The year was 1647, and the Ming dynasty clung to existence like a wounded animal refusing to die. Li Zicheng's rebels had faltered in their march toward Beijing, hampered by supply shortages and infighting. What history had once recorded as a swift collapse now stretched into a prolonged agony—civil institutions crumbling while the Emperor maintained his technical authority. This slow death proved far worse than a quick execution; peasants starved in ever-increasing numbers as officials hoarded resources, bandits roamed unchecked through devastated countryside, and foreign powers circled the weakening empire like vultures.
Sam observed it all with detached indifference.
"More," he commanded, holding out his empty cup to the trembling servant. The young woman quickly refilled it with potent huangjiu wine, her eyes downcast to avoid meeting his unnerving silver gaze.
The private chamber in Suzhou's most exclusive pleasure house had become Sam's temporary domain. Silk tapestries adorned walls that had witnessed centuries of aristocratic debauchery. Incense smoke hung thick in the air, mingling with opium vapors from the elaborate bronze burner near his reclining couch. Three courtesans sprawled in various states of undress around him, their makeup smeared, bodies glistening with sweat from exertions that would have killed ordinary men.
"You've... exhausted us, my lord," whispered the oldest courtesan, a woman known as Golden Lotus. Her reputation for endurance had drawn imperial officials across provinces, yet after hours with Sam, she could barely move. "Perhaps... a moment's rest?"
Sam's perfect features—the blend of Chinese and Western characteristics that made him exotic even in a port city accustomed to foreigners—revealed nothing as he downed the entire cup in one swallow. His dark hair occasionally caught the lamplight with silver glimmers, as otherworldly as his eyes.
"Rest if you wish. I require no breaks." His voice remained level despite consuming enough alcohol to kill an elephant. The nanites in his bloodstream processed the toxins almost immediately, rendering the intoxication frustratingly brief.
He gestured to a lacquered cabinet. "Bring the white powder."
The servant hesitated. "Master, it's the strongest opium blend in all of Jiangnan. You've already taken—"
"Did I request your assessment?" Sam interrupted coldly.
The woman hurried to comply, returning with an ornate jade box. Sam examined the white crystalline substance within—a concentrated opium derivative that had killed three officials the previous month. He inhaled a quantity that would have immediately stopped a normal man's heart.
A fleeting warmth. A momentary dulling of his perfect perception. Then nothing—his body had already adapted, neutralizing the drug's effects even faster than the last dose.
"Useless," he muttered, glancing at the naked women surrounding him. At least sex still provided some diversion. The physical sensations remained pleasurable, especially since he'd learned to amplify them with careful application of his psionic abilities.
Sam had spent years refining his technique. His genetic memory contained only brutal violations—generations of his maternal ancestors subjected to rape and exploitation. Learning the artistry of physical pleasure had required deliberate study, an intellectual puzzle to distract from existential emptiness.
The youngest courtesan, barely eighteen and new to the establishment, gazed at him with mingled fear and fascination. "They say you've bought out this entire house for a month, Master Zhu. Your wealth must be boundless."
Sam's lips curved into a humorless smile. Money meant nothing when you could reconfigure matter at the molecular level. He'd flooded local economies with flawless gold and silver, caring nothing for the inflation that resulted. What were economic principles compared to the cosmic joke of his existence?
"Wealth is perception," he replied, running his hand along her thigh. His touch sent a visible shudder through her body—not entirely from fear. His passive telepathy detected her surface thoughts: terror mingled with inexplicable arousal. His psionic abilities continuously leaked into his physical interactions, especially during intimacy, heightening sensations beyond human norms.
Golden Lotus watched with professional interest. "Your control is remarkable, Master Zhu. Most men cannot maintain themselves through one night, yet you've pleased all of us for days without rest."
Sam didn't explain that sleep meant reliving every torture, every violation, every horror experienced by his ancestors and himself through genetic memory. His perfect recall made unconsciousness an intolerable torment. Better to remain awake indefinitely, seeking oblivion through external stimulation.
"Come here," he commanded the youngest girl, positioning her atop him. Her eyes widened as he entered her, his considerable size stretching her despite their previous encounters. He'd long since tuned his reproductive fluids, removing the lethal components that had killed his first sexual partners years ago. The nanites had eventually reconfigured his emissions—presumably to fulfill their programmed directive to propagate his genetic material.
Yet despite countless encounters across multiple timelines, no woman had ever conceived his child. His modified DNA was simply too divergent from baseline humanity—a bitter irony that provided unexpected insight into his own origins.
"Perhaps Kestrel never returned because he assumed conception impossible," Sam had reasoned during one of his more lucid moments. The theory offered a fragment of closure—if his progenitor had known about Princess Zhu Youzhen's pregnancy, surely he would have prevented the atrocities that befell his bloodline. Sam knew with absolute certainty that he would never abandon any child of his, nor allow harm to come to their mother.
But such hypothetical scenarios remained just that—hypothetical. No woman had ever carried his seed to fruition.
The young courtesan gasped as Sam activated his psionic abilities, sending waves of amplified sensation through her nervous system. Her eyelids fluttered, inner muscles clenching involuntarily around him as her mind registered pleasure beyond normal human capacity.
"Oh... heaven... what... WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!" she cried out, her body convulsing in an immediate, overwhelming climax.
Golden Lotus smirked, having experienced this phenomenon before. "He will ruin you for ordinary men, little sparrow. None will ever satisfy after experiencing Master Zhu's touch."
