Zhao Hai opened his eyes slowly. He understood now. Adam's memories had fully merged with his own, and the reality of his situation settled over him with quiet certainty — he had transmigrated. Soul transmigration, to be precise. The kind where you take over someone else's body.
As a homebody, if you didn't know what transmigration was, you couldn't call yourself a proper homebody. Zhao Hai had just never expected it to actually happen to him — and certainly not into someone this unlucky.
From Adam's memories, he already knew the full story. Adam had still been in the capital when he lost consciousness, so Zhao Hai had no idea where he was now. What he did know was that this wasn't the home he remembered from Adam's memories — he'd confirmed that much with a glance around the room when he first woke.
As he opened his eyes this time, he sensed someone nearby. He turned his head. The stern old man from before was standing at his bedside — expression grave as ever, but eyes full of quiet concern.
Unlike the first time, Zhao Hai now recognized him. This was Grimm Buda, the longtime head steward of House Buda. Grimm hadn't been born with the Buda name — it had been granted to him by Zhao Hai's great-grandfather as a mark of honor. He had served the family with unwavering loyalty ever since, and was the most trusted person in the entire household.
The old Adam had never gotten along with Grimm. Adam had been a reckless young master; Grimm was a man of rules and discipline, always telling him what he couldn't do. Adam had resented him deeply. But Grimm's seniority was such that even Adam's father hadn't dared disrespect him, so Adam had simply endured it.
The reborn Zhao Hai was not about to make that mistake. He had read countless transmigration novels, carried the perspective of a grown adult, and had lived a hard enough life to know better than the pampered young master whose body he now inhabited. He understood exactly how valuable Grimm was. With a steward like this, he could hand over everything and sleep soundly.
And from Adam's memories, he knew that Grimm's combat ability surpassed even Adam's father. In this world, strength meant survival.
Years of solitary life, years of imagination, and the weight of Adam's memories meant Zhao Hai felt neither dread nor excitement about the transmigration. It was simply a change of scenery. What bothered him were exactly two things: first, there were no computers here — no internet. Telling a homebody he couldn't go online was worse than killing him. Second, he had been made to drink the Water of Nothingness. His dream of sweeping through the world with overwhelming power was dead before it had begun.
What Zhao Hai didn't notice was that Adam's memories had already begun reshaping him. The reason he wasn't panicking was because this world felt familiar. His two grievances made that plain enough — the first was a problem for the Zhao Hai who had lived on Earth; the second belonged entirely to someone living on the Ark Continent.
Still, he thought it through clearly. Annoying as it was, he was here now. Nothing left to say about it. Since I'm here, I'll make peace with it. From now on, he was Adam Buda.
He exhaled slowly, and something in his chest loosened.
It wasn't hard to understand why he accepted this so easily. Back on Earth, he'd had no family left to speak of, and his tendency toward isolation had left him with no real friends either. He'd been alone — untethered. Coming here was simply trading one empty room for another. And here, at least, there were people who cared whether he lived or died.
Grimm noticed he was awake and stepped quickly to the bedside. "Young Master, how are you feeling? Is there anything still wrong? Does your head still hurt?"
Those words — warm, concerned — were ones Zhao Hai hadn't heard in a very long time. Something shifted quietly inside him. He checked himself over, found nothing alarming, and sat up.
"I'm alright," he said, shaking his head. "Grandfather Grimm, where are we?"
Grimm blinked. The old Adam had never spoken to him like that. It was disorienting. But he recovered quickly. "Young Master, we have arrived at the domain."
Zhao Hai paused, then nodded. "The Black Wasteland?"
Grimm looked faintly surprised at his composure, but confirmed it. "Yes. This is the Black Wasteland."
"Where exactly are we right now? What's the situation here? How many people do we have? How much land?"
Adam's memories held only fragments about the Black Wasteland — legends about its proximity to the Corpse Swamp, rumors that nothing grew in its soil. Nothing concrete. So Zhao Hai asked. Whatever else had changed, he was Adam Buda now, and this place was going to be his home. He needed to understand it.
