Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Heavy snow falls in winter, thick layers piling on red walls and rooftops.

Urgent shouts sweep through the palace as the Imperial Guard surges forward, charging into a remote, secluded hall deep within the Forbidden City.

The hall is overgrown with weeds, eerily desolate.

The swiftly moving Imperial Guard rushes in, encircling the hall, and all stare solemnly at the man standing in the snow.

Behind the Guard, heavy court robes trail across the ground as Consort Dowager Ning, dignified and splendid, covers her nose and mouth with a jade handkerchief, condescending to enter this barren place. She looks with disgust at the man standing in the snow—the thick snow cannot conceal her opulence, yet when she glances down at him, there is not a trace of affection in her eyes; instead, she embodies the arrogance of one seated in high station.

The man in the snow wears only plain clothes, his face as pale as the snow, lacking all color. No charcoal fire has been lit in the hall, and the cold air pours in.

He seems like a ghost imprisoned here, devoid of vitality, his eyes bottomless, his gaunt face filled with illness, and an ugly scar running along one side.

Only his eyes stare straight past the snow-covered palace walls. Hearing the distant tolling of bells, he twitches the corner of his mouth and bursts into laughter, as if hearing a joke.

At this unrestrained laughter, the Consort Dowager's face darkens further. She coldly glances at someone nearby, and then a man steps forward. With a spray of blood, a head crashes to the ground. The decapitated man still wears an expression of frantic urgency, as if desperate to convey some news to others, but before he can, his head is severed from his body.

The man lowers his eyes and meets the gaze of the head—the head of one who grew up with him. His eyes reveal no emotion.

"That loyal dog of yours, even in death, wanted to rescue you," Consort Dowager Ning says with a chuckle. "I almost forgot—Your Highness is now out of your wits and probably can't even remember this eunuch you released from the palace. What a pity, you let him go, yet he thought to save his master, secretly contacting rebel ministers to come back and rescue you."

The head's blood seeps into the snow, its unblinking eyes facing Ying Fusheng. His mind, long poisoned by toxins, seemed to finally grasp a thread of clarity. He laughs, "It seems my good imperial brother is anxious. Indeed, ascending the throne without legitimacy—even in his dreams, he must wake with a start."

At the mention of the new emperor, Consort Dowager Ning grits her teeth. Behind her, the Imperial Guard raises their blades. A fast message had burst into the palace a stick of incense ago: the new emperor, upon ascension, is purging dissenters. All rebellious factions have been sentenced to extreme penalties, and the one confined in the cold palace is the last. No one expected that such a man, in the information-sealed Forbidden City, could ally with a prince from the northern border, of a different surname, to throw the entire court and country into upheaval.

Rumors about the new emperor spread everywhere, the most persistent being that the new emperor's identity is questionable—he is not the biological son of Empress Xu.

The eunuch reads the edict of guilt aloud: "The guilty minister, Ying Fusheng, deceived his sovereign, colluded with rebels to plot treason—evidence conclusive... A cup of poisoned wine is granted for him to end his own life."

"Considering we were once mother and son, do you have anything to say?" Consort Dowager Ning asks.

"Why the rush, Consort Dowager? Just a eunuch—no need for you to dirty your hands." Ying Fusheng reaches out and closes the eunuch's eyes, his tone measured as if calm, yet every word defiant: "The Xu family isn't worried, yet you, Consort Dowager, are in a hurry to justify the new emperor. One might think the new emperor is your own son. But Mother Consort, if I rebel, do you think the new emperor will simply let you and the Ning family off lightly? Today the Ning family may be meritorious officials; tomorrow they could be traitors. Which do you think will give the new emperor more peace—leaving a lingering threat or eradicating the root?"

"This madman—send the prince on his way," Consort Dowager Ning says through gritted teeth.

The Imperial Guard moves forward.

Behind Consort Ning, a palace attendant carrying a tray steps forward. A few flakes of snow melt into the cup, and the poisoned wine sways unsteadily.

The chief eunuch says nothing. He presents the poisoned wine to Ying Fusheng. "Your Highness, please."

A cup of poisoned wine. Ying Fusheng looks toward the desolate exterior of the hall. This barren place has probably never seen so many people set foot here. His brother actually spared so many guards to come. He laughs aloud, the sound echoing through the hall, even slightly eerie, causing the guards to tense with vigilance.

"No need to trouble yourselves." Ying Fusheng's whole body trembles; even without this poisoned wine, he wouldn't survive the winter. He reaches out and grasps the cup, its surface flickering with a reflection of his face. He murmurs, "Fine wine before me, yet no time to celebrate. Let me wish my brother a sleepless night and a restless throne..."

