The modern world is like a sieve (5): 

With just a pile of fertilizer and two pots of plants, they managed to trick the powerful wood spirit into coming home. Members of the Bureau, who had once fought several times against the traversers and still carried deep psychological shadows, stared blankly at the lively little spirit fluttering around the office, feeling as if they were dreaming.

They watched as the little one scattered seeds here, blooming pretty flowers to gift the young lady she found beautiful; over there, she wove a delicate vine crown and carefully tried to offer it to Siqi. Gradually, everyone lowered their guard and began to truly like this adorable little spirit.

The spirit loved nature and naturally felt goodwill toward cultivators, who were close to the Dao of Heaven. The spiritual energy radiating from Siqi brimmed with vitality; just being near him was extraordinarily comfortable. The little one liked him very much, just as she loved her spirit trees.

The two experts circled her the whole time, holding the plants she had given them, their faces radiating such exaggerated joy that it looked unsettling, so much so that people around them instinctively stepped back.

Sitting at his seat, Zhou Song gazed at the little bird-like spirit fluttering nearby. Her translucent green wings shimmered like rippling light, looking as beautiful as gemstones.

It was hard to imagine that within such a tiny body lay such tremendous power—enough to make an entire mountain range of plants thrive within just a few days, growing at several times the normal rate.

If such power were unleashed upon humans, the consequences would be catastrophic. Unless humanity was willing to set fire to the mountains, neither bullets nor tanks would have much effect on plants that felt no pain from wounds of flesh or blood.

What’s more, as long as there were seeds and soil, the wood spirit could endlessly attack humans. If this little one were ever angered and chose to hide and grow in secret, humanity would surely face a devastating disaster.

Back in the Grand Elder’s office, Zhou Song had once read letters describing how, after traversers appeared, many cities across Huaguo were attacked by plants. Some became havens for vegetation, and many crops growing in the soil suddenly turned poisonous. Instead of providing nourishment, they drained the life of those who ate them, as though taking revenge for being harvested by humans. Now humans were dying in the same way they had once killed the plants.

Watching Siqi and the spirit getting along harmoniously, Zhou Song felt a wave of relief.

The letters had said that Siqi belonged to the same camp as the Plant Tyrant, bringing great disasters to Huaguo.

Now, however, Huaguo maintained friendly cooperation with Siqi, and because of him, the wood spirit had also become a friend to Huaguo. As long as this relationship continued, the so-called “Traverser Alliance” mentioned in the letters might instead become the “Huaguo Alliance,” turning into a powerful support.

As he was thinking, a group of middle-aged men and women, darker-skinned than the average person, knocked and entered the office.

The moment they pushed open the door and saw the little one flying inside, they froze in their tracks, as if witnessing something too bizarre to comprehend.

Startled by the sudden newcomers, the little one nervously darted behind Siqi. The two botanists, still holding their flowerpots and grinning foolishly, stood behind Siqi, so absorbed in their own delight that they didn’t even realize they should step forward to introduce both sides.

It was the newcomers who first regained composure. Remembering what their superiors had told them earlier, they forced themselves to remain calm, walked up to the two scholars, and, looking curiously at the spirit perched on Siqi’s shoulder, asked, “This… this is…?”

The two experts, snapping back to reality upon seeing old colleagues, hurriedly explained: “This is a newly discovered species within the country, a wood spirit. She has the ability to control plants, accelerate their growth, and make them complete rooting, sprouting, and fruiting in just a few dozen seconds…”

This group, all veterans in the field of botany with decades of experience—people who understood plants better than their own families—almost had their worldviews shattered hearing this. Their hearts nearly skipped a beat before one of them strained to ask, “Do you… have any concrete research records of this?”

“Of course we do.” Since the Bureau couldn’t be exposed, the experts had to claim she was a newly discovered Blue Star species. But all of their interactions with her had been recorded. A Bureau staff member opened a laptop and replayed the footage of the spirit manipulating plants.

The magical, almost otherworldly scenes left the agricultural experts gasping in disbelief. Before long, they were gazing at her just like the two botanists, eyes blazing with fervor.

