Zhen'nan Royal Palace, Zi Ji Pavilion.
"No! No!"
On a gilded bed, Jiang Ruochén jolted upright with a shout, drenched in cold sweat as though he'd just escaped a nightmare too vivid to be real.
"The tower… the abyss… I'm still alive?"
He clenched his fists. Pain shot up his arms, sharp and real. Only then did it sink in: he wasn't dead.
"I was exploring the underground ruins… that ancient tower dragged me into the abyss, didn't it? Then… where am I?"
Looking around, he found himself in an antique, luxurious chamber, like something out of a palace drama.
Before he could make sense of it, agony ripped through his skull. A torrent of foreign memories flooded his mind.
In an instant, Jiang Ruochén went rigid, as if struck by lightning.
"I… transmigrated?"
It took him a long moment to recover from the onslaught.
He had indeed crossed worlds, into a realm where the strong ruled and the weak were trampled. Here, weakness was a sin; the powerless were treated worse than dogs.
Those with true power could move mountains, drain seas, and decide the life and death of millions. The mighty stood above kings and saints alike.
So this is that kind of world…
Jiang Ruochén gave a bitter laugh. "Of all people, I had to transmigrate into the unluckiest fool alive. Couldn't I at least get a better deal?"
As the memories settled, he understood the miserable life of this body's former owner, one who shared his name.
Prince Jiang Ruochén, fourteenth son of the Zhen'nan royal line, a title that sounded glorious but meant nothing without power. In this world, even royalty was slaughter fodder without strength.
And his predecessor's death made that clear.
The former Jiang Ruochén had been betrothed since childhood to Qin Qi, daughter of the royal general, a match made in heaven. But while Qin Qi awakened her martial soul at eight and became a prodigy, the prince remained frail, unable even to touch martial cultivation.
The engagement became a joke. People called him trash, disgrace, the dog born of a tiger.
When Qin Qi's family finally announced the annulment, he'd gone to protest in person, foolishly clinging to his childish affection. She challenged him to a duel: if he could defeat her, the engagement would stand.
Everyone knew what would happen. Qin Qi had been cultivating for ten years. He had none.
He went anyway. He refused to yield, refused to step down, even as she beat him within an inch of his life. He was carried home in tatters… and died.
That's when this Jiang Ruochén took his place.
"A prince beaten to death by a general's daughter, and no one even cares," Jiang Ruochén muttered, a dry laugh escaping him. "Power really is everything here."
He sighed, half mourning, half dread. "In a world like this, with a body like mine, how am I supposed to survive?"
Before he could think further, a palace maid rushed in.
"Fourteenth Prince! It's terrible—Her Ladyship has returned injured!"
A woman's image flared in his mind—graceful, kind, refined. Consort Wan, his mother, now his mother.
She had always been gentle and devoted, tending to the frail prince while others mocked him.
The thought that she might be hurt made his blood run cold.
"What? Mother is injured? Who would dare such insolence within the royal palace!" Jiang Ruochén slammed his palm on the bedframe. Pain tore through his half-healed wounds, but he ignored it. "Quick, help me to her!"
Leaning on the maid, he staggered to the hall.
There she was—Consort Wan, face pale as snow, supported by two handmaidens. Beside her walked a richly dressed man in a golden robe embroidered with three clawed serpents, a purple-gold crown, and matching boots—his half-brother, Jiang Li, the Eleventh Prince.
"Well, well. The trash lives and can even walk? Truly impressive." Jiang Li smirked. Royal blood meant little; family ties meant less.
Jiang Ruochén ignored him. "Mother!"
He hurried to her side and froze. The faint tear in her robe revealed a whip mark, deep enough to see flesh.
"Who did this? Who dares raise a hand against you in the palace?"
"Chen'er… you're awake? Forget me, how are your injuries?" Consort Wan's smile trembled with relief, not pain.
His throat tightened. "I'm fine. But you—who hurt you?"
Jiang Li chuckled. "Who else could? In the Zhen'nan Palace, only Her Majesty the Queen has that kind of authority."
"The Queen?"
Realization struck. Only the royal consort who managed the harem could have done this.
"That's right," Jiang Li said, strolling lazily around them. "Your dear mother went begging again—first Father, now the Queen—pleading for medicine to heal you. But the Queen doesn't take kindly to requests made for royal trash."
He grinned. "She said even a Spirit Dispersing Pill for a pet beast would be wasted on you."
Jiang Ruochén's fists trembled, nails digging into flesh. A trickle of blood ran down his palm.
"But," Jiang Li continued mockingly, "out of pity for your mother's whipping, the Queen did bestow a small favor." He pulled a small jade box from his belt. "This Blood Qi Powder—take it. You'll need it."
Consort Wan's eyes lit up. "Chen'er, hurry, take the medicine!"
But Jiang Li released the box, letting it fall to the ground.
"Oh my, you didn't catch it. Well, do pick it up, won't you? You'll need it for tomorrow, your final awakening ceremony. If you fail to awaken again, you'll be exiled to Mount Yan. Without strength, you won't last a week."
Laughing, Jiang Li turned and left.
Jiang Ruochén watched him go, every muscle trembling with humiliation.
When the hall fell silent, he stooped, pain tearing through his ribs, to pick up the fallen jade box.
He didn't care about the medicine itself.He cared that his mother had endured a royal whipping to obtain it.
"Mother," he said quietly, eyes burning, "let me help you tend your wounds. I swear, the humiliation of today—I'll repay it all. Even if it costs me my life."
Tears blurred his vision, not from pain, but from gratitude and fury.
Consort Wan smiled through her own tears. "Chen'er, your mother believes in you. And this time, I truly feel you will rise."
Something in his eyes—steady, resolute—made her believe it too.