activating these tattoos demanded constant calculations—distances, positions, and parameters relative to different celestial bodies.
If it were just geometry and algebra—subjects at the level of Archimedes and Pythagoras in this era—Cheng Jinzhou could have coasted on his fake doctorate. But without a computer, his mental arithmetic skills were no match for a top middle-schooler's.
The thought of spending decades honing his abacus skills filled him with despair. Even flipping through Playboy lost its appeal.
The carriage rattled its way to the ancestral estate, pausing briefly before continuing onward, now guided by a young stable boy instead of the usual driver. Only after passing through the second gate did a pageboy announce softly, "Third Young Master, we're home."
"I know," Cheng Jinzhou replied, still engrossed in the magazine. Then, struck by an idea, he suddenly reached out and yanked the servant inside. "Shimo, come here. Look at this."
The poor boy didn't dare resist, letting himself be dragged into the carriage while protesting weakly, "Third Young Master, this isn't proper!"
"Quiet," Cheng Jinzhou said, thrusting the Playboy cover in his face. "Can you see this?"
Shimo was a born-and-bred Cheng family servant—his ancestors had served them for three generations. Even if he saw something scandalous, he wouldn't dare breathe a word.
Gulping, the pageboy rubbed his eyes and squinted. "Young Master, is the curtain dusty? The Nanhu silk was freshly starched yesterday..."
Cheng Jinzhou made him examine it from every angle before finally relaxing when it became clear Shimo couldn't see the book. Without explanation, he dismissed him with a chuckle. "Alright, get out."
Given the era's sensibilities, anyone who actually saw a Playboy model would either gush blood from the nose or faint dead away—hard reactions to fake.
Shimo carefully backed out of the carriage while Cheng Jinzhou stepped down, asking, "Where are my parents?"
"The young mistress is playing cards with the old madam," a servant at the door answered respectfully. "The young master left early for the outer estate."
As long as the grandfather lived and the family remained undivided, Cheng Jinzhou's father would forever be addressed as "young master."
"Tell my mother I've returned to my room," he said, shrugging reflexively.
The servants stifled their laughter. To them, the gesture was bizarre—though the old madam had tried correcting him multiple times to no avail. Who were they to provoke his temper?
Cheng Jinzhou practically sprinted back to his quarters, the ring clutched tightly in his hand.
...