The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

"Name."

"Zhang Yongren".

"What?"

"Zhang, Yongren."

"Tsk, Asian names are weird. Next time, remember to put the surname after the given name and say it word by word. Or wear a dog tag with English spelling when you go out."

Standing in front of Zhang Chang'an were two officers from the London Metropolitan Police.

Both men were burly, blond, bearded, and fair-skinned—typical British men—and they were extremely impatient with him.

"Just tell me where you usually live and what you do. One look at your face and I can tell you're Asian. Nobody cares about your specific place of origin."

Zhang Chang'an calmly stated, "I live in the Whitechapel district, in Cotton Mill Lane."

The two men hastily jotted down these notes and then headed toward the carriage behind Zhang Chang'an.

As they passed by him, the two men made no attempt to move aside and bumped their shoulders directly into Zhang Chang'an.

However, instead of knocking Zhang Chang'an away, the two of them lost their balance and stumbled.

They immediately turned back, their eyes fixed on the young man who was not as tall as them, but as steady as a mountain.

After pushing the two of them aside, Zhang Chang'an then adopted a humble attitude, showing that he wanted to make way for them, with a rather apologetic look in his eyes.

"Tsk..." One of the officers stepped forward, standing right in front of him, his eyes beneath the brim of his hat extremely fierce:

"I know what you're thinking, Asian guy. There's no record under your name, which means you haven't been in London long and don't know the rules yet. You'll learn later that it's best to avoid us when you see us."

Don't think that just because you accidentally killed this seemingly fierce murderer, you're really that great.

The fact that you live in the cotton mill's low-rent housing means you're an illegal worker there, earning less than eight shillings a week, crammed into a dilapidated room like a rat hole with a bunch of other Asians like you.

If you want to stay here, you'll have to learn to stick close to the wall and walk with your tail between your legs.

Otherwise, we can investigate the illegal employment of workers in Whitechapel at any time. Then it will be too late for you to avoid us.”

As the officer spoke, he placed his hand on his waist.

There, hanging was a strange mechanical baton with exposed gears and transmission mechanisms.

"I understand, officer." Zhang Chang'an lowered his head silently, hiding his eyes under the brim of his hat, no longer looking at the two people in front of him.

The two Scotland Yard officers then boarded the carriage next to them.

A burst of heat dissipated, and the horse-drawn carriage, which had no horses in front, started moving on its own and slowly left the neighborhood.

A plume of black smoke rose straight into the air from the metal pipe hanging at the back of the carriage, emitting a colorful reflection resembling gasoline under the surrounding lights.

Zhang Chang'an breathed a sigh of relief and took a deep breath. The air was filled with the smell of coal smoke and the fishy smell of the Thames.

The two police officers resolved a question they had been pondering: "So that's why Old Ancestor Yongren was so poor yet still had the money to ride in a horse-drawn carriage. It turns out that in this day and age, real horse-drawn carriages are a cheap commodity."

"You have discovered a secret of history."

[Police Steam-Powered Carriage]: In 1888, Benz's patented automobile successfully completed a long-distance journey, but it seemed unlikely that steam power would be replaced by internal combustion engines anytime soon.

Scotland Yard was equipped with unpowered steam carriages, a level of steam technology far exceeding what is recorded in later generations.

Spacetime Fragments +20.

"Rift: [Intrigue] 7274 (75th Generation: Yongren Gong)"

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it had wisdom and foolishness, faith and doubt, it was the spring of hope and the winter of despair, we had everything and we had nothing. We were both ascending to heaven and in hell."

London, 1888.

Although the capital of the British Empire was perpetually shrouded in clouds, making it virtually impossible to see the sun, it had nonetheless become the undisputed center of the Western world.

"As the old saying goes, since you're here, make the best of it. Yongren came here by chance, so he simply decided to settle down here and live in the black factory for the time being."

"However, Lord Yongren was not destined to be mediocre; this was a turning point in his fate."

