The morning for the new Zhang Ming turned out to be extremely hard. He was sweating profusely, his hands shaking, and the drunkard's body was wracked by a slight tremor. He craved wine or any other alcoholic drink. Crawling out of bed, he went outside, where he vomited. Fortunately, at home, there was a basin of water waiting for him, but this time his clothes hadn't been washed. He felt awful, so he didn't care where the water came from, immediately taking several large gulps, then washing his face.

  A real sight. Even though he doesn't look more than thirty. Gotta hand it to him for getting himself into this state, Zhang Ming thought, looking at his reflection in the basin and running his hand over his wet face. How the hell did you end up with kids, you bastard? Where's your wife?

  Since morning, he hadn't seen the children anywhere, and he didn't give a damn. The foreign addiction was torturing him, and he fought it with all his might, refusing to give in. His stubborn nature wouldn't let him be led around by his own weakness or depend on anything. In the past world, he hadn't even smoked. Glaring fiercely, Zhang Ming jutted his chin forward and endured stubbornly.

  It was time to go to work. The river port received ships nearly around the clock, so the earlier a carrier showed up, the more he earned. Breathing heavily, Zhang Ming walked along the dusty street. His eyes caught a shard from an old pot with an inscription, and he managed to read the previously unfamiliar symbols—"wine."

  So the bastard could read, at least this inscription by heart, he thought, scanning the street for other signs. This one too I can read. Convenient. I've kept my own memory and the foreign one. Though the second one's pretty useless.

  Tormented by the persistent urge to drink, he reached the large dock, caught his breath, and got to work. In such a state, he had no strength to make plans for the future, just mechanically doing the job for money and survival. Again and again, he lifted cargo, carried it, returned, trying to last until lunch, where he wolfed down moldy porridge, then continued working until sunset.

  Not wanting to spoil relations with people he barely remembered, he forced a smile at the other carriers, who by their looks were big wine lovers, bowed to visiting traders, echoing the others. At the end of the shift, he received meager pay. As it turned out, he also owed the owner, so he deducted part of the coins for the debt. Mysteriously, the debt never decreased. Complicated money matters weren't the old body's strong suit.

  Well. A pitiful life all around. At least I'm a bit better today. Forced another bowl of porridge into myself, he sighed inwardly.

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  At the end of the long, hard day, a familiar carrier approached him, more like a beggar in rags. The old Zhang Ming often drank with him and pulled off shady, illegal deals. Sometimes they stole or cheated, then fought over a couple of coins.

  "You changed your mind?" the ragamuffin grinned, showing his few yellow teeth.

  "About what?" Zhang Ming replied wearily.

  "Sellin' your girls! What else. Forgot our talk? Did I run around askin' about the price for little brats and where to place 'em for nothin'?" the carrier rattled on, while the shocked outsider from another world blinked in confusion. "Two options here: either they go into service for a wealthy house as slaves, or as workers in a brothel, and then, if lucky, become courtesans."

  When the meaning of the words sank in, Zhang Ming wanted to knock out the ragamuffin's remaining teeth and even clenched his fists, but then he came to his senses and lowered his hands. Most likely, the former dad had himself prompted the drinking buddy to sell the girls. Maybe tiredness had set in, or he was finally starting to realize he'd ended up in a completely different world. Staring blankly at the road, he trudged home.

  "Hey! Hold up! Where you goin'?"

  "Yeah, tomorrow," Zhang Ming waved him off. "We'll talk tomorrow."

  I don't know these kids, why do I need them? Maybe they'd really be better off in a brothel than in the slums with me. I don't even know how to take care of myself, let alone two snot-nosed kids, he thought. Who am I kidding? My conscience would haunt me for life. A brothel for sure won't do!

  Upon returning home, Zhang Ming noticed that the already thin rice sack had become even thinner, but there were no children in sight nearby. The fact that they didn't need to be watched over and grew on their own, like grass by the roadside, even pleased him. While his body was in such a battered state, he lacked the strength to think about raising two snotty freeloaders.

  Maybe I should sell them after all? With my income, it's even hard for one person to survive, he thought. What if I find them a good home, like servants' work, anything's better than with me. Oh! Maybe there's an orphanage in the city. I'll give them there. That's perfect! I'll find out tomorrow.

  The next day, the huge dock was deserted. No trading ships had arrived, and only fishing boats were scurrying around. Zhang Ming didn't get any work. Although his mind and body were still in complete disarray, he asked the overseer to find him any paid job, but he just waved him off. He didn't dare test the abilities of the perpetually drunk porter for other work.

  All morning, Zhang Ming loitered on the dock without anything to do, fighting a persistent urge to drink. He constantly hallucinated bottles of beer in tall chilled glasses, wine, whiskey with ice cubes, and other alcoholic beverages, though he doubted they sold anything like that here at all. He simply nodded at acquaintances' chatter.

  "Hot. I want kvass," he muttered quietly.

  Apart from a slight homesickness for home and modern comforts, Zhang Ming had largely accepted the new reality and didn't torment himself with thoughts about the mysterious forces or reasons that had thrown him into this foreign world. He viewed the situation from the perspective of a castaway on an island and focused on survival. If a hint ever appeared that could reveal the way home, Zhang Ming would certainly take it, but for now, he just wanted not to die of starvation. First priority was a full stomach, and everything else after that.