The silence in the bedchamber was absolute, broken only by the frantic heartbeat of Eunuch Lian, who stood paralyzed in the corner. Selir Meilin, the woman whose beauty was whispered to be a weapon more dangerous than any blade, remained poised like a cobra. Her eyes, dark and piercing, scanned the man before her. She had spent two years observing Zhao Feng. She knew his every tremor, his every drunken slurred word, and his cowardly aversion to conflict.
But the man standing before her now—barefoot, dressed in a loose inner robe, and holding a fruit knife with the grip of a veteran executioner—was a stranger.
"Your Majesty," Meilin began, her voice regaining its melodious, mocking edge. She took a graceful step forward, her silk robes whispering against the floor. "You speak of masters and worlds. Has the wine finally driven you to madness, or have you been playing a very long, very boring game?"
Long Tian did not blink. In his previous life, he had faced assassins in the dead of winter and giants on the field of Boros. He knew that a spy's greatest weapon was not their dagger, but their ability to unsettle the opponent's mind.
"Game?" Long Tian's voice was like grinding stones. "A game is for children. What I am doing is reclaiming what was stolen. You were sent here to watch a pig rot in its own filth, Meilin. But you found a dragon instead. The question is: do you have the wisdom to bow, or the foolishness to scream?"
Meilin's hand flicked toward her sleeve. A hidden needle, coated in the venom of a desert scorpion, glinted in the dim light. Before she could launch it, Long Tian moved.
The body of Zhao Feng was heavy and untrained, but the explosive force within its muscles was terrifying. Long Tian pivoted on his heel, closing the five-pace gap in a blurred heartbeat. He didn't use the knife; instead, he caught Meilin's wrist in a grip that felt like a vise of cold iron.
A sharp crack echoed through the room as the small bone in her wrist buckled. Meilin gasped, the needle falling harmlessly to the rug. Long Tian's other hand clamped around her throat, pinning her against a massive sandalwood pillar.
"Your father, Prime Minister Cao, thinks he is a weaver of fate," Long Tian whispered into her ear, his breath cold. "He thinks he can replace a soul with a shadow. But he forgot one thing. A throne is made of swords, and only those who can wield them deserve to sit upon it."
Meilin struggled, her face turning a bruised purple. She looked down at the hand around her neck. It was thick and powerful, the veins bulging with a raw strength that Zhao Feng should not possess. This wasn't just a change in personality; it was as if the very essence of his biology had been ignited.
"Kill... me... then," she wheezed, her eyes defiant. "If I die... the palace guards... will swarm... this room."
Long Tian loosened his grip just enough for her to draw a ragged breath, but he did not let go. "Killing you is easy. You are a pebble in my path. But you are also a daughter who has been used as a pawn since you could walk. Your father sent you to a man he intended to poison tonight. He didn't care if you were caught in the crossfire of his regicide."
He leaned closer, his gaze boring into her soul. "Work for me. Be my eyes in the Prime Minister's manor. Tell him the Emperor is still a drunk, still a fool, but perhaps a bit more... unwell. Do this, and when I tear down the Cao clan, I will spare your life and give you the freedom you have never known."
Meilin stared at him. She saw no hesitation in his eyes. There was no lust, no fear, no madness. There was only the absolute, terrifying certainty of a man who had already seen the end of the world and returned to conquer it.
For the first time in her life, Selir Meilin felt true terror. She realized that the man before her wasn't just a reborn Emperor—he was an omen of the end of the current era.
"I... I accept," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Long Tian released her. She slumped to the floor, clutching her broken wrist, gasping for air.
"Lian!" Long Tian barked.
The old eunuch scrambled forward. "Yes, Your Majesty! Command me!"
"Fix her wrist. Use the hidden salves in the medical chest. Ensure no one sees her leave this pavilion. If a single word of this night leaks, I will personally see to it that the birds feast on your remains."
"Yes, Your Majesty! At once!"
Long Tian turned away from them, walking back to the balcony. He looked out over the sprawling City of Chinise. The lanterns of the capital twinkled in the distance, a sea of gold beneath a black sky. Tomorrow was the Spring Festival. It was the day the Emperor was required to stand before the people and the court to offer a sacrifice for the harvest.
In the previous years, Zhao Feng had stumbled through the ceremony, his robes stained with wine, his speech slurred, while Prime Minister Cao stood behind him, mocking him with every gesture.
Not tomorrow, Long Tian thought.
He sat down on the floor in a meditative pose. His new body was exhausted, the adrenaline fading to leave a deep, aching soreness. He began to circulate his breathing according to the Sutra of the Eternal North, a technique from his old world designed to maximize the body's natural recovery.