With that, he drains the cup. The poison burns his throat, yet it brings him a pleasure he hasn't felt in years.

What good is it to be a prince? Without power or influence, one can never cross that red wall.

It took Ying Fusheng many years to understand this: Consort Ning's exploitation, the secrets of the inner court, and his absurd life full of betrayal.

From the corner of his eye, Ying Fusheng looks past the wind and snow toward a higher place.

His vision gradually dims. Ying Fusheng cannot close his eyes; in his gaze toward the heights of the palace, there is only unyielding resentment.

The wine had barely passed his throat within moments before his breathing ceased.

If there is a next life...

...

With a splash, a drowning sensation overwhelmed him, water flooding his nose and mouth as Ying Fusheng sank into the icy water.

"Oh no! His Highness has fallen into the water!"

"Someone, quick!"

Gurgle, gurgle, his ears felt muffled, as if submerged in water. He felt his body being moved, and the sound of someone breathing heavily nearby.

Ying Fusheng heard the noise around him, the roar of water fading from his ears. The first thing he felt was the intense heat in his body, his throat burning as if on fire, as if breathing had become a struggle. He desperately fought to escape the verge of death, and when a gulp of air finally rushed into his throat, he jolted awake from his daze.

Falling into the water—what are these people talking about?

Fragments of words and phrases reached his ears, and he opened his eyes.

What met his gaze was a bright inner chamber, bed curtains richly colored on both sides, pearls glimmering brightly, tassels swaying gently.

The blindingly bright light made it hard for him to keep his eyes open. After years of confinement in the secluded palace, he had become accustomed to damp, cold places. But now, warmth enveloped him, burning so fiercely that he could hardly breathe, leaving him dazed and his head splitting from the pain.

Didn't I die?

As the sounds around him grew louder, his face turned even paler. Before he could make sense of the situation, a sudden, excited shout came from beside him: "Your Highness!"

At this cry, everyone present immediately stopped their wailing and looked at the person on the bed as if they had seen a ghost.

As his senses returned, Ying Fusheng felt a burst of commotion around him.

"Quick, inform the Consort! His Highness has awakened!"

With that shout, long-forgotten memories surged back. Ying Fusheng's whole body tensed, his throat still feeling the final, burning sting of poison. Before his eyes, flickering shadows seemed to reflect the cold face of the new emperor in the great hall, and the noise in his ears mixed with the malice of others... until it all dissolved into the bedchamber before him in a blur.

A young eunuch knelt before him, tears glistening in his eyes, looking overjoyed to see Ying Fusheng awake.

Ying Fusheng came to in a daze. "Song An?"

The eunuch Song An, the palace attendant who had served him since childhood, whose severed head in the snow stared blankly back, now overlapped with the young, innocent face before him.

Hadn't he died together with me? Who is this person before me?

Had I truly gone mad in the end? The lingering poison had damaged my mind, and before death, I had seen such a vivid hallucination.

"I told you to leave the palace—why did you come back?" he murmured.

"Your Highness, what are you saying?" The young eunuch Song An was startled at first, then tears of worry streamed down his face at Ying Fusheng's rambling: "You accidentally fell into the water and have been unconscious for half a day. The imperial physician said you might not pull through."

He couldn't see beyond the room, but the warmth felt stiflingly intense. Who had authorized the use of charcoal? Didn’t anyone know to use the charcoal sparingly?

Ying Fusheng looked at the scene before him, which felt like an illusion, and saw the still-young, slender Song An.

Images overlapped; the hand gripping his own grew tighter and tighter. A dream? An illusion? Or something else?

It felt too real. He asked, pale-faced, "Fallen into the water? When did I fall into the water? Has the new emperor ascended the throne yet?"

Hearing this, those around him were terrified and rushed forward. The Great Yuan was flourishing under a strong, vigorous emperor. How could His Highness say such insane things!

Finally, Ying Fusheng saw the expressions around him as if they had seen a ghost, and he came to his senses: “What year is it now?”

“The 16th year of the Taiyuan reign.” The attendants saw the Sixth Prince looking dazed and answered in unison.

The 16th year of Taiyuan…? That's fifteen years ago!

Ying Fusheng shuddered violently, looking around in bewilderment. Finally, his eyes settled on his own thin arms, marked with the lingering bruises from years of acupuncture, and beneath his deathly pale skin, his veins stood out starkly. Most importantly, these hands were those of a child. Stunned, he stared at the scene before him, his mind reeling, and through his fading vision, he saw the people around him.

