Wen Tian sat down at the table, poured himself a large cup of hot water, and drank it all in one gulp, not even caring that it scalded his mouth.
Only when the warmth reached his stomach did the chill in his limbs begin to fade.
“Young Master, are you alright?” Daifu was startled by how pale he looked.
Wen Tian shook his head. His mind was in utter disarray, a tangled mess he couldn’t begin to unravel. He waved Daifu away and locked himself alone in the room.
Cradling the steaming cup, he let the rising mist blur his vision as he quietly sifted through memories of his past life.
Sifang Town was far removed from the capital, tucked away in a remote corner. In his previous life, after their family assets were seized by Wen Boli, Wen Tian had been trapped in the daily struggle for survival.
He hadn’t known much about the outside world—only bits and pieces of major events that had shaken the country during those years.
Most vivid in his memory were the drought in the fourth year of Pingchu and the rebellion led by the Second Prince in the fifth.
That year, nearly all of Great Chu was plagued by drought. Signs of the disaster had emerged early, and by autumn, entire fields of crops had withered to dust.
Farmers reaped nothing. Many households survived only by rationing leftover grain from the year before.
But the drought dragged on into the fifth year with no sign of relief. With empty granaries and soaring food prices, desperation grew.
People stripped bark from trees and gnawed on roots to stay alive. Countless died from starvation.
It was then that Prince Chu Shaohua raised the banner of rebellion, claiming he sought to save the people from fire and water, accusing the emperor of cruel governance and saying the heavens had withdrawn their favor.
Chu Shaohua had prepared for this.
As natural disasters threw the realm into chaos and the court struggled to cope, his forces swept southward, seizing control across the river Feng and setting up a tense standoff with the capital.
Sifang Town, part of Nanming Commandery, lay within rebel-held territory. But because it was poor and isolated, the town saw little violence beyond the scourge of drought.
Any news Wen Tian heard had already passed through many mouths before reaching him.
The court was overwhelmed by internal disasters. Refugees flocked to the rebel army, swelling its ranks as it marched steadily toward the capital, Qingyang.
Were it not for Prince Yu’s intervention, Great Chu might have seen a change of emperor.
Wen Tian had heard tales—how Prince Yu led his army from the border and decimated the rebel troops. But due to a shortage of supplies, he was forced to retreat, giving the rebels a chance to regroup.
With the national treasury empty and funds diverted to famine relief, Prince Yu was left with no choice but to station his troops north of the Feng River, locked in a years-long stalemate with the rebels.
The rebels, wary of Prince Yu’s fearsome reputation, dared not advance. For two full years, neither side made a move. Only in the seventh year of Pingchu did the capital finally suppress the rebellion.
But by then, the drought and war had left Great Chu in ruins. Its people were destitute, and foreign tribes took advantage of the weakened borders to launch invasions.
Even until the day Wen Tian died, the nation had never truly known peace again.
He fetched paper and brush, recording everything he could remember from his past life—event by event.
He had never harbored grand ambitions.
Since his rebirth, his focus had only been on his small family: keeping his sister from marrying into the disastrous Jiao family, exposing Wen Boli for who he truly was, and protecting the Fu family’s inheritance.
He had believed that if he could protect his own, it would be enough.
Though the world outside was chaotic, life in Sifang Town had remained relatively peaceful. As for matters of court and country, he’d always known he wasn’t the type to meddle in them—and he didn’t want to.
So long as his family stayed safe, he was content.
But things hadn’t turned out as simple as he’d hoped. One unintended action had set off a chain reaction. He didn’t know exactly where the deviation began, but it had clearly started in Sifang Town.
All he could do now was document the path of his past life and tread his new one with extreme caution.
Ten full pages. He wrote down every memory he could summon—every firsthand experience, every rumor, every tale.
When he finished, he glanced at the still-wet ink, then carefully tucked the booklet into a hidden compartment beside his bed, right next to his private stash of silver.
None of those things had happened yet. He didn’t know how much would change this time. The only thing he could control was living well in the present.