Grimm stared at him for a long moment. If he hadn't been watching Adam every step of the way, he would have sworn the young man had been replaced. This was not the Adam he knew.
Can hardship truly change a person this much? He couldn't explain it, but he didn't doubt the young master's identity. He simply decided that Adam had grown up.
And that, more than anything, filled Grimm with relief.
"Young Master," he said, straightening with a warmth he rarely showed, "we are in the lord's manor, situated on the Iron Mountain within the Black Wasteland. The mountain was once a dwarven settlement, long abandoned. There is some arable land on the slopes. Please forgive this old servant — I took it upon myself to sell everything the family owned and convert it into supplies and one hundred slaves. We have just over one hundred gold coins remaining in cash. Those who came with us are myself, my wife, my granddaughter, and the twins Blockhead and Rockhead. The rest of the former household staff have all departed."
Zhao Hai nodded, turning the situation over in his mind. They were in a dead zone, yes. But they had a manor, a mountain with some workable soil, a hundred slaves, and five people he could trust with his life.
"You did the right thing, Grandfather Grimm," he said. "Gold coins are useless here. Supplies are what keep us alive. Now — go and assess how much land on this mountain can actually be farmed, and what crops would be suitable. We still need to eat."
Grimm nodded. "Of course, Young Master. Please rest for now. I'll send Meg to attend to you shortly."
The moment Grimm said the name, an image surfaced in Zhao Hai's memory — a slight girl with long cyan hair and a delicate face. Grimm's granddaughter.
Then he remembered something else, and his expression twisted into a rueful grimace.
The old Adam had once tried to force himself on her. Meg was a sixth-rank mage, and though she looked fragile, she had iron resolve — she couldn't fight Adam directly, but every time he'd cornered her, she had threatened to take her own life. It had been enough to make even Adam back down.
That idiot, Zhao Hai thought darkly. He made the mess. Now I have to live in it.
Facing her after that history would be unbearably awkward.
"It's alright, Grandfather Grimm," he said quickly. "I'd like to rest a while longer. Please don't send anyone. Just call me when dinner is ready."
Grimm bowed. "As you wish, Young Master." He backed out of the room and quietly withdrew.
Zhao Hai let out a long breath. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Despite having been bedridden for what felt like ages, he felt no stiffness — no weakness at all. If anything, he felt full of energy he didn't know what to do with. He stretched, rolled his shoulders, and walked to the window.
He pushed it open.
The view was a small castle courtyard — he was on the top floor, with a clear line of sight over the walls. It was a Western-style fortress, modest but solid. Below, a stone plaza stretched out before the main gate, ringed by a perimeter wall. Beyond the walls, as far as he could see, lay black earth — soil so dark it looked soaked in oil, utterly still, utterly lifeless.
In the courtyard, a large pile of supplies had been stacked near the center. Dozens of people moved around it, sorting and organizing — men and women alike, all wearing rough-spun clothes of the same cut. The men had markings on their foreheads. Too far to make out clearly, but Zhao Hai knew what they were: the Buda family brand. These were the slaves.
He looked to either side. Barren slopes, dotted with crooked, sickly-looking trees that seemed to be suffering from some chronic illness — pale, drooping, barely alive. Between them grew low, sparse grass, equally malnourished.
He turned his gaze back to the castle itself. It was larger than it looked — could house several thousand people without strain. But it had clearly been abandoned for a long time. Moss crept along the outer walls; weeds pushed through the gaps between stones. Only his own window had fresh paper pasted over the frame. The rest of the castle was bare.
Zhao Hai smiled wryly. Adam's memories included the family's residence in the capital — glass windows, polished stone floors, every comfort available. And here he was with paper windows.
But then something else rose in him. A quiet stubbornness.
Every piece of land I can see from this window belongs to me.
He looked at that black earth again — so dark it almost gleamed, rich-looking despite the rumors. He refused to believe nothing could grow in it. He was going to make something of this place. He was going to build something that would make everyone who had wronged him eat their words. It was the least he owed Adam, whose body he now carried.
And then, without warning, a voice rang out inside his mind.