Chapter 116: Imperial Tutor

Chapter 116: Imperial Tutor

66 slunk in sneakily into the central administration hall.

It pressed against the door crack, checking that the hall was totally empty before slipping through the crack and floating in.

Seeing 66 slump in looking miserable, the mainframe sighed. "66, you must know your score this time, right?"

66 tried to make itself as small as possible, attempting to shrink into a little glowing ball.

It knew (T_T).

On the mainframe's screen was a blinking red '59.'

The mainframe sighed. "Your first failing grade, 66."

Failing a vacation mission - that takes real talent.

The little system wilted, its glow fading. The mainframe softened its tone. "...Don't be too upset, 66. This mission had its unique challenges. Perhaps I shouldn’t have made it a vacation task. The key now is, did you learn anything from it?"

66 muttered halfheartedly, "Maybe Xiao Shao was just a really good ruler."

Because he was a good ruler, couldn't bear to see good officials wronged or allow any wrongful case to remain unresolved, he acted the way he did.

66 thought with a pout. "Even though he was harsh and didn’t follow the mission properly, I don’t blame him."

As a ruler, Xiao Shao had done right by everyone.

—Except 66’s.

The little system looked like it might cry. The mainframe pondered for a moment. "If a virtuous ruler doesn’t work, how about this—I’ll assign you a real piece of work?"

66: "Huh?"

Mainframe: "The worst. Absolute trash. Complete failure."

It pulled up data, and a name appeared on the screen: "Jiang Xun."

Jiang Xun, the doomed emperor of Great Wei, the ruler who brought about its downfall. Historical records described him as tyrannical and indulgent, obsessed with frivolous pleasures, neglecting state affairs for decades. He favored sycophants and alienated loyal ministers, leaving the country in ruins. When the Northern Di’s forces breached the Shanhai Pass and stormed the capital, he was deposed, imprisoned in the palace, and eventually killed himself with charcoal fumes.

In short, a total tyrant and complete failure as an emperor.

The mainframe flipped through the novel. "Jiang Xun should have died long ago, but by some twist of fate, his soul got stuck in a temporal rift. He was reborn in the modern era with his memories intact. You can bind with him and bring him back to complete the mission. If he succeeds, I won’t hold his past life against him."

66 lit up immediately. "So, my host is the actual scumbag?"

Mainframe: "Yes. And not just any scumbag—one who has already nailed the original plot perfectly."

The! Actual! Scumbag!

And one who’d already finished the storyline!

Mainframe: "He doesn’t even need to do anything new—just repeat what he did in his past life."

66: "!"

Score!

People don't change. It wouldn’t have to rein in its host—just let him act as he pleased, and the mission would practically complete itself!

The system clenched its fist, its determination flaring up again: "Please send me his information—I’ll go bind him right away!"

Such a perfect host—no way I’m letting other systems beat me to him!

Data flashed across the screen as the Mainframe said, "It's already transmitted. From dimension-hopping, his body is extremely weak and will burn out in three years tops. You can use this as leverage in negotiations. 66, good luck."

Before the words even finished, 66 had already turned into a white streak, bolting out of the Management Bureau.

*

Jiangcheng No.1 High School, Class 7, Senior Year.

The afternoon was sweltering, cicadas whining listlessly from the treetops. The classroom fan hummed as the history teacher, tucking a stack of fresh test papers under his arm, unscrewed his water bottle and tapped the desk with his pointer. "For the first sub-question of the second essay question, which student would like to answer?"

The old man’s gaze swept the room, but no one met his eyes. He then called out, "Jiang Xun... Hey, your name’s a dead ringer for the Deposed Emperor of Wei, Jiang Xun. Stand up and answer this question."

From the corner, a lean, wiry teen rose. Dressed in his school uniform, glasses perched on his nose, and hair neatly tucked behind his ears, he had the kind of clean-cut look girls in class dug. Yet his skin, untouched by sunlight for too long, bore a ghostly pallor. His downturned eyes carried an unnerving gloom when he wasn’t smiling.

Hearing his name, Jiang Xun pushed back his chair and stood. He unfolded his test paper, glancing down at the first sub-question of the essay section.