Faced with countless towering figures staring at her with burning eyes, the little one: “…QAQ”

These giants were terrifying.

But experts were indeed experts—within just three minutes, the frightened spirit was “bribed” with a variety of crops, the latest high-quality seedlings, and nutrient solutions. Soon she had happily accepted a whole new circle of middle-aged friends.

Grinning ear to ear, the group invited her onto their vehicle, their smiles as bright as if they had stumbled upon a fortune. Hugging a flower, the spirit smiled sweetly, so delighted that she didn’t even notice she had already left her beloved Siqi behind.

The Bureau members stared at one another. After a while, someone remarked, “At this rate, we won’t have to worry about domestic crop yields anymore!”

Another person quipped, “Not just crops—rare medicinal herbs and precious flowers that could never be mass-produced won’t be scarce either…”

“So in other words, we’ve stumbled upon a massive treasure…”

“Before, we thought traversers coming to Blue Star would only bring disaster, but ever since the Immortal Lord appeared, everything has started to feel… different.”

“Rather, it’s precisely because of the Immortal Lord that…”

Everyone fell silent, realizing that without Siqi, they never would have found the wood spirit. And even if they had, it likely would have been in the worst way—plants overrunning cities, humans uprooting them, accidentally enraging the spirit, and thus triggering a disastrous first encounter.

With this thought, their gazes at Siqi grew complicated. The last shreds of wariness dissolved with every instance of his help, replaced by genuine recognition.

Zhou Song didn’t stop it; the better the members treated Siqi, the more this pure-hearted and kind cultivator would accept humanity and stand with them.

With that thought, Zhou Song turned his attention to the other expedition team and asked, “How’s the situation with Zhou Shihuang?”

They had already retrieved a wood spirit from two provinces away, yet the local Zhou Shihuang still hadn’t shown up.

The liaison gave a wry smile, pulling up a live feed from the field and summarizing the historian’s actions:

“More than five hours ago, Professor Mo found Zhou Shihuang begging on the street…”

Zhou Song interrupted in shock: “Wait, what? Who was begging?”

The liaison’s mouth twitched: “Zhou Shihuang.”

The great emperor who had unified the six kingdoms more than two thousand years ago, the founder of Huaguo’s original territory, had ended up begging for food in modern times. If it weren’t reality, the liaison wouldn’t have believed it either.

If written into a short story, the title might well be: “I, Who Unified the Six Kingdoms, Now Beg in the Modern World”

Author: Zhou Shihuang

Zhou Song’s face was full of disbelief. The liaison explained, “Actually, there’s a reason…”

When historian Professor Mo first arrived, he couldn’t believe his idol had fallen so low. Eyes brimming with tears, he rushed to greet him.

The ancient emperor stared blankly, listening to Mo’s emotional speech before replying with a string of incomprehensible “foreign” words.

For a moment, Mo nearly thought he had found the wrong person. After all, how could this man with a thick rural accent and odd, slurred speech possibly be the emperor he had dreamed of meeting?

Yet despite his shabby appearance, the emperor’s regal aura and clear eyes could not be faked. Mo quickly remembered—though TV dramas depicted ancient people speaking modern Mandarin, in reality the “official speech” of each dynasty was its native dialect, while the scholars communicated in classical phrases, as seen in the Analects.

Phrases like “Who are you?”, “Where is this?”, or “I don’t understand what you’re saying” would never have come from the emperor’s mouth. This language barrier meant he couldn’t understand modern people, nor they him. Some who had encountered him in the past few days even assumed he was mute or mentally impaired.

Adding to that, suddenly thrust into this era, the emperor had seen iron monsters (cars) filling the streets, strangely dressed foreigners with colorful hair (ordinary pedestrians), transparent walls (glass), and humans and landscapes trapped inside small boxes (LCD screens). He concluded he had entered the realm of gods.

