Chapter 1: The Beginning

“Did you find a job?”

Lynch had just come home after wandering outside. Looking at his girlfriend cooking in the kitchen, he shook his head apologetically.

She didn’t seem disappointed, nor did her expression change much. It was as if not finding a job was perfectly normal.

Lynch tried to avoid further conversation, afraid that the woman who slept beside him every night would notice something off about him.

She brought an oddly-shaped frying pan over to the chipped, wobbly wooden table, placed a fried egg on a plate of minced meat, and sat down.

“Don’t worry about it. I still have some money left. Maybe you’ll find something tomorrow. Let’s eat first.”

Lynch nodded and started eating the not-so-appetizing dinner.

The fork pierced the slightly hardened surface of the egg, and thick yolk flowed onto the meat like a natural sauce, making it more appealing.

He ate mechanically while his mind wandered elsewhere.

He had transmigrated. He didn’t know what scientific principle—or perhaps some other reason—caused it, but he had.

Before the transmigration, he had worked many jobs: delivery driver, insurance salesman, server, part-time cook…

In the thirty years before his transmigration, he did countless menial jobs. Then everything changed when he turned thirty.

As he later put it, he had spent thirty years gaining experience, and finally made a breakthrough—delivering a passionate speech that moved a judge.

That night, after falling asleep in a tiny room, dreaming of writing a memoir about his legendary life, he transmigrated.

And just like that, he woke up in this home. The body he now inhabited belonged to someone also named Lynch—but this was a completely different world, unrelated to his past life.

Aside from his girlfriend, he had nothing.

Now, he looked like the worst kind of deadbeat—living off his girlfriend, sleeping in her bed, contributing nothing aside from relieving her stress at night. He was practically a parasite.

He had spent the past few days pretending to job hunt, wandering the streets. This world felt oddly fascinating to him.

It resembled the 1940s or 1950s—maybe even the 60s. Technology wasn’t very advanced, but it seemed on the verge of rapid development.

New products constantly appeared, dazzling the public. He saw a slogan on a promotional poster: Something new, every day.

To Lynch, this world was filled with wealth, just waiting to be picked up.

His blood stirred with excitement, his heart beat stronger. Deep down, he felt a calling. He believed there was a reason for his transmigration.

Maybe something—or someone—brought him here so he could leave behind a legend of his own.

“Go run the hot water. Let’s take a bath tonight…” his girlfriend said while clearing the dishes.

Lynch nodded and got up. As he walked toward the bathroom, he casually asked, “Didn’t we just shower yesterday?”

He’d noticed since arriving that their life wasn’t as chaotic as it seemed—they actually had a routine.

The weather was mild, and if you didn’t exert yourself, you didn’t sweat much. So daily showers weren’t necessary.

It wasn’t that people didn’t want to stay clean—it’s just that hot water and clean clothes cost money.

The wealthy didn’t care about these expenses. They installed boilers and bought washing machines to do laundry whenever they wanted.

But for the poor, these were luxuries they couldn’t afford. So their lives had to be disciplined.

Every expense was calculated. They lived like monks, strictly following a routine to save every cent.

It wasn’t that they wanted to live this way—it was poverty that forced them to.

His girlfriend turned to the sink, opened the valve, and rinsed the dishes. “Hot water shuts off after midnight. We’ll pay the bill next week. Saves a bit this way.”

Lynch shrugged and went into the bathroom. After letting the cold water run for a moment, hot steam began flowing from the pipes.

After bathing, they lay down on the small bed and quickly drifted off to sleep.

Lynch’s girlfriend worked as a cashier at a supermarket—ten hours a day, with a one-hour break.

She often brought back expired or near-expiry food and cheap household items from the store. That’s how they managed to survive with only one income.

They had been high school classmates but never got into college. Lynch worked briefly in a factory but quit because it was too exhausting.

Katherine—his girlfriend—landed the supermarket job and held onto it.

They were a typical failed household. Neither of them knew how much longer they could live like this.

Maybe they’d make it to marriage and then struggle along for the rest of their lives.

Or maybe, one day, an emotional outburst would abruptly end this fragile relationship.

The next morning, Lynch washed up briefly. Katherine had already left. On the table, she had left a box of cereal and a bottle of milk.

He walked over to the cabinet and poured the milk into a pot to warm it. A glance at the expiry date showed it had expired two days ago—not surprising.

Milk like this was usually thrown away at supermarkets, but many employees endured long hours and low pay just to access such goods.

That’s what they valued—the free stuff.

The rich scent of milk was comforting. Lynch liked to use hot milk to soak cereal, unlike Katherine and others who preferred it cold, which he found unpleasant.

After breakfast, he tidied up and walked to a nearby street corner.

He hadn’t been idle these past few days—not job hunting, but thinking about where his first bit of money in this world should come from.

Even though this world was very different from the one he left, certain patterns were still recognizable.For example, you know that a hundred years from now, land beneath your feet will be worth a fortune. You know that the value of artwork rises year after year. You know…

Anyone in Lynch’s position would feel a surge of ambition—because most people, given the chance, could grasp the pulse of the future.

But the problem is, ambition alone means nothing. It rarely becomes reality, because the present is not the future, and everything requires capital.

Where does capital come from?

It doesn’t fall from the sky, and it doesn’t drift in with the tide. In fact, even if many people were given the chance to go back in time, they still wouldn’t be able to change their lives.

Maybe a few could—maybe they’d buy an extra house or two, and decades later, stare blankly at their doubled assets, realizing it’s not quite what they had imagined.

Some people are destined to make waves. Others, even with the chance, are powerless to do anything.

Lynch was clearly the former. He already had everything it took. He had succeeded before—and that was the decisive factor.

He spent the entire morning staring at a laundromat across the street, jotting notes in a notebook. He was working on making his first bucket of gold.

Just before noon, as the crowd on the street began to thin, two men in trench coats stepped in front of him. One of them had a hand inside his coat, as if holding something.

“Mr. Fox would like to see you, friend.”

These two clearly weren’t the good guys—or maybe Lynch was just imagining it. Either way, he showed no fear. Instead, a smile appeared on his face.

“I’ve been waiting for you for days. What are we waiting for? Lead the way.”