***
March 15th — An Auspicious Day for Ancestral Rites
Wearing formal ceremonial robes, his long hair tied neatly into a crown, Wen Tian stood tall before the bronze mirror.
The innocence in his eyes had begun to give way to a quiet steadiness. He took a slow breath, face solemn, and followed Fu Youqin toward the ancestral hall.
The Fu family’s ancestral hall hadn’t been opened outside of festivals for many years. The heavy wooden doors creaked as they slowly swung apart.
Several solemn clan elders stepped forward as witnesses. After reciting the full rites in a loud, clear voice, they retrieved the family genealogy.
The Fu genealogy was a slim book. Since the first generation, the Fu family had abided by an unspoken rule: no concubines.
This tradition had been passed down for generations, and though it made for a sparse lineage, it had endured.
Following the elders’ instructions, Wen Tian knelt and kowtowed three times before the ancestral tablets. After the ceremony, an elder raised his voice and formally wrote the name “Fu Tian” into the genealogy.
By the time the ceremony ended, the sun hung high overhead. The elders carefully stored the genealogy.
One of them rested a hand on Wen Tian’s shoulder and said gravely, “Now that you’ve returned to the Fu name, the family’s future rests on your shoulders. Don’t let your mother’s efforts be in vain.”
“I understand,” Wen Tian replied, his tone steady and respectful.
Outside, firecrackers exploded in celebration. The plaque above the main gate, once bearing the Wen family name, was taken down.
A new plaque, etched with “Fu Residence” in brilliant gold on redwood, was lifted up amid the sound of drums and festive cheers.
Wen Tian looked up at the gleaming new sign. It felt like the dark clouds that had long loomed above him were finally beginning to clear.
The old Wen family plaque was carried off by servants. Staring up at the bold, graceful calligraphy of the new “Fu Residence” sign, Wen Tian couldn’t suppress the joy that curled at the corners of his lips.
After the rites came a celebratory banquet. The guests were all close friends and family who had attended the ceremony.
At Fu Youqin’s guidance, Wen Tian circled the room with a wine cup, offering toasts until he was slightly tipsy and found an empty seat to rest.
“Congratulations,” came a familiar voice—Chu Xiangtian, who had also been invited.
Wen Tian beamed at him, his dark eyes bright and just a little unfocused from drink. “I owe much of today to you.”
Chu Xiangtian raised his cup. “Shall we drink?”
“Thank you.” Wen Tian clinked his cup against his and drained it. His eyes were tinged red with intoxication, but his smile was genuine.
“It’s a good day,” he declared. “Drink with me.”
He poured another cup for Chu Xiangtian and downed his own again in one go. The alcohol hit him fast.
His words slurred slightly, voice softened with a nasal lilt—it almost sounded like he was whining playfully.
Chu Xiangtian couldn’t resist such a request. He took the wine jug and sat across from him.
Wen Tian wasn’t a strong drinker. Before the jug was half gone, he was already swaying. He slumped onto Chu Xiangtian’s shoulder, cheeks flushed pink, eyes hazy but unwilling to close.
He nestled against Chu Xiangtian’s neck, murmuring, “I’m so happy.”
Chu Xiangtian gave his back a few helpless pats. The boy really was happy—but if this went on, he was going to start something neither of them could walk back from.
With a sigh, Chu Xiangtian scooped him up and carried him back to the east wing.
Most of the servants were busy outside. The inner courtyard was quiet.
He laid Wen Tian on the bed and went out to fetch some water to clean him up.
But when he returned, the drunk boy had already staggered upright, clinging to the bedpost. His outer robe was in disarray, exposing his chest.
When he saw Chu Xiangtian enter, he stopped moving, lips pouting as he complained, “Hot…”
A vein popped on Chu Xiangtian’s temple. This boy was going to be the death of him.
Taking a deep breath, he set the water basin down and stepped forward to help him out of the heavy outer robe, leaving only the inner layer.
Still mumbling about the heat, Wen Tian squirmed. Chu Xiangtian ignored the protests, straightened his clothes, and firmly pressed him back onto the bed.