As he breathed, he felt the impurities of years of debauchery being pushed to the surface. His skin grew hot, and a thin sheen of foul-smelling sweat broke out over his brow. The "strong body" of Zhao Feng was a treasure, but it was a treasure covered in rust. He would spend the remaining hours of the night scrubbing that rust away with the fire of his will.
Hours passed. The moon dipped toward the horizon.
Within the silence of the room, the transformation continued. Long Tian's mind was busy mapping out the hierarchy of the court. He remembered the faces of the thirty-five key players he had to neutralize or convert.
There was Jenderal Wang Qi, the commander of the capital guards—a man of muscle but little wit, loyal to whoever paid him the most. There was the Empress Dowager Wei, a woman whose heart was a labyrinth of ice and ambition. And then there was the Permaisuri, Liu Ruyan.
The memory of her brought a flicker of complexity to Long Tian's cold heart. Zhao Feng had feared her. She was the daughter of a disgraced military family, forced into a marriage with a fool to keep her family's remaining influence under the thumb of the Prime Minister. She was a woman of steel, a warrior in her own right, who looked at the Emperor with nothing but pure, unadulterated disgust.
Ruyan, Long Tian mused. You wanted a man of worth. Tomorrow, I shall give you a King.
As the first grey light of dawn began to touch the tips of the palace pagodas, Long Tian rose. He felt lighter, his movements more fluid. The hangover was gone, replaced by a cold, predatory focus.
Eunuch Lian returned, his eyes wide with exhaustion and awe. "Your Majesty, the ceremonial robes are prepared. The Prime Minister's carriage has entered the palace gates. He... he has sent a messenger asking why the 'Emperor' has not yet called for his morning wine."
Long Tian looked at the golden robes laid out on the bed—heavy, encrusted with jade, designed to make the wearer look like a glittering doll.
"Tell the messenger that the Emperor had a restless night," Long Tian said, his voice resonant and deep. "Tell him I am preparing to give the ancestors a spectacle they will never forget."
Lian bowed so low his forehead touched the floor.
Long Tian began to dress. He didn't allow the eunuchs to help him. He strapped the silk sash tightly around his waist, feeling the solid strength of his core. He adjusted the heavy crown, its beaded veil hiding his eyes.
Today, the Court of Chinise expected to see a puppet. Today, the Prime Minister expected to see a dying fool. Today, the people expected to see a joke.
Long Tian stepped out of his bedchamber and onto the grand walkway leading to the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Every step he took was measured, heavy with the authority of a man who had led millions into battle. The guards he passed didn't look at him—they were used to ignoring the shadow that was Zhao Feng.
But as he walked past a veteran sentry, the soldier's head snapped up. The soldier felt a sudden, inexplicable chill, a primal instinct telling him that a predator was moving through the tall grass. He looked at the back of the Emperor, frowning. The gait was different. The shoulders were set. The aura was... suffocating.
Long Tian reached the massive vermillion doors of the Great Hall. Behind these doors sat the fate of the Empire.
"Open the doors," Long Tian commanded.
The two guards at the entrance hesitated. Usually, they waited for the Prime Minister's signal to open the doors for the Emperor.
Long Tian turned his head slightly. Even through the beads of the crown, his gaze felt like a physical blow. "I said... open the doors."
The guards flinched and immediately threw their weight against the heavy wood. The doors groaned and swung wide, revealing the vast, sun-drenched expanse of the court.
Hundreds of officials were already gathered, standing in rows according to their rank. At the far end, standing on the dais just below the Dragon Throne, was Prime Minister Cao Guan. He was laughing at something a junior minister had said, his posture relaxed and arrogant.
The laughter died instantly as the heavy thud of the Emperor's footsteps echoed through the hall.
Long Tian did not stumble. He did not look at his feet. He walked straight down the central aisle, his eyes locked on the throne.
The silence that followed was deafening. It was the silence of a hundred hearts skipping a beat. It was the silence of a world realizing that the sun was rising in the West.
Cao Guan's smile vanished. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Your Majesty? You are... early. And you seem to have forgotten your morning refreshment. Are you quite well?"
Long Tian stopped at the base of the stairs. He looked up at the Prime Minister, then at the throne, and finally back at the man who had tried to kill him in his sleep.
"I have never been better, Prime Minister," Long Tian said, his voice echoing to the very rafters of the hall. "In fact, I have finally woken up."
The Spring Festival had begun. And for the enemies of the Emperor, the season of winter was just arriving.