The familiar decor of the hall was completely different from the cold palace where he had been imprisoned for years. The brazier radiated warmth, keeping the cold wind at bay, and distant memories flooded back—this was actually the Weiyang Palace where he had lived as a child.

Weiyang Palace? Was he going insane, or was this a hallucination?

“Consort Ning has arrived—” A voice came from the outer hall, jerking Ying Fusheng out of his stupor.

Almost instinctively, he followed the sound and looked straight at the outer chamber, where the curtain was lifted and a beautiful woman in palace attire walked in.

“Consort Ning! His Highness is awake!”

Amid the commotion, Ying Fusheng’s gaze moved past the attendants to settle on the beautiful woman in palace attire behind them.

In a daze, or perhaps not long ago, he had seen this woman walk up to him, her splendid palace robes dragging through the thick snow outside the cold palace, with palace attendants respectfully following behind, addressing her as a Dowager Consort in flattering tones.

Vaguely, the young Consort Ning came before him. This favored imperial consort showed no trace of concern in her eyes, only an unfathomable coldness. The two figures overlapped—this face before him lacked the later years’ aged elegance, as young and beautiful as in his memory, with extravagant earrings, ornate palace robes, and the scent of imperial-bestowed cosmetics.

Ying Fusheng’s pupils contracted. This was Consort Ning, his so-called biological mother.

The acrid taste of poisoned wine became a double vision in his memory. Perhaps because the scene in Weiyang Palace was too real, seeing her youthful visage again reminded him of his manipulated youth.

He had been born prematurely, and his mother barely survived giving birth to him, costing her half her life. From a young age, Ying Fusheng had never been favored by his mother, but he never complained. He knew that his birth had nearly cost his mother’s life, so he respected and honored Consort Ning, never disobeying her, even while enduring her coldness and neglect.

So later, when his mother asked him to help with a small favor, he agreed without a second thought. He never expected it to be the beginning of his entrapment. That small favor involved military accounts, and once touched, it was like toppling a thousand mountains, directly angering his imperial father and resulting in his confinement in the deep palace. Before being locked away, he had even worried whether his mistake would implicate his mother. But he had overthought it—not only did his mother escape unscathed, but her Ning family also rose to become the Crown Prince Faction.

He was the abandoned pawn pushed to the front, the stepping stone for the Ning family’s loyalty and advancement.

It wasn’t until two years into his confinement that he learned from an old nursemaid who had been poisoned and barely survived that he was not Consort Ning’s biological son. He had been switched at birth. His true mother was Empress Xu. At that time, the Ning family was in decline, the Eastern Palace had no crown prince, and the Empress was deeply trusted and favored by the Emperor. Consort Ning bribed the Empress’s personal maid, took labor-inducing medicine, gave birth on the same day, and perpetrated the monstrous act of swapping the princes.

Finally, the new emperor ascended the throne, and the Ning family rose to become the meritorious officials of the new dynasty.

And he was given a cup of poisoned wine and sent to death, only to open his eyes and find himself here.

“Consort Ning!” The palace attendants bowed.

Ying Fusheng was pulled back to his thoughts by an attendant’s words and found his hands trembling beneath the covers. A hatred like a bone-deep disease surged in his heart. He clenched his fingers and surveyed everything around him. The double vision disappeared, and people and objects stood clearly before him.

The Sixth Prince had fallen into water and had been unconscious with a high fever for a day. Weiyang Palace had been tense throughout the day, with imperial physicians coming and going several times. As soon as he woke, Consort Ning arrived with the physician. The physician took Ying Fusheng’s pulse and, amidst the panic, showed a hint of joy. After careful examination, he said, “It’s good that His Highness has woken up. It’s good that he has woken up.”

“Your Grace, His Highness has pulled through!” someone said.

Consort Ning looked haggard, her eyes slightly red. Upon hearing this, her face lit up with joy. She leaned in, gently took his arm, and pulled him into an embrace, saying with an emotional tone, “Sheng’er, are you feeling better? You’re such a playful child. How did you end up in that place?”

“Thank goodness the physician’s skill saved you. If something had happened to you, what would your mother do from now on?”

The scent of cosmetics hit his nose. The sound of water in Ying Fusheng’s ears faded as he looked down at Consort Ning’s overly forceful hands. The friction of her clothes against his skin brought a sting that pulled him back to his thoughts. She didn’t seem to notice how much force she was using on a feverish child. Her few words, seemingly gentle and explanatory, actually blamed him for causing trouble by falling into the water and accused him of being willful.