The question read: "How would you evaluate the Deposed Emperor of Wei, Jiang Xun?"

He answered flatly, "Jiang Xun, the Deposed Emperor of Wei, was the main reason for the fall of the Wei Dynasty. During his reign, he lived lavishly, favored corrupt officials, and imposed exorbitant taxes, sparking nationwide fury. This directly led to the decline of Wei's national power, giving the Northern Di an opportunity to invade."

His tone was indifferent, his enunciation precise.

"Well said, Jiang. You may sit." The history teacher nodded. "The Deposed Emperor of Wei, Jiang Xun, is a ruler Scholars overwhelmingly see as having almost no redeeming qualities. Historical records state that during his decade-long reign, he transformed a thriving dynasty into one on the brink of collapse, paving the way for foreign invasion and nearly fifty years of turmoil in the Central Plains."

"During those fifty years, numerous brutal massacres occurred. The people were displaced, treated no better than livestock. The capital at the time was described as 'bones littering the fields, not a rooster's crow for miles.' The once-prosperous capital was reduced to ashes... Hey, Jiang? You okay? Are you having an asthma attack?"

In the corner, Jiang Xun clutched the edges of his test paper, eyes shut tight, his face ghostly pale.

The history teacher hurried over, pressing a hand to his forehead—only to find it slick with cold sweat. "Are you feeling unwell, Jiang? Do you need to go to the infirmary?"

Jiang Xun was Class 7’s resident sickly kid. He often coughed up blood, and in the first month of school, he’d been hauled off to the ER due to an asthma attack. Once, during a flag-raising ceremony while the principal was still speaking, he collapsed straight to the ground. Though no major issues were found afterward, he became the class mascot for fragility.

"I'm fine, Mr. Li," Jiang Xun managed a shaky grin. "Just a bit nauseous. I need to use the restroom."

Mr. Li quickly stepped aside. "Go ahead, go ahead."

Despite his poor health, Jiang Xun excelled academically, especially in history. His multiple-choice scores were always perfect, and his essays rarely missed full marks—earning him the history teacher’s favor.

Jiang Xun skirted past Mr. Li and slipped out the back door. Once in the restroom, he gripped the sink and vomited violently.

This wasn't physical discomfort but gut-deep disgust—something he couldn't suppress. By the time he finished, his vision blurred with black spots, his stomach churning with acid. He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face.

Then he looked up at the mirror.

The school's mirror was fogged, its surface unclear. A large crack ran down the center, splitting his reflection at the nose as though dividing him in two. The figure in the mirror had jet-black hair and lashes, each strand distinct, trembling with droplets of water. His face was devoid of color—pale skin, pale lips—like some faded daguerreotype.

Jiang Xun stared at his reflection for a long moment before suddenly smiling.

His mouth twisted without a sound, the expression downright unsettling. Fortunately, no one else was in the restroom during class—otherwise, they might have thought they'd seen a ghost.

After flushing away the mess, Jiang Xun returned to his seat.

The first essay question had already been covered. Now, the class was discussing the historical changes in South Asia. With the college entrance exams looming, everyone was buried in their studies. No one spared a second glance at "Jiang Xun's life," instead hurrying into the next lesson.

Jiang Xun closed his eyes.

"Bones littering the fields, not a rooster's crow for miles"—to his classmates, these were just words on a test paper. But to Jiang Xun, they were seared into his mind, relentless and vivid.

—He had seen it all.

The fall of the divine land, the trampling of iron hooves, the exile and suffering—he had witnessed each one.

After vomiting so much, Jiang Xun pulled out a chocolate bar from his bag, letting it melt in his mouth to replenish his blood sugar. He had bought dark chocolate with over 90% cocoa content—bitter and astringent. Once the dizziness in his head subsided, Jiang Xun flipped his test paper over, uncapped his pen, and kept up with the teacher, writing answers to the questions.

Halfway through, a blinding white flash appeared before his eyes. Jiang Xun frowned, unable to tell if it was a hallucination from low blood sugar, when a cheerful voice rang out.

