Keep a low profile. Keep an absolutely low profile.
He had read enough transmigration novels to know the rule. The protagonists who swept the world with unstoppable power only did so because the author had handed them everything. In reality, a person dropped into an alien environment with no allies, no knowledge, and no standing who immediately started acting like they owned the place — that person ended up dead.
And Zhao Hai's position was precarious. He was the last heir of a disgraced noble house that had offended the most powerful factions in the Aksu Empire. One wrong move and his head would leave his shoulders before he even knew what was happening.
He had the space farm to retreat into — but there were too many ways to kill a person. He had no intention of losing his head in his sleep.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in."
Meg pushed the door open and stepped inside, head lowered, eyes on the floor. She gave a small bow. "Young Master." Then silence.
Zhao Hai's expression twisted into something rueful. He understood why she wouldn't look at him. The old Adam had tried to force himself on her once. She had escaped — but since then, she had avoided Adam whenever possible, and when avoidance failed, she gave a single low bow and left as fast as she could.
That idiot left me quite the inheritance, Zhao Hai thought.
"I don't need anything," he said. "Go rest. I'm going to sleep a while longer. Come wake me when dinner is ready."
She answered softly and slipped out, pulling the door shut behind her — gently, with care. He watched the closed door and shook his head.
With his body fully recovered, he had no real need to rest. What he needed was time — to go through Adam's memories more carefully, and to think through how best to use the space farm. He had plans to make.
The radishes in the space would be ready soon. If he sold them back to the system, he would net 500 gold coins — 350 profit after the seed cost.
He could also bring the radishes out of the space and have Grimm sell them on the open market, potentially for more. But first he needed to know whether radishes even existed on the Ark Continent. Adam had never cared about what was on his dinner plate — he ate finished dishes, never questioned ingredients, and had no idea what crops were common here.
If radishes didn't exist on this continent, selling them externally could be valuable. Even if they did exist, the radish leaves would still be useful — good for pickling, good for feed. He remembered his mother making pickled radish greens when he was young. Good flavor, simple to prepare.
Leaves could also feed herbivorous magical beasts. Adam's memories mentioned several low-maintenance species. If he began raising them, it meant meat — and eventually a proper ranch, independent of the space's ranch feature.
Even if radishes were common here and cheap, the leaves were worth keeping. No point wasting anything.
For now, the space couldn't support a ranch. But the outside could. He would start one here first, and expand into the space once it leveled up. Eventually he could introduce livestock from Earth.
He had decided: farming was his path. The space was built around it, and it suited him perfectly.
He had a large domain — a mountain, a dead wasteland, a nearby swamp. All of it his. Turning it into something useful would take time. But if the space soil and water really could reclaim the Black Wasteland, the scale of what he could grow was almost limitless. And land was everything.
Labor, he had already solved. He had a hundred slaves. That was how this world worked — one harsh truth he had accepted without flinching. As long as the farm could generate income, he could buy more. And unlike the old nobility, he intended to give his people a reason to work.
He couldn't buy slaves in large quantities yet — sudden prosperity would draw attention he didn't want. Low profile. Farming first. Everything else later.
With his plans settled, he exhaled slowly and lay back on the bed. He still felt like he was in a dream. A perfectly ordinary homebody from Earth — and somehow here. He stared at the stone ceiling.
No computer. No internet. No novels. How was he supposed to get through the days?
The exhaustion of absorbing so much memory at once caught up with him, and without meaning to, he drifted off to sleep.
He didn't notice when the door opened a crack. Meg peered in, saw him asleep face-down on the bed, and slipped quietly inside. She picked up the blanket and draped it over him, then stood there for a moment, watching him.
"Young Master," she whispered. "You have to be strong. House Buda is counting on you."
She turned and left, pulling the door gently closed.
Grimm was waiting in the corridor. "How is the Young Master? What was he doing?"
"Sleeping," she said.
Grimm nodded. "Go check on your grandmother's dinner preparations. When it's ready, come wake him." He paused, then shook his head with a tired smile. "I suppose noble etiquette will have to wait."
Meg watched her grandfather walk away. She knew what he was carrying. He had given his whole life to House Buda, and he had watched it fall apart before his eyes. Of course he was not at peace.
She followed him toward the kitchen. Merlin was handling all the cooking — the slaves managed their own food. Grimm had given them supplies and let them take care of themselves, which Meg thought was right. They were unfortunate people. Being fed at all was more than most nobles would offer.
She hoped Adam would prove equal to what was coming. He had been, in every sense, a useless young master. If he had changed — truly changed — there might be hope. But if he hadn't, if he kept making trouble and ignoring reality, she didn't see how any of them survived more than a few years.
House Buda's resources had been converted almost entirely into supplies. A hundred gold coins left. Nothing to spare for careless spending. Everything depended on what Adam chose to do next.