Chapter One: The Grass Carp and the Treasure's Eye

Reincarnation is an art, and at this moment, Ji Ming had undoubtedly mastered its core technique.

Beneath a small pond, having already been reborn as a grass carp, he lingered near the bottom, seeking refuge from the scorching sun above. His fish mouth opened and closed in a constant rhythm, drawing water in and pushing it out through his gill slits. In this process, water flowed over the filamentous gills, where oxygen and carbon dioxide exchanged places—a fish’s instinctive underwater breathing, ensuring his long survival beneath the surface.

To be honest, after two full years of fish life, Ji Ming still found it hard to accept or adapt to the fate of being reborn as a fish. In his previous life he had committed no great sins, so why had he come into the world as a grass carp? Such meaningless questions, however, never lingered long in his mind. He had always been one to go with the flow, and although his current experience was strange beyond words, the instincts of a fish constantly drove him to search for food, to procreate, and to evade predators.

With a gentle flick of his paired pectoral fins, a thin layer of silt above the pond bed was swept aside. From the disturbed mud, he bit off a tender sprig of newly grown water grass and swallowed it bit by bit. Occasionally, a few crunchy-shelled snails were also devoured without mercy. In this pond, the reason the aquatic plants grew in such balanced patches instead of overrunning the whole place could mostly be attributed to his efforts.

A deep gurgling rang out as a “giant” fish aggressively swept down with its tail, shoving Ji Ming aside and relentlessly attempting to attack him. This giant was the pond’s tyrant—a black carp over a meter long and weighing sixteen pounds. Its scales were each as large as a fingernail, the ones on its back especially thick and tinged with blue, giving it the appearance of being armored.

Ji Ming spat out a string of bubbles, cursing internally as he fled into a cluster of water grass. Even in this modest pond, the food chain had its own hierarchy. As a grass carp, he’d managed to survive until now, growing to the length of a forearm—perhaps forty to sixty centimeters, weighing three or four pounds—yet clearly still beneath the pond tyrant in rank. Normally, he subsisted on water grass, snails, small shrimp, and the occasional worm or insect, never competing with the tyrant for food. After all, it was pointless—he couldn’t win even if he tried.

Compared to the tyrant, Ji Ming might seem insignificant, but among the grass carp of this pond, he was in a class of his own. As the blazing sun finally dipped below the horizon and the temperature dropped, Ji Ming ceased his foraging and swam to a shrimp burrow by the bank—a spot he’d claimed for himself. After carefully confirming his safety, he gently spat out a single eyeball.

The orb was perfectly round, its whites veined with blood, within which lay a cratered, mountainous pupil. At the pupil’s heart was a single character: “Rebirth.”

Ji Ming’s entry into this fish life was not a punishment for past sins, but rather, a gift from this strange eye—more precisely, a treasure called the “Moist Egg of Reincarnation.” Ji Ming speculated that, upon his death, this artifact would lead him into yet another new life. But since this was only a guess, he had no intention of ending his days prematurely. Instead, he strove to survive in the pond, and in two years, had grown into a large grass carp.

Here, Ji Ming felt no boredom, ennui, nor despair from being cut off from modern civilization. Quite the contrary—his spirits were high, and he found a unique pleasure in his life as a fish. The differences in body, perspective, diet, and even daily existence were so fascinating that in two years he never once felt “sick of living.”

Only after some time did he understand why. As a grass carp, he bore no family or social responsibilities, no worries for the morrow or regrets for the past—he was truly free. His world had only two concerns: finding food, and avoiding predators.

With a human mind inside a fish’s body, Ji Ming could not fathom how a grass carp’s brain could contain such complex thought, but his advantage in foraging and evading danger was obvious.

His peaceful fish life continued until now, when a true crisis emerged. The blistering heat had lasted more than two months, and half the pond’s water had evaporated. As living space and food shrank, all the pond’s creatures—fish, shrimp, turtles—grew restless and agitated. The tyrant’s aggression intensified, and he picked fights with Ji Ming more frequently.

Ji Ming knew that both he and the tyrant were at the top of the pond’s food chain. The more he ate, the less the tyrant could claim. He was astonished that even a fish could possess such a sense of crisis, unsure if it sprang from instinct or intelligence.

Yet the tyrant was not what worried him most—the real threat was the relentless heat and drought. If the weather didn’t change, he would surely perish. Should the “Moist Egg of Reincarnation” fail him, he’d have wasted this second chance at life.

Another arduous night passed in the shrimp burrow. When the sun rose again, and still no sign of rain appeared, temperatures soared. The pond tyrant began a new, more ruthless slaughter of fish and shrimp. Most creatures had already vanished or hidden deeply, including Ji Ming in his burrow. The water level dropped steadily, and even the pond’s depths grew intolerably hot.

Ji Ming knew that as water temperature rose, fish metabolism accelerated, dramatically increasing their oxygen consumption. With less dissolved oxygen, hypoxia and death loomed for all aquatic life.

Without hesitation, Ji Ming darted from his burrow and surfaced, gulping air desperately. At that moment, water near him churned violently—a surge of bubbles betraying the tyrant’s agitation. Its powerful tail stirred the bottom mud into a swirling cloud.

“Damn!” Ji Ming realized the tyrant had spotted him and was about to dive back into his burrow when, suddenly, a thunderclap shattered the sky.

Rain, at last, pounded down, shattering on the water’s surface—a true summer storm. As rain hammered the pond, the survivors surfaced to gulp the fresh air and revel in the torrent. The pond tyrant was among them, its violence subdued.

The water level quickly rose, the air cooled, and the fish soon slipped back to the muddy bottom, content. Only the tyrant and Ji Ming lingered at the surface.

“What is it looking at?” Ji Ming noticed a new intelligence in the tyrant’s great eyes—it was almost childlike. Sensing Ji Ming’s gaze, the tyrant turned and met his eyes directly. Ji Ming was startled—was this fish becoming a spirit?

But the tyrant paid him little mind, more interested in the downpour. The rain showed no sign of stopping, and the water now spilled over the banks.

“Is it planning to leave the pond?” As soon as Ji Ming thought this, the tyrant swam to the edge, leaping repeatedly, carefully studying the flooded land.

“That’s it—it wants to escape!” Ji Ming felt a surge of excitement. Perhaps it was the hint of spirit in this fish, suggesting something extraordinary in this world—something beyond nature.

A day and night passed. The rain waned, but the water level had overflowed the banks entirely. The tyrant wasted no more time. With a single glance at Ji Ming, it leapt toward a breach in the western bank.

Ji Ming hesitated only a moment before following, hurling himself over the embankment. He tumbled down the far side, landing in a wild stream.

“A new fish life awaits!” he thought with joy—when suddenly, seven or eight hands reached down, pinning him to the mud. One pair of cracked lips shouted, “Uncle, come quick! There’s a fat fish here!”

A loud slap rang out nearby—the tyrant writhed in the stream, beating two men into the water with its powerful tail before leaping frantically back into the pond.

The men, rather than chase the tyrant, rushed to block Ji Ming’s escape.

“It’s over,” Ji Ming thought.

A sharp pain pierced his belly—he felt himself being gutted. At that moment, the “Moist Egg of Reincarnation” in his throat faded, the character for “Rebirth” disappearing from its pupil.

…

In a humble home in Waterbird Village, a midwife expertly delivered a baby boy, cut the umbilical cord, and gently wrapped him in a cloth quilt.