After speaking, Consort Ning noticed the child in her arms hadn’t said anything. “Child, why aren’t you talking?”

“Your Grace, His Highness has just regained consciousness and needs careful handling,” the physician said tactfully. “But the fact that he’s awake is already a great blessing!”

Only then did Consort Ning seem to realize, and she quickly asked the physician what needed attention, acting like a flustered mother.

The surrounding physicians and attendants, seeing this, began to comfort Consort Ning, saying that His Highness was blessed by the heavens.

Ying Fusheng listened to this hypocritical performance and the gentle glances of the physicians, and he finally remembered when this was. This was from his childhood when he fell into water one winter night and nearly didn’t survive. The physicians had treated him through the night and pulled him back from the brink of death. That fall into water had left him weak and with a chronic illness. Consort Ning had hushed up the matter, saying the prince was willful and playful, while playing the role of a kind mother, earning herself a reputation for virtue.

“Your Highness, do you feel any discomfort?”

After a while, the physician finally sensed something was wrong.

After several exchanges, the Sixth Prince had shown no reaction at all, not even moving.

Rumor had it that Consort Ning and the Sixth Prince shared a deep bond, and she had stayed by his side all night. But now it seemed that the Sixth Prince was not very familiar with Consort Ning. The young eunuch had gotten a response when he spoke, but when Consort Ning spoke, the prince said nothing.

Normally, when Consort Ning said such things, Ying Fusheng would have responded. But today, for some reason, he remained silent. The physician looked over, and Consort Ning clenched her teeth slightly, calling him softly, even pinching his hand, trying to get a reaction.

The child sitting on the bed didn’t move, leaning against Consort Ning. Because of the fever, his lips were an ominous red. His dark eyes, peeking through his disheveled hair, stared at Consort Ning, giving an eerie feeling of a vengeful spirit. The attendants, recalling the prince’s delirious words when he first woke, couldn’t help but feel a chill.

Finally, just as the physician was about to approach, the Sixth Prince spoke: “Thirsty.”

“Bring the medicine,” the physician said.

The eunuch Song An immediately got up to fetch the medicine for Ying Fusheng.

When he brought it over, Consort Ning took it. She carefully brought it to Ying Fusheng’s lips: “Come, Sheng’er, be careful, it’s hot.”

Before she could finish, the Sixth Prince’s body trembled uncontrollably, and as he moved slightly forward, he bumped into Consort Ning’s hand holding the medicine bowl. Consort Ning hadn’t expected this at all. The warm medicine spilled all over her clothes, staining her once-splendid palace robes. Her expression momentarily slipped, and she jumped back in pain, nearly screaming.

The people around panicked and rushed over. Ying Fusheng looked at Consort Ning, and after a moment, as if coming to his senses, he looked at her with concern: “Mother?”

Consort Ning met his gaze and barely controlled her expression. “It’s nothing. Sheng’er, did you get burned?”

The attendants quickly cleaned up the mess. Consort Ning’s hand was red from the burn. She gritted her teeth and forced a smile, unable to even change her clothes. “Physician, how is Sheng’er?”

After the commotion, the physician saw that the Sixth Prince had stabilized. He stepped forward, asked a few questions, and found the prince responsive. Then he stepped aside and said to Consort Ning, “His Highness fell into water, and the cold has entered his body. Now that he’s awake, it’s good. But he must be carefully looked after in the coming days.”

“It’s just before the palace banquet. Sheng’er’s illness must be kept quiet for now. If it gets out and worries the Empress Dowager, that would be bad.” Consort Ning looked weary, and as she spoke, she frequently glanced at the Sixth Prince on the bed, her face full of concern. “I’ll trouble you for the next few days.”

“I understand, Your Grace,” the physician said gratefully. A prince falling into water and falling seriously ill could easily lead to blame falling on the Imperial Hospital.

Finally, after seeing off the physician, Consort Ning’s expression returned to calm. Suppressing her disgust, she looked at Ying Fusheng on the bed, her face completely blank. The look she gave him was like that for an ordinary patient—no pain or pity at all, as if she had just been going through the motions.

Seeing that Ying Fusheng had little reaction, she thought to herself, why didn’t this troublesome brat just burn himself to death?

A palace maid brought a freshly prepared bowl of medicine. “Your Highness, Her Grace specially brewed this medicine and watched over it for over an hour.”

Consort Ning’s patience was nearly exhausted. Remembering the attendants still present, she forced a worried expression and softened her voice: “The Empress Dowager’s birthday is approaching, and the palace is very busy. Your mother is in charge of the banquet preparations. Your imperial father hasn’t returned from the front yet. Don’t be willful now.”