As soon as he let go, Wen Tian lifted his head again and muttered, “Thirsty…”
Chu Xiangtian: “…”
With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and ground his teeth, then poured a cup of water and held it to his lips.
Wen Tian, satisfied, clung to his wrist like a little beast, gulping the water obediently.
Finally, Chu Xiangtian thought, now he’ll settle down.
He turned to soak a towel for his face—but before he could return, Wen Tian started wriggling again, mumbling nonsense.
In the end, Chu Xiangtian could only roughly wipe his face and cradle him half in his arms, one hand restraining him, the other gently patting his back while whispering softly.
Eventually, Wen Tian wore himself out and dozed off, still clutching his sleeve.
Chu Xiangtian looked down at him. The boy’s eyes were closed, lashes fluttering slightly, lips parted, and his breath light and even.
“You little menace,” Chu Xiangtian murmured, giving his nose a gentle pinch. He tucked the blanket over Wen Tian’s stomach and went to find Daifu to take over.
He still had things to attend to—otherwise, he would have happily stayed to care for this adorable drunk.
Borrowing a horse from the Fu family, Chu Xiangtian rode out of Sifang Town.
Wei Yang and his men had been waiting for ages. He was pacing impatiently, muttering under his breath, “What the hell is taking him so long?”
“He’s here, he’s here!” Yang Dashi, sharp-eyed as ever, pointed toward the rising cloud of dust in the distance. “There he is!”
Chu Xiangtian rode up swiftly. Wei Yang was due to escort a group of prisoners back to the capital today, and Chu Xiangtian had come to see him off.
Pulling hard on the reins, Chu Xiangtian swung off his horse in one smooth motion. The horse’s hooves kicked up a cloud of dust—right into Wei Yang’s face.
“…” Wei Yang’s face darkened. “Took you long enough.”
“Got held up,” Chu Xiangtian replied, not bothering to explain further.
Wei Yang let out a cold snort. “Mount up. We need to make good time if we want to reach the capital before dark.”
Chu Xiangtian didn’t move. He narrowed his eyes slightly. “I’m not going back.”
Wei Yang blinked. “…What?”
“The case is closed. What are you still doing here?” He eyed Chu Xiangtian with suspicion. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten addicted to playing bandit?”
He’d always thought Chu Xiangtian, this wild, unreasonable brute, was a natural-born outlaw. Not being a bandit was the real waste of talent.
“I’ve got things to take care of here,” Chu Xiangtian said flatly. He didn’t feel like explaining. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them.
“You’ve got Yang Dashi and the others with you. You’ll be fine. Just pass on a message for me—tell them I’ll return to the capital in a few days.”
Wei Yang nearly jumped in frustration. “I’m not your messenger.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll say it myself when I get back,” Chu Xiangtian replied without batting an eye.
Wei Yang fumed, pacing back and forth. “Someone’s gotta report in about the gold mine!”
Chu Xiangtian clicked his tongue and pointed at Zhou Chuanqing, who had remained silent until now. “Isn’t Chuanqing going back with you?”
Zhou Chuanqing cleared his throat and said calmly, “I just told Wei Yang—I plan to stay a little longer.”
Chu Xiangtian frowned and squinted at him. “What for?”
Zhou Chuanqing smiled and, mimicking Chu Xiangtian’s earlier tone, said, “I’ve got my own business to take care of.”
Wei Yang had no patience for their back-and-forth. Swinging himself onto his horse, he growled, “One of you is coming back with me. Pick.”
Chu Xiangtian didn’t hesitate. “Chuanqing.”
Zhou Chuanqing’s mouth twitched. “I’m not going either.”
Chu Xiangtian shot him a sideways look. “That’s an order.”
Zhou Chuanqing: “…”
With a smug wave to his two friends, Chu Xiangtian kicked his horse into motion. Just like before, he rode off in a swirl of dust and smoke.
“Safe travels!” he called over his shoulder.
Zhou Chuanqing and Wei Yang looked at each other, completely speechless.
Wei Yang raised his whip and said through gritted teeth, “Let’s go.”