His era believed deeply in mystics and divine arts. So when he saw “immortals” holding little squares that displayed the world, he imagined, “I unified the six kingdoms and achieved great deeds. Heaven rewards me by admitting me into the divine realm to broaden my vision.” Thus he looked upon the people around him with awe, never thinking to scold them for indecency or demand guidance through the divine lands.

Having endured hardships all his life, he felt no shame. Once he understood his situation, he quietly began wandering like a humble tourist.

He marveled at smooth roads, was astonished that water flowed from walls, and gasped at everything he saw—just like a true country bumpkin.

Dressed oddly and reacting strangely, he drew no friendly attention, so he walked on until the enticing smell of street food made his stomach growl, halting his steps.

Through observation, the emperor realized that these “immortals” did not use mortal money. To them, everything seemed free. Before taking an item, they only needed to wave their little square in the air.

But Shihuang knew he did not possess such a divine artifact, and so could not obtain food as easily as the other “immortals.” After much hesitation, he removed the white jade pendant from his waist and, using mortal language mixed with gestures, indicated to the deity distributing food: this item for you—may I have some of that food in exchange?

To Shihuang, this was a small step for himself, but a giant leap for mankind. In his mind, this exchange symbolized the first diplomatic contact between mortals and gods, and his heart surged with emotion.

Yet to the stall owner, it was simply a strangely dressed country bumpkin, speaking oddly, trying to barter some cheap trinket he had probably picked up somewhere for food.

The only thought in the vendor’s mind was: this person must not be quite right in the head, or perhaps mentally impaired.

In modern cities, where resources were not scarce, people were usually not stingy when it came to sharing food with strangers in need.

So without paying much attention to the jade pendant that Shihuang eagerly tried to hand him, the stall owner simply prepared a bowl with some rice cakes, tofu, and sausages, fried them up, and handed it over.

Shihuang was overjoyed. To him, this small bowl was none other than the legendary celestial peaches or sweet dew of the heavens—immortal food that granted eternal life. With trembling fingers he lifted the priceless (actually a disposable paper bowl costing less than a dime) flawless, feather-light celestial bowl and ate with tears in his eyes.

The vendor, seeing this, could not help but feel even more pity. Vendors nearby, knowing Shihuang could not understand, pointed at him and murmured, “So pitiful, who knows how long it’s been since he’s eaten?” “I wonder where his family is, how could they just let him wander homeless like this?”

The “homeless” Shihuang, who once had three palaces, six courts, seventy-two concubines, and dozens of children, each meal attended by servants, now stood before a food stall and quickly finished his food. Seeing the compassionate gazes of the immortals passing by, he felt somewhat embarrassed. Fearing the vendor might not value it, he left his most precious jade pendant on the stall and jogged away.

The stall owner, helpless, picked it up. Feeling its cool, smooth texture, he realized it wasn’t plastic at all. He thought: if I were to auction this off, it could easily fetch over a billion. He pocketed it casually.

Later, when he saw Shihuang on television and realized his true identity, recalling this memory, he might finally understand what the jade pendant he had stuffed into his bedside drawer really was—and what it meant that “good deeds are rewarded.”

But that was for the future. For now, Shihuang continued wandering, eating and drinking here and there thanks to the kindness of passersby, living safely and healthily for over half a month.

Although roughing it had left him far more disheveled than when he first arrived, every time he could eat richly seasoned delicacies and see countless marvels, he still found great joy in this world.

It was then that Professor Mo, with a group of people, found Shihuang. They had a confusing, half-understood exchange. Realizing the language barrier, Mo contacted his department to send a linguistics expert.

The Bureau was full of talent, linguists included.

This expert, who had spent his life buried in language studies, translating countless ancient texts, never imagined he would one day be translating for an actual person from antiquity. Listening to Shihuang through the live feed, he told Mo with a strange expression: “He thinks you’re a god.”

Professor Mo, who had always treated Shihuang as his idol: “…”

Shock! My idol thinks I’m the idol!

With the language barrier lifted, matters became easier.

