They had marched who knew how many more li when Chen Youzai felt his body reach its absolute limit.
Suddenly, the man in front of him toppled straight backward. Chen Youzai hastily dodged aside; otherwise the body would have crashed into him.
He lowered his head.
The man’s eyes had rolled back, whites exposed. His face was deathly pale, foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth. After two brief convulsions, he lay still—utterly lifeless.
It was the first time Chen Youzai had witnessed death so close.
His entire body trembled uncontrollably. His stomach churned violently. He spat out two mouthfuls of blood, and darkness swallowed his sight.
When he regained consciousness, he found himself sitting in a dirt pit among many others.
His stomach seemed slightly better; in his haze, he vaguely recalled someone feeding him something.
I’m alive…
As long as he lived, there was still a chance to change back.
He forced his head downward. There were no pockets on this body. If there were no pockets, then where could the silver coin be?
Racking his brains, he suddenly noticed a cloth sash tied around his waist. If the coin had not been lost, it could only be tucked there.
He strained to bend further, trying to reach it with his bound hands.
Impossible.
He twisted and contorted like a dancer performing some grotesque routine, trying countless angles. The sash remained maddeningly out of reach.
Collapsing back to the ground, he panted heavily.
Calm down. If I lose my head now, I’ll never find a way back.
Then inspiration struck.
He could shake the coin loose. Once it fell to the ground, retrieving it would be easy. After all, no one else could see it—even if it dropped, no one would pick it up.
With that thought, he began hopping violently.
This body was thin and frail; even his most desperate effort looked no more than a languid stretch. The movements, strangely, appeared almost graceful.
Nearby, a drowsy guard cracked open one eye, intending to shout a rebuke. Yet as he watched Chen Youzai’s faintly swaying figure, he swallowed unconsciously. Lifting his gaze higher, he clicked his tongue in disappointment.
Such a face—too ugly.
If only it were a little fairer, in this barren wilderness devoid of women, it might at least provide some diversion.
At last—
A crisp metallic chime rang out.
Chen Youzai nearly wept with joy. Not far from him, upon the dirt, lay the gleam of salvation—the silver coin.
“Yeah!” he cried instinctively.
Like a child scrambling after a toy, he flung himself to the ground and reached for it.
At the very instant he thought his suffering at an end—
His vision blurred.
A foot descended upon his outstretched hand, grinding it into the earth as though deliberately.
Through the gap between legs, Chen Youzai saw, in utter despair, three or four men—bare as primitive tribesmen—snatching at his coin.
Within moments, the chaotic shouting receded. Someone, clutching the spoils, burst into triumphant laughter and ran off into the distance.
Futile Devices Scans 
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