She spoke until her mouth was dry, and the soiled palace robe made her extremely uncomfortable.

Finally, just as she was about to lose control, Ying Fusheng began to drink the medicine.

As he drank, Consort Ning’s brows relaxed. Seeing that he had drunk nearly half a bowl and was already drowsy, she set the bowl aside, instructed the other palace maids to watch over him, said that His Highness needed rest, and then got up and left.

Once Consort Ning left, the other attendants in the hall watched the Sixth Prince lying motionless. Especially when his eyes swept over them, it was unnerving.

When the senior palace maid said he needed rest, several attendants quickly followed her out.

As soon as they left, Ying Fusheng suddenly pressed on his throat, and a wave of nausea surged up.

He vomited out all the medicine, startling the attendants led by Song An, who immediately cried out to call the physician: “Someone—”

Ying Fusheng, however, reached out and stopped Song An at that moment. After ensuring he had expelled all the medicine, his body still trembled with nausea, his chest heaving violently, throwing his emotions into turmoil. It took a while for the lingering nightmares to dissipate, and only then did he slowly shift his gaze to the medicine stains on the floor...

He could not drink this medicine. As a child, his body had been frail, said to be weakened from a premature birth. Even if he managed to grow up smoothly, he would still be prone to frequent illnesses and ailments.

Back then, Consort Ning had been very attentive, constantly seeking out tonic herbs to strengthen his body. It was for this reason that Ying Fusheng once believed Consort Ning loved him, just that she was not good at expressing it... But later, when he was confined in the depths of the palace with no one to rely on, a kind elderly female palace official diagnosed him and revealed the truth: he had been deeply harmed by a secret palace poison.

It was a secret formula from the former dynasty, as the female official explained. Even if a royal physician examined him, they would only diagnose a weakened constitution. Without knowing the poison's nature, it was nearly impossible to detect it. Yet over time, it eroded his internal organs and affected his mind, eventually driving him insane or to an early death.

Ying Fusheng stared at the dark stain of the spilled medicine on the floor. This so-called nourishing and restorative concoction was actually pushing him toward his doom. He averted his gaze and surveyed the lavish and warm bedchamber around him, but the next moment, it transformed in his mind into that dim and cold, oppressive prison of the palace. The howling wind seemed to tear through his thoughts.

"Your fever hasn't even gone down yet. I'll go find Sister Bi Zhu right away and have her prepare another batch."

Bi Zhu was Consort Ning's personal maid. Song An finished speaking and was about to leave.

But before he could take more than a few steps, the prince suddenly tugged his robe. He froze immediately, afraid of disturbing him. When he turned around, he met the prince’s pitch-black eyes. Those eyes were clear yet fathomless, startling Song An.

"Song An, come closer," Ying Fusheng said.

Song An approached hesitantly. The moment he drew near, the prince’s warm hand rested on his neck.

The sudden heat startled him. The prince seemed to be searching for something that wasn't there on his neck, remaining silent for a long while.

"Your Highness?"

Ying Fusheng felt the vivid pulse beneath his palm—a head that had died with eyes wide open, unwilling to close now held a vitality that was not there before. The pulse of blood brought him back to his senses. He concealed his strange expression and only spoke after a moment: "It’s nothing. You may leave."

Song An was still somewhat uneasy, but seeing that the prince wished to rest, he had no choice but to step back.

Outside the chamber, Consort Ning's orders had ensured no one else was inside. Once Song An left, the silence was absolute.

This kind of silence was what Ying Fusheng knew best—after so many years, he had lived in a desolation that would suffocate anyone alive.

Ying Fusheng wrapped his robe around himself and rose. He picked up the medicine bowl, sniffed it, then poured its contents into the coal brazier. The so-called tonic specially prepared by Consort Ning was instantly devoured by the flames, evaporating without a trace. He walked over to the bronze mirror not far away and saw his current self. His young face bore no trace of what he would become. His overly thin features were heavy with illness, his downturned eyes giving him a weak demeanor. Though he was already ten years old, he looked like a child of seven or eight. His small frame appeared frail and pitiful, making him an easy target. It was a face of childish cowardice, devoid of the scars left by blades in later years.

Ying Fusheng’s whole body burned with fever, yet cold crept into his heart, inch by inch.

This was a face that did not resemble his mother. If there was any similarity, it lay faintly in the eyes—sharing a trace with his imperial father. It had none of the broad brows and large eyes characteristic of the Ning family...

He had not died.

He had returned to his childhood, to a time before everything had begun.

Brother Qi was still on his way!