"Hello~ This is the Abusive Protagonist NPC System! I’m your exclusive System 66! Are you worried about your health? Troubled by asthma, coughing up blood, or low blood sugar? Sign up with one click, complete exclusive tasks, and reach the top!"

The voice spoke directly into his ear. Jiang Xun’s pen paused, leaving a dot on the test paper.

After only a brief hesitation, he lowered his head and continued writing, his handwriting neat and precise. "What tasks?"

Jiang Xun accepted the concept of a "system" without batting an eye. Having been reborn after death, he knew the supernatural existed. A floating screen calling itself a system didn’t strike him as strange.

66: "What if I gave you a chance to return to Great Wei? Would you be willing?"

At this, Jiang Xun’s pen dragged across the paper, leaving a long streak.

66: "But we’ll need to lay down some rules. You must complete the tasks I assign—at least, uh... 85 points!"

Telling the host that the passing score was 60 had backfired before, so 66 had learned its lesson. It decided to raise the bar!

85 points! It had to be 85!

For just a moment, Jiang Xun faltered, his fingers tightening around the pen. His bangs fell forward, obscuring his expression. "What tasks?"

66: "Pretty much what you did before. In most cases, you just need to follow your previous actions."

"Most cases?"

"Right. Outside the main plot, you're free to improvise."

"What happens if I fail the tasks?"

66 went on alert.

The mission hadn’t even started yet, and he was already asking about failure?

If the tasks weren’t completed... well, nothing would happen, QAQ.

Unlike infinite-loop systems or scumbag rehabilitation systems, 66 didn’t have any punitive authority. Its deal with the host was strictly business. If the terms weren’t met, at worst, the host would just go back to square one.

But since Jiang Xun had asked, it replied, "Without me, you’ve got two years to live."

Jiang Xun’s body was frail and weak. Without external intervention, he wouldn’t last two more years.

As it spoke, 66 watched Jiang Xun's face.

...There was none, QAQ.

Jiang Xun stayed detached, like a spectator, still holding his pen, copying answers from the blackboard with neat, precise strokes. It was as if even the prospect of death the next day couldn’t stir the slightest emotion in him.

In that moment, 66 got an idea and blurted out, "All your actions will lose meaning. Your country and its people will repeat the same tragedy, over and over, until the next cycle."

This time, it saw Jiang Xun take a very slight breath.

66 poked him. "Wanna make a deal?"

Jiang Xun closed his eyes: "...I do."

A flash of white light, and the contract appeared before him. The moment he pressed his fingerprint onto it, the classroom lights and fans twisted and distorted, while the cicadas' chirping outside the window faded into silence.

He opened his eyes to the flickering glow of candlelight, with wisps of white smoke rising from the Boshan incense burner. He lay on an ornate sandalwood bed, intricately carved with hollow patterns, its canopy veiled by layers of gauze. Beyond the drapes, palace attendants approached swiftly, dropping to one knee and bowing in reverence as they called out, "Your Majesty, time to wake up."

"Your Majesty, your meal is ready," Wang An murmured softly, taking a towel from a maid and gently dabbing the Emperor's cheeks. "Lord Shen has been kneeling outside the gates for three hours. Will you see him?"

Jiang Xun: "...Lord Shen?"

It had been so long since he last heard that name, it left him momentarily dazed.

The Imperial Tutor, Shen Que.

Jiang Xun's mentor, who later collected his body when he burned himself in the palace.

Back then, Shen Que's legs were already broken, bound to a wheelchair for life, unable to walk. Whenever it rained or snowed, his knees ached terribly. In later years, Jiang Xun had read a poem Shen Que wrote, describing himself as "half-dead withered wood meeting frost, years of illness and pain seeping into the marrow."

All these years, he had deliberately avoided anything related to Great Wei, especially Shen Que. He had only encountered this poem during a literature analysis exercise—it was said Shen Que composed it after suffering unbearable knee pain from the cold, too weak to even rise from bed.

Wang An said, "Indeed, Lord Shen has been kneeling outside the palace gates since noon, refusing even a sip of water."

He studied the Emperor's expression carefully. "Should he be allowed in?"

Jiang Xun: "...Yes."