The first thing Shen Yichen noticed was the smell of incense. The second was that he was still alive. The third was that someone was crying beside his bed. “Seventh Young Master, please wake up. Please, you must take your medicine.” Shen Yichen frowned beneath the thick blanket. Who is making so much noise this early in the morning? He had spent the last ten years of his life waking before dawn, moving through shadows, and killing people who deserved—or sometimes didn’t deserve—his blade. He had thought death would finally grant him peace. Apparently, even death had poor manners. “Young Master?” The woman’s voice trembled. “Should I call the physician again?” Shen Yichen pulled the blanket over his head. If I pretend to be dead, will everyone leave me alone? The crying stopped. A long silence followed. Then the maid whispered, horrified, “Young Master… please don’t die!” Shen Yichen opened his eyes. “What?” His voice was wrong. Too soft. Too young. He sat up abruptly. The room spun. Before he could steady himself, the maid rushed forward and caught his arm. “Young Master!” “Don’t touch me.” His response came instinctively. The maid immediately withdrew, her face pale. Shen Yichen stared at her. She wore a long, simple dress, her hair pinned with a wooden hairpin. Behind her stood another servant carrying a basin of warm water. Neither of them looked familiar. Neither did the room. The wooden furniture, silk curtains, carved screens, and bronze incense burner belonged to a time far removed from the modern world he knew. Shen Yichen slowly lowered his gaze. His hands were small. His wrists were slender. There were no scars on his knuckles. No hardened muscles. No calluses from years of wielding a blade. His breathing grew shallow. “No.” He climbed out of bed and staggered toward the bronze mirror. The reflection stopped him cold. A young boy stared back. He had black hair falling over his shoulders, delicate features, pale skin, and a pair of beautiful eyes that currently held nothing but disbelief. Shen Yichen raised a hand. The boy in the mirror did the same. He touched his cheek. What the hell? Memories crashed into his mind. A different name. A different family. A different life. Shen Rui. Fourteen years old. The seventh son of the Marquis of Yong’an. Born to a concubine who had died when he was young. A boy who had grown up neglected, indulged when convenient, and mocked by his older brothers. Useless. Spoiled. Cowardly. That was how the household described him. And, according to the memories flooding Shen Yichen’s mind, that was precisely how the original owner had lived. Shen Yichen gripped the edge of the dressing table. He remembered his last mission. A rooftop beneath a rain-filled sky. A target escaping through a narrow alley. The sound of a gunshot. The bullet entering his chest. Then darkness. He had been an assassin. One of the best. He had never expected to wake up as a fourteen-year-old boy in ancient China. He slowly turned toward the maid. “What’s my name?” The maid stared. “Young Master?” “My name.” “Shen Rui.” Shen Yichen closed his eyes. Wonderful. He pressed his fingers against his forehead. I died after years of hard work, and now I’m a useless seventh son. He looked at the mirror again. At least the body is pretty. The maid’s eyes widened. Shen Yichen turned. “What?” “N-Nothing, Young Master.” She lowered her head. He narrowed his eyes. Why does she look like she’s seen a ghost? The maid’s hands trembled. Shen Yichen noticed. He had spent his entire previous life reading people’s expressions. Fear was difficult to hide. So was guilt. But this girl looked genuinely frightened. Not of him. Of something else. “Bring me water,” he said. “Yes, Young Master!” She hurried away. Shen Yichen sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. He had no idea how transmigration worked. He didn’t know whether he could return to his original world. He didn’t know why he had been given another life. But he did know one thing. I’m not getting involved in anything. He leaned back against the bedpost. No assassination missions. No fighting. No palace intrigues. No troublesome nobles. I’ll eat well, sleep until I wake up naturally, and find somewhere peaceful to live. Perhaps a small house in the countryside. I’ll grow vegetables. Raise chickens. Become a salted fish. For the first time since opening his eyes, Shen Yichen smiled. Then the door opened. “Seventh Brother.” The smile disappeared. A young man entered the room. He wore dark blue robes and had a handsome face, though his expression was filled with impatience. Shen Rui’s memories immediately identified him. Shen Mingxuan. The second son of the marquis. A talented scholar who considered his seventh brother a disgrace to the household. “Father summoned you to the study,” Shen Mingxuan said. Shen Yichen glanced at the sunlight through the window. “Now?” “Yes.” “Can I go tomorrow?” “No.” “Next week?” Shen Mingxuan’s mouth twitched. “No.” “Next month?” “Shen Rui.” The warning in his voice was unmistakable. Shen Yichen sighed. What a tyrant. I haven’t even finished waking up. Shen Mingxuan’s footsteps stopped. His face slowly changed. “What did you say?” Shen Yichen looked up. “I said… I haven’t finished getting dressed.” Shen Mingxuan stared at him. The room was quiet. Then the older boy frowned. “Get dressed quickly.” He turned and left. Shen Yichen watched him disappear through the doorway. I already dislike him. The Marquis’s Study The Marquis of Yong’an sat behind a large wooden desk. He was a stern-looking man in his forties, with a neatly trimmed beard and an expression that suggested he had little patience for foolishness. Shen Yichen entered and bowed. “Father.” The marquis lifted his eyes. “Why are you late?” “I woke up late.” The marquis’s brows drew together. “You are fourteen years old. When will you learn to conduct yourself properly?” Shen Yichen lowered his head. “Father is right.” He’s going to lecture me. The marquis’s hand stopped over the document in front of him. “What did you say?” Shen Yichen raised his head. “I said you are right, Father.” The marquis stared at him. Shen Mingxuan, standing beside the desk, coughed. The marquis slowly placed the document down. “You will begin attending the Imperial Academy.” Shen Yichen blinked. No. “The emperor has issued an order requiring the sons of several noble families to enter the academy.” Absolutely not. “You will study the classics, learn court etiquette, and prepare yourself for your responsibilities as a member of this household.” I would rather swallow a blade. The marquis’s eyes narrowed. “Shen Rui.” “Yes, Father?” “Are you muttering?” “No.” I’m thinking. The marquis stared at him for a long moment. Then he waved his hand. “Go back to your room.” Shen Yichen bowed deeply. “Thank you, Father.” Finally. A wise decision. He turned and left. Behind him, Shen Mingxuan looked at their father. “Father, is he always this strange?” The marquis did not answer immediately. He glanced toward the door. For some reason, he felt as though his youngest son had just insulted him without moving his lips. The Imperial Summons Three days later, Shen Yichen’s dream of becoming a salted fish suffered its first major setback. He was sleeping. Peacefully. Comfortably. His head was buried in a soft pillow, and he had finally managed to convince himself that his new life might not be so terrible. Then someone knocked on the door. “Seventh Young Master.” No response. “Seventh Young Master, please wake up.” Shen Yichen pulled the blanket over his head. No. “Young Master, an imperial eunuch has arrived.” Tell him the emperor is busy. The maid outside the room stiffened. The eunuch standing beside her slowly turned his head. “What did he say?” The maid’s face drained of color. “Young Master hasn’t spoken, Eunuch.” The eunuch looked at the closed door. From inside came a muffled voice. “Tell him I’m sick.” The eunuch’s expression became complicated. “Seventh Young Master, His Majesty has issued an imperial decree.” The blanket shifted. Shen Yichen’s eyes opened. The emperor? He sat up. What does he want from me? The eunuch continued. “By imperial decree, the seventh son of the Marquis of Yong’an is to report to the Imperial Academy immediately and assist with the compilation of official records.” Shen Yichen stared at the door. Official records? The eunuch’s voice remained formal. “You are to attend court proceedings as required.” Shen Yichen’s expression went blank. Court proceedings? He slowly climbed out of bed. “Open the door.” The maid hurried to obey. Shen Yichen emerged in a loose robe, his hair unbound and his face still carrying the unmistakable exhaustion of someone who had been violently removed from a perfectly good sleep. The eunuch examined him. This was the seventh son of the Marquis of Yong’an? The boy looked delicate, sleepy, and entirely unsuited to the imperial court. Shen Yichen bowed. “Greetings, Eunuch.” The eunuch returned the gesture. “Young Master Shen, you are to report to the palace tomorrow morning.” Shen Yichen’s eyes widened. “Tomorrow?” “Yes.” “What time?” “Before the morning court session.” Shen Yichen paused. Then he asked, with genuine seriousness, “What time does morning court begin?” The eunuch replied, “At the fifth watch.” Shen Yichen stared at him. The fifth watch. Before sunrise. He slowly turned his head toward the window. That’s not a time. That’s a punishment. The eunuch’s expression froze. The maid lowered her head. A nearby servant suddenly began coughing. Shen Yichen looked around. Why is everyone acting so strangely? The eunuch cleared his throat. “Young Master, you must prepare yourself properly. The palace is not a place for careless behavior.” “Understood.” I want to go back to bed. The eunuch’s fingers tightened around his sleeve. He had served in the palace for twenty years. He had seen countless noble sons, ambitious scholars, and arrogant young masters. But never one who could insult the emperor’s schedule with such complete sincerity. The First Morning Court Shen Yichen stood outside the palace gates before dawn. The sky was dark. The air was cold. His robes were too stiff, his hair had been arranged too tightly, and his eyes felt as though someone had filled them with sand. He had slept for less than three hours. I hate this world. Around him, officials stood in orderly groups, their expressions solemn. Some glanced at him with curiosity. Others whispered behind their sleeves. “Is that the seventh son of the Marquis of Yong’an?” “I heard he is useless.” “Why would His Majesty appoint someone like him?” Shen Yichen heard every word. He ignored them. If they want to call me useless, they should at least let me sleep. A young official standing nearby suddenly covered his mouth. Shen Yichen glanced at him. Is he ill? The official turned away. The palace gates