Sam increased the intensity, focusing his consciousness on the physical interaction while allowing his enhanced mind to continue its background calculations. Part of him tracked the pleasure house's other occupants through their mental signatures. Another segment processed historical discrepancies between this timeline and previous ones he'd visited. Still another portion analyzed molecular optimizations for his next chronological jump.
The girl's screams of ecstasy grew louder as he maintained a relentless rhythm, her mind broadcasting raw sensation that his telepathy absorbed and reflected back, creating a feedback loop of escalating pleasure. The other courtesans watched with a mixture of jealousy and relief—grateful for the reprieve while anticipating their turn.
Outside the pleasure house, commotion erupted in the street. Sam detected approaching minds—foreigners, their thought patterns distinctive from the local population. Portuguese merchants, accompanied by Chinese officials. Their surface thoughts broadcasted arrogance and entitlement.
"The house is closed for private engagement," he heard the madam insisting at the entrance below.
"A exclusive arrangement can be improved upon with sufficient compensation," replied a Portuguese-accented voice in broken Mandarin. "We have imperial authorization to conduct business throughout Suzhou."
Sam continued his rhythmic movements, even as he extended his telepathic awareness. The foreign merchants carried documents bearing imperial seals—trading rights purchased through bribes to desperate court officials. They believed these papers entitled them to whatever they desired.
"Master Zhu specifically requested no disturbances," the madam persisted.
The lead Portuguese merchant laughed. "We represent the interests of a Christian nation under divine protection. Your local patron will understand the necessity of accommodation."
The girl beneath Sam approached her fourth climax, unaware of the confrontation below. Her mind had entered a pleasure-induced haze, cognitive functions reduced to pure sensation. Sam allowed her this momentary transcendence while his attention divided.
"I believe my stance on interruptions has been made clear," he stated calmly as the door to his chamber burst open, revealing four Portuguese merchants and two Chinese officials.
The intruders froze at the tableau before them—naked bodies arranged around Sam, who continued his methodical movements without pausing or attempting to cover himself. His silver eyes regarded them with cold disdain.
"What manner of devilry..." began the lead Portuguese, Manuel Gomes, a heavyset man in expensive European clothing, his face flushed with outrage beneath his wide-brimmed hat. Gold chains adorned his neck, proclaiming wealth and status. "This establishment is now under our patronage by imperial decree."
The Chinese officials flanking him—minor bureaucrats from the Salt Administration named Liu and Chen—shifted uncomfortably, their embroidered robes marking them as mid-level functionaries. Their thoughts revealed they'd been well-paid to support the foreigners' demands.
"Imperial decree," Sam repeated, finally stopping his movements. The young courtesan beneath him whimpered at the interruption, still lost in sensory overload. "You believe ink on paper grants you divine right to whatever you desire?"
Gomes puffed out his chest. "As representatives of His Most Faithful Majesty John IV of Portugal, we operate under God's authority in bringing civilization to—"
A flick of Sam's wrist sent Gomes flying across the room, his substantial body crashing into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man slumped to the floor, blood trickling from his mouth, eyes wide with shock.
The other merchants reached for weapons, but their arms refused to obey, locked in position by invisible restraints. Sam rose from the couch, naked and unashamed, his muscular physique marked by faint silver lines where nanite concentrations mapped his circulatory system.
"Divine right," Sam mused, approaching them with unhurried steps. "An interesting concept. Throughout my existence, I've encountered many who claim celestial mandate for their actions."
He gestured almost casually, and one of the merchants rose several feet off the floor, gasping as invisible pressure constricted his throat.
"P-please," choked Liu, the older Chinese official. "We meant no disrespect to your person. We didn't realize—"
"My person is irrelevant," Sam interrupted. "I'm curious about these divine rights you invoke so readily. If your actions truly carried heavenly sanction, shouldn't your god protect you now?"
The floating merchant's face turned purple as Sam increased the telekinetic pressure. The man's companions watched in horror, their bodies immobilized by psionic restraints.
"What ARE you?" whispered Chen, the younger official. "No mortal man possesses such powers."
Sam tilted his head. "A question I've contemplated across multiple timelines." With a negligent twist of his fingers, he snapped the floating merchant's neck, dropping the corpse unceremoniously to the floor.
The courtesans had retreated to the corners of the room, clutching silk robes around themselves. Their terror permeated the air, but Sam paid it no attention as he approached the remaining foreigners.
"Your divine mandate seems remarkably ineffective," he observed. "Perhaps your god is occupied elsewhere? Or perhaps..." He smiled without warmth. "Perhaps you merely use celestial authority to justify simple greed and lust for dominance."
"Demon!" spat one of the remaining Portuguese. "Unholy creature!"
Sam laughed, the sound devoid of humor. "I've been called worse by better men." With surgical precision, he telekinetically severed the man's femoral arteries, watching dispassionately as blood fountained across the expensive carpets. The merchant collapsed, life draining from him in pulsing jets.
The surviving foreigners and Chinese officials begged for mercy in three different languages, their previous arrogance evaporated like morning dew.
"Your gods seem remarkably absent," Sam noted, methodically executing the remainder with telekinetic precision. "As they always are when supposedly divine representatives face real power."
When only Liu remained alive, trembling and soaked in his colleagues' blood, Sam leaned close. "Do you believe in heaven's mandate, Official Liu?"
"I... I only followed orders," the man stammered. "The court needs foