On the left-hand bookcase, neatly arranged were a pen, ink, paper, and an inkstone, accompanied by a bronze mirror that gleamed faintly in the ambient light.
Ren Ye wandered over, his steps casual at first, but his gaze lingered on the bronze mirror. Then, he froze.
In the mirror, his reflection began to morph. His facial features, once familiar and distinct, now twisted and reshaped as though molded by an invisible hand. It was as if plasticine was being kneaded into a completely unfamiliar face.
A cold shiver crawled up his spine. He stumbled backward, his eyes wide with disbelief.
In the time it took for him to retreat two hurried steps, the transformation was complete. The face that now stared back from the mirror was that of an ordinary young man, entirely unrecognizable. The sharpness of his own visage, which he often boasted was a match for movie stars like Wu Yanzu, was gone.
"W-What the...?" Ren Ye whispered, a tremor in his voice.
Before he could gather his thoughts, a searing pain pierced his mind, like needles burrowing into his brain. A cascade of memories, foreign yet vivid, flooded his consciousness. His legs gave way, and he clutched his head, groaning.
Words, thoughts, and images surged through him like a tidal wave, each more perplexing than the last:
**"I was born into a wealthy family, blessed beyond measure. By fourteen, I took my first concubine. At fifteen, I married. Now, I can no longer remember how many women I've known.
My family's wealth is endless, our status unchallenged. I have never known hardship or displeasure—until I was sixteen.
Our fortune was built by my grandfather, who shared it evenly between my father and uncle. My uncle was a kind soul, doting on me like his own child. He nicknamed me 'Little Bean' and defended me even against his own children.
But I was always alone. The heavens favored me, but I remained solitary. My father, a paragon of excellence, mastered every art—piano, chess, calligraphy, painting, archery, riding.
And me? I embraced mediocrity. While my father achieved greatness, I wallowed in indulgence. I drank, I reveled, and I lay on the laps of courtesans, boasting of skills I barely possessed.
I knew my limits. I knew I could never match my father. So I didn't try. My only duty was to avoid missteps, to inherit the legacy he prepared for me. Until… everything unraveled."**
At sixteen, everything changed.
His grandfather passed away, the cornerstone of their family's wealth and power crumbling with him. What followed was inevitable: disputes over the family property.
Zhu Zigui's father and uncle, once close siblings, grew bitter and distrustful. For a time, he was sent to live with his uncle. Though his uncle still provided for him generously, giving him money, gifts, even women, something fundamental had shifted. The warmth was gone. His uncle never smiled at him again. The affectionate nickname "Little Bean" vanished.
In the end, whatever agreement they reached kept the family intact—barely. The property was split. Zhu Zigui and his father continued to live in Qingliang Mansion, maintaining control over half the family's assets. To young Zhu Zigui, this seemed a reasonable outcome.
But peace was fleeting. A conflict with a rival family arose, forcing his father to leave home with many trusted retainers to resolve the matter. Before leaving, his father said to him:
"I'm old, and you have to grow up."
Zhu Zigui tried. He genuinely did. But managing the family business was an endless torment. It was dull, incomprehensible, and utterly unappealing compared to the dazzling singers and indulgences he had enjoyed. He lacked the talent. He lacked the drive.
At eighteen, the world shattered.
His father succeeded in quelling the family conflict, but he returned gravely injured and died on the journey home. Soon after, his mother succumbed to illness. Within days, Zhu Zigui lost everything.
The respect once afforded to him evaporated. His father's former subordinates turned on him, whispering behind his back, defying him in secret. Those who had once stood by his side began to drift away or conveniently "die of illness." Others openly bullied and undermined him, eagerly aligning themselves with his uncle.
His uncle rose as the uncontested patriarch of the family, and Zhu Zigui was reduced to a figurehead, surviving at the whims of others. Even his meals became acts of gratitude—thankful that his uncle and the family retainers still allowed him to eat at all.
A memory resurfaced.
His uncle had met him privately after his father's death. It was a brief, silent encounter, but Zhu Zigui had seen it. The killing intent in his uncle's eyes.
And yet, Zhu Zigui lived. Not out of kindness, but pity. His uncle deemed him so incompetent, so irrelevant, that killing him wasn't even necessary. Zhu Zigui had become nothing more than a caged bird, kept alive as a mere plaything.
But even in that gilded cage, something stirred.
His father's words echoed in his mind:
"Uncle has been searching for the 'person forgiven by heaven.' He believes that person will alter the family's fortune."
It was ridiculous, of course. Zhu Zigui scoffed at the notion. His grandfather had been a beggar and a bandit, rising from nothing to build their family's empire. What "forgiven person" could possibly determine the fate of a dynasty? The thought was absurd.
Standing before the bronze mirror, Ren Ye—now Zhu Zigui—gasped as the memories clicked into place. His reflection, that of a fallen prince, glared back at him.
"The person forgiven by heaven? Isn't that... me?!"
The realization sent a surge of adrenaline through his veins. If his uncle had sought this "forgiven one" for years, then Zhu Zigui's arrival, Ren Ye's arrival, might very well be the answer.