The first thing Lin Yan felt was hunger.
Not the mild, nagging emptiness of skipping a meal, nor the sharp irritation that came after working late in the modern world.
This hunger was deeper—like a hand reaching up from his stomach, clutching his insides and twisting them slowly.
It hurt.
He tried to open his eyes.
The ceiling above him was low and dark, patched with yellowed paper that sagged between wooden beams. A faint smell of smoke, damp straw, and something sour lingered in the air. His head throbbed, as if a heavy stone were pressing down on his skull.
Where… am I?
The last thing he remembered was the glow of a computer screen.
A spreadsheet filled with endless numbers. A deadline that had already passed. His phone vibrating on the desk—another message from his supervisor, another reminder that "this project is urgent."
Then pain.
A sharp, crushing pain in his chest.
And darkness.
Lin Yan sucked in a breath—and nearly choked.
The air felt cold as it slid into his lungs, rough and unfamiliar. He coughed weakly, his throat dry as if it hadn't tasted water in days.
"Yan'er!"
A woman's voice rang out, strained with panic.
Before he could react, a rough hand supported his shoulder, lifting him slightly. A cracked porcelain bowl appeared before his eyes, steam faintly rising from its surface.
"Slowly, slowly," the woman said. "Don't rush it."
Lin Yan stared at her.
She was thin, her cheeks sunken, lines etched deep around her eyes. Her hair was tied back with a faded cloth strip, strands already streaked with gray. Her clothes were clean but so worn that the fabric looked soft from years of washing and mending.
This was not his mother.
His heart skipped.
He tried to speak, but his voice came out hoarse. "W–where…"
The woman's eyes reddened instantly.
"Heavens be thanked," she murmured. "You scared your mother half to death."
Mother?
Lin Yan froze.
Another figure stepped closer—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a weathered face and calloused hands. His expression was stiff, but relief flickered in his eyes when he saw Lin Yan awake.
"Drink," the man said gruffly. "Your mother's been boiling this porridge all morning."
The bowl was pressed into Lin Yan's hands.
He looked down.
The porridge was thin—so thin that the grains of rice were clearly visible at the bottom. It was little more than cloudy water, with a few floating rice kernels drifting like lost leaves.
In the modern world, this wouldn't even count as food.
Yet the smell made his mouth water uncontrollably.
His hands trembled as he raised the bowl. The porridge was hot, burning his cracked lips slightly, but he didn't stop. He drank greedily, gulp after gulp, until the bowl was empty.
Only then did the pain in his stomach ease—just a little.
As warmth spread through his body, memories surged into his mind like a breached dam.
Not his own.
A village.
Mud roads after rain.
Fields cracked from drought.
A small, crumbling house at the edge of the settlement.
And a frail boy—this body's original owner—who had collapsed in the field after working too long under the sun.
The memories were fragmented, but the conclusion was clear.
This boy had died.
And Lin Yan had taken his place.
His fingers clenched around the empty bowl.
I… transmigrated?
The word surfaced naturally, absurdly calm in his thoughts. He had read countless web novels during stolen breaks and sleepless nights. Rebirth. Transmigration. Ancient dynasties.
He just never imagined it would happen to him.
The woman—his mother in this life—took the bowl from his hands carefully, as if he might shatter if she moved too quickly.
"You rest," she said softly. "Don't think about anything else."
Lin Yan looked around.
The room was small. One wooden bed. A broken chest in the corner. No decorations, no warmth—only the bare necessities of survival.
Outside, he could hear faint voices. Children laughing weakly. The low bleating of a goat somewhere far away.
This family…
A sharp ache bloomed in his chest—not physical this time, but emotional.
They were poor.
Painfully poor.
So poor that a bowl of thin porridge was treated like medicine.
His father turned to leave, pausing at the door. "I'll go check the fields," he said. "If Yan'er wakes again, call me."
"Don't go far," his mother replied.
The door closed with a soft creak.
Silence returned.
Lin Yan lay back, staring at the ceiling. His new body felt weak—arms thin, legs light as if they held no strength at all. According to the memories, he was seventeen this year, but his body looked no older than fourteen.
Malnutrition.
Overwork.
Poverty pressed down on him from every direction.
In his previous life, he had worked himself to death chasing a future that never came.
In this life, if nothing changed, he would die again—this time quietly, forgotten in a nameless village.
His jaw tightened.
No.
He refused to accept that.
At that moment, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
[Ranch Development System initializing…]
Lin Yan's pupils shrank.
System?
His heart pounded, but his face remained still. Years of corporate life had trained him well—panic solved nothing.
The voice continued, emotionless and steady.
[Host detected: Lin Yan]
[Current environment: Ancient agrarian dynasty]
[Host condition: Severe malnutrition | Weak constitution]
A translucent panel unfolded before his eyes.
No one else could see it.
[Ranch Development System activated]
Lin Yan's breath caught.
The panel was simple—no flashy lights, no dramatic music. Just clear lines of text, calm and precise.
[Initial Assets:]
Land: 1 patch of barren field (0.5 mu)
Livestock: None
Funds: 0 copper coins
[System Objective:]
Build a sustainable ranch.
Improve host family's livelihood.
Expand influence through livestock and agriculture.
Lin Yan stared at the words.
Not riches.
Not immortality.
Not domination.
Just… survival. Then growth.
A strange calm settled over him.
This system wasn't here to turn him into a god overnight. It was here to give him a chance—a real one.
Another notification appeared.
[Beginner Reward Available]
[Would you like to claim?]
Lin Yan didn't hesitate.
Yes.
The panel shimmered briefly.
[Reward Claimed:]
Improved Soil (Beginner Grade) x1
Domestic Chicken x3 (Healthy)]
Basic Ranch Knowledge (Passive)]
Information flowed into his mind—not overwhelming, but clear. Crop rotation. Soil nutrients. Simple animal care. How to prevent disease. How to stretch limited resources.
Not miracles.
Skills.
Real, usable skills.
Outside the room, his mother let out a quiet sigh as she sat on a low stool, rubbing her tired hands together.
If she could see her son now, she would notice something different in his eyes.
Gone was the hollow dullness of a boy crushed by hunger.
In its place was a steady, focused light.
Lin Yan slowly clenched his fist.
I died once from overwork, he thought.
I won't die again from poverty.
This time, he would build something with his own hands.
Starting with a single patch of land.
And a family he refused to let starve.