Overwhelmed, Shihuang was escorted into a “steel beast” (a car), then into a splendid “celestial palace” (a hotel) far grander than any imperial palace. He enjoyed washing in the long-envied “celestial spring” (tap water), though he washed himself. Dressed in soft, luxurious garments (bathrobe and cotton shirt with trousers), he reclined on a “cloud couch” (sofa) more comfortable than a dragon throne, blissful and ecstatic.

This was truly the treatment of the immortals.

Then the linguist arrived at the hotel and provided direct translation.

Shihuang was shocked to learn this was the far future, thousands of years later, and that his great empire had fallen within just a century. The heartbreak on his face was almost unbearable for Professor Mo to watch.

Mo spoke passionately, recounting the deeds of Shihuang’s era, anecdotes and stories flowing endlessly. From great historical figures to small details like tableware and farming tools, he painted a vivid picture that filled Shihuang with nostalgia.

Seeing how the world had changed beyond recognition over millennia, yet finding someone who knew his life so thoroughly, Shihuang could not help but look favorably upon Mo.

Some modern people, when discussing history, treated what was deadly serious to those of the time as mere anecdotes, casually gossiping about the intrigues of rulers, even turning imperial affairs into entertainment.

Had Shihuang learned modern language on his own and discovered such irreverence, along with slanders of him as a tyrant, he surely would have been enraged.

But here stood before him not a careless gossip, but a scholar who devoted his entire life to history, who respected the wisdom of the ancients, and who spoke with heartfelt reverence.

For decades, Shihuang had called himself the “lonely one,” having unified the six kingdoms through endless trials. Neither wife, subordinate, nor child had ever truly understood him.

Until now, across thousands of years, he met someone who recognized his every act, who sincerely told him: you were great, your choices were right, time has proven your efforts, history has witnessed your success.

What would Shihuang feel?

It was like meeting a true confidant. He was deeply moved.

Because he felt Mo’s sincerity, even when Mo later showed him photos from excavations, telling him, “This is your tomb,” Shihuang did not erupt in fury but instead patiently gave him time to explain.

In Shihuang’s time, death was regarded with utmost seriousness. People believed in rebirth in another world and carefully prepared their tombs during life.

Even a modern person would be enraged if their ancestors’ graves were dug up—how much more so a superstitious ancient emperor?

Yet because of Mo’s exceptional approach, Shihuang restrained himself and gave him a chance.

Mo earnestly explained: “During modern cultural development, we sometimes uncover ancient relics. We did not rob graves with malice. We only sought to preserve your legacy, to let future generations know the brilliance of your era, so that history would never be forgotten.”

Watching this exchange, Zhou Song let out a sigh of relief.

Well done, Professor. Without an expert, Shihuang would never have let this pass.

Otherwise, everyone would have had to bow their heads in shame before their ancestor, unable to strike back or talk back. And once word spread, officials and archaeologists alike would be mocked by the gossip-hungry media.

To persuade an emperor who brooked no disobedience in just one afternoon required deep understanding and trust.

Specialists truly make the difference.

Zhou Song believed that the information Mo would now obtain from Shihuang would become priceless treasures for historians across the nation, shaping countless related fields.

As he thought this, he overheard Chu Feng nearby instructing his men: “Have a doctor examine Shihuang, check for any illnesses, and give him the necessary vaccinations.”

The subordinate, startled, quickly understood and muttered uneasily, “Let’s hope he’s lucky…”

Modern people are vaccinated from birth, immune to common infectious diseases.

But Shihuang, coming straight from antiquity with no antibodies at all—if he had unknowingly drunk from the same cup as a hepatitis patient, or come close to a leper, the results would be unimaginable.

Seeing this, Zhou Song had to admit that Chu Feng was meticulous and thoughtful.

Then he thought of Siqi, also a traverser, but as a legendary cultivator—immune to disease, living as long as the heavens. He surely had no fear of mortal illnesses, nor need of vaccines.

Still, Zhou Song could not help but wonder about a cultivator’s constitution. Could ordinary humans ever hope to reach it?

If only he could obtain Siqi’s detailed medical data…

With that thought, Zhou Song’s gaze instinctively turned toward Siqi, his imagination running wild.