The shattered reflections in the puddles on the gravel road revealed the state of the world to Zhang Chang'an.

The genealogy did not lie to him; it completed the historical synchronization event, and he entered this rift.

In reality, it was when Su Hao and his group had just arrived.

But based on his previous experience, external time doesn't flow when he's moving around in the rift, so he can deal with the problems in reality later.

The key issue now is the current situation.

Late 19th century London, an era that needs no introduction, is most notably distinguished by its exceptionally advanced steam technology.

The black smoke from the police officers' car had already blended into the black haze billowing from the towering factory chimneys, further transforming into dark clouds over the city. The oppressive atmosphere made it hard to breathe.

On the exterior wall of the adjacent factory, gears and drive belts were exposed, whirring loudly. Rusty copper pipes also extended towards the ground.

The gas lamps cast a dim, yellowish glow in the steam, elongating the ghostly shadows of pedestrians dressed in foreign attire on the street.

Before long, an even larger shadow completely covered their area.

Looking up at the sky, a huge balloon-like airship drifted slowly by, leaving a massive shadow. Below it was a very official political slogan: God Save the Queen, Britain Forever.

The mess around Zhang Chang'an blended into this industrial-style environment.

Wearing an octagonal newsboy cap and a rather shabby wool coat, he stood beside the overturned, open carriage.

A leaning lamppost crashed onto the roadside, leaving long tire tracks on the ground. Yet, passersby, shopkeepers, and residents seemed only concerned with whether they themselves had been hit.

"There's not even anyone watching the spectacle. It truly is a dark and indifferent era," Zhang Chang'an mused.

The unpowered carriage and the mechanical traces everywhere on the street piqued his curiosity, but the industrial-era influences made him unsure of where to begin.

Therefore, he chose to observe the follow-up of the synchronous event before deciding on his next course of action.

The carriage was empty; the coachman assassin he had beaten black and blue had long been loaded into the carriage and taken away by the policeman.

"Back then, Lord Yongren merely escaped from the hands of assassins."

The brave police officers, on their way to the scene after receiving the report, happened to encounter the killer who had been on the run for over an hour and captured him.

Of course, even if you successfully kill the assassin this time, the final result will still be surprisingly similar. All the credit and the reward will go to the police officer. As for Lord Yongren, it seems he only suffered slightly fewer injuries?

"The timeline has changed, spacetime fragments +200."

"Synchronization event, increasing your synchronization rate with Yongren Gong, and you have gained the ancestral skill: [English] (Common)"

The family tree revealed the initial impact he had.

Zhang Chang'an unconsciously cursed under his breath, "That's fucking shady."

Of course, it's the British version of a national treasure.

He discovered this skill as soon as he arrived, and it was because he had already mastered a decent level of English that he was able to deal with the two police officers earlier.

However, this doesn't seem to solve the problem. People in this era don't care if someone is almost killed on the street, and well-meaning citizens certainly won't even get a banner of appreciation.

Killing a hitman doesn't seem to improve his life?

As Zhang Chang'an was thinking this, he didn't expect that as soon as he took his eyes off the task settlement, he would run into another group of people.

The group consisted of three to five people, all of them looking fierce and menacing. The one in the lead wore a large black coat and, like Zhang Chang'an, had a menacing look in his eyes under the brim of his hat.

Most importantly, Zhang Chang'an glanced down and saw that his pockets were bulging: "Where did this ruthless guy come from?"

These people were dressed in Western clothes, but like him, they had Chinese faces. And judging from their appearance, they were there for him.

Zhang Chang'an immediately thought of his unresolved mission: "Right, my mission hasn't been revealed yet, it only says it's a turning point in my life... What happened to Lord Yongren after that?"

Taking advantage of this opening, the group of people opposite him walked up to him. The leader adjusted his hat, indicating:

"Are you also from Guangdong? We're from the same hometown."

Let me introduce myself. We are employees of Louis Chan Debt Company.