In the grand halls of the Kang Prince Residence, the eighth prince, Zhao Zongchun, sat in his study, the brush in his hand poised above a scroll of fine paper.
"Establish virtue, establish merit. Prosper the nation, prosper the people."
The eight bold characters leapt to life on the page, the strokes brimming with power and grace. But as Zhao Zongchun reached the final stroke, his hand faltered. A single drop of ink fell onto the character for "prosper," marring the masterpiece. He froze, his eyes fixed on the blemish.
"Ninety-six years…" he muttered to himself with a deep sigh.
Standing nearby, Zhao Letian observed the scene. In his heart, he was torn. Barely days had passed since he transmigrated into this body—a body that belonged to the frail nineteenth prince of the Dakan Empire. As memories of this life and his own merged, Zhao Letian struggled to process the emotions and schemes that came with his newfound identity.
Zhao Zongchun finally noticed his youngest brother's presence. "What brings you here? Shouldn't you be at Father's side?"
Zhao Letian stepped forward, his expression calm. "I was... but I came to bring you news, Eighth Brother."
"News?" Zhao Zongchun's curiosity piqued, though he masked it with a skeptical gaze.
"Father seems... unwell tonight."
At these words, Zhao Zongchun's demeanor shifted instantly. His hand, still holding the brush, trembled slightly. "Unwell? How so?"
"He looks pale," Zhao Letian said thoughtfully, as if reluctant to speak ill of their father. "And he seems tired—very tired."
Zhao Zongchun's eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of hope and apprehension. The Emperor, their father, was ninety-six years old but still robust enough to maintain his grip on the throne. To those vying for power, this news was like an ember in a tinderbox.
"Does anyone else know?" Zhao Zongchun asked sharply.
"No," Zhao Letian replied with a small, calculated smile. "I came to you first."
The eighth prince began pacing the room, his mind a whirlwind of schemes. Suddenly, he stopped. "Nineteenth Brother, will you help me?"
Zhao Letian blinked, feigning ignorance. "Help you?"
"I only ask that you stay close to Father. Watch over him," Zhao Zongchun said, lowering his voice. "If anything happens... let me know first."
Zhao Letian nodded, bowing slightly before exiting the study.
As he walked through the palace halls, Zhao Letian shook his head in quiet amusement. The imperial family truly was a den of vipers. His supposed "good news" to the eighth prince had, in fact, been fabricated by none other than the Emperor himself—a trap to gauge the ambitions of his children.
For Zhao Letian, this was just another day of survival in a web of imperial intrigue. In his past life, he had been a sales manager who met an untimely end. His deepest wish back then had been a carefree life of wealth and leisure. Now, as a prince in the Dakan Empire, his wish seemed as distant as ever.
When Zhao Letian reached the Emperor's inner chambers, the sound of muffled voices stopped him in his tracks.
"Your Majesty, please... not so rough!" a soft, panicked voice pleaded.
"Am I not vigorous?" boomed the Emperor's voice, loud and unrelenting.
From outside the doors, Zhao Letian raised an eyebrow. Even at ninety-six, the old man had the energy of a man half his age. He leaned toward a nearby eunuch and whispered, "How much longer do you think Father can keep this up?"
The eunuch stiffened, fear flashing across his face. "This servant dares not speculate on such... divine matters."
Zhao Letian smirked but said no more.
Suddenly, a piercing cry erupted from within the chambers.
"Your Majesty!"
The urgency in the voice sent a chill through Zhao Letian. Without thinking, he pushed open the doors and was met with chaos. The Emperor lay motionless, trapped between two concubines, his face pale and his breathing labored. The room fell silent as everyone froze in horror.
"Summon the physicians immediately!" Zhao Letian barked, taking control of the scene.
Before the servants could scatter, the Emperor's eyes fluttered open. His gaze, sharp and commanding despite his weakened state, locked onto Zhao Letian. "The rest of you... leave. Only he stays."
As the room emptied, Zhao Letian knelt beside the Emperor, his heart pounding. "Father, what do you need?"
The Emperor's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried an unyielding authority. "Tell me... do you wish to see me dead?"
Zhao Letian froze, stunned by the question. "Of course not, Father! You are my greatest benefactor. How could I ever wish you harm?"
The Emperor's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "And what of the throne? Do you crave it?"
Zhao Letian hesitated. The question was dangerous, and he knew any answer could be his downfall. But before he could reply, a sudden flash of golden light illuminated his mind.
A glowing wheel appeared within his consciousness, radiant and mysterious.
Heavenly Destiny Wheel: Foresee the path of fate. Seek fortune, avoid calamity.
Three options appeared before him:
[Assist the Emperor: Earn his trust and gain protection from the coming chaos. ]
[Do nothing: Risk being suspected and confined for life. ]
[Seize the moment and kill the Emperor: A bloody and precarious path to power. ]
As the wheel spun, Zhao Letian felt the weight of his choices. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear—his next decision would shape the fate of the empire.