opened. The officials entered the great hall. Shen Yichen followed at the rear, doing his best not to yawn. He had survived assassination attempts, poisonings, and a dozen situations where death had been one mistake away. Yet standing in a cold palace before sunrise felt like the most miserable experience of his life. If I survive today, I’m going to sleep for three days. The great hall fell silent. Footsteps sounded from the entrance. Every official lowered his head. Shen Yichen followed their example. A man in black and gold imperial robes entered the hall. He was tall, composed, and intimidating. The gold embroidery of a dragon shimmered beneath the palace lights. His face was handsome but cold, his dark eyes revealing nothing. Xiao Jingyuan. The emperor of Great Yong. The Blood Emperor. A ruler whose rise to the throne had left powerful families trembling and whose decisions had reshaped the imperial court. Shen Yichen lowered his head. So that’s the emperor. The emperor took his seat. His gaze swept across the hall. Then stopped. At the very back stood a young official who looked as though he might fall asleep while standing. Xiao Jingyuan’s eyes narrowed slightly. A strange voice entered his mind. He looks terrifying. The emperor’s fingers rested against the armrest. His expression did not change. The young official continued. I should have pretended to be sick. A minister nearby suddenly coughed. Xiao Jingyuan’s gaze shifted toward him. The minister immediately lowered his head. The voice continued. Why are all these people standing so straight? Does nobody here have back pain? The emperor looked back at the young official. Shen Rui. The seventh son of the Marquis of Yong’an. He had heard the boy was incompetent. Perhaps the reports had been incomplete. “Begin the court session,” Xiao Jingyuan ordered. The ministers stepped forward. A discussion about grain shipments began. Shen Yichen stood silently. He had no interest in the conversation. No interest in the emperor. No interest in the complicated affairs of the imperial court. He only wanted to return to his bed. Then a minister presented a document concerning missing grain supplies in the northern provinces. The emperor listened. Several officials offered their opinions. Shen Yichen kept his head lowered. They’re all looking at the wrong numbers. The minister speaking paused. The emperor’s eyes sharpened. “Explain.” Shen Yichen froze. …Was he talking to me? The hall became silent. The emperor looked directly at him. “Seventh Son of the Marquis of Yong’an. Step forward.” Shen Yichen slowly raised his head. I knew it. I should have pretended to be dead. He walked forward. Every step felt like a personal betrayal by fate. He stopped before the throne and bowed. “Your Majesty.” Xiao Jingyuan studied him. “Do you have something to say about the grain report?” Shen Yichen looked at the document in the minister’s hand. He had noticed the discrepancy almost immediately. The figures did not match the reported shipment routes. Someone had either altered the records or deliberately concealed the missing grain. His assassin’s instincts had always been good at identifying inconsistencies. But he had no intention of exposing himself. “Your Majesty, this subject is inexperienced.” And extremely tired. A few ministers lowered their heads. Xiao Jingyuan’s gaze remained fixed on him. “Answer the question.” Shen Yichen glanced at the document once more. Then sighed. “If the shipment records are accurate, the grain should have arrived three days ago. However, the reported amount in the northern warehouse is significantly lower.” The hall fell silent. The minister holding the document stiffened. Shen Yichen continued. “Either the records are incorrect, or the grain disappeared along the route.” There. I’ve said enough. Please send me back to sleep. Xiao Jingyuan leaned slightly forward. “And what do you think?” Shen Yichen looked at him. The emperor’s expression was unreadable. I think you should investigate the officials responsible and stop asking me questions. He lowered his gaze. “This subject believes the matter requires further investigation.” The emperor watched him for a moment. Then he turned toward the ministers. “Send investigators to the northern warehouses. Recheck the shipment records.” “Yes, Your Majesty.” The minister’s voice trembled. Shen Yichen returned to his position at the back of the hall. His heart was pounding. That was close. He lowered his head. From now on, I’m keeping my mouth shut. Xiao Jingyuan sat on the throne, listening to the ministers resume their discussions. But his attention remained on the young official standing at the rear. The boy’s lips had not moved. Yet his thoughts had been clear. Unrestrained. And, in the middle of a court session filled with carefully chosen words, strangely honest. The emperor’s gaze darkened with curiosity. He had spent years surrounded by people who concealed their intentions behind polite smiles. Shen Rui, on the other hand, seemed to conceal nothing at all. If this court session lasts another hour, I’ll jump into the nearest pond. Xiao Jingyuan’s fingers tightened against the armrest. For the first time in a very long while, the Blood Emperor almost smiled. Almost. And Shen Yichen, entirely unaware of the emperor’s interest, stood in the cold palace hall and silently mourned the peaceful life he had never even gotten to enjoy.

The Seventh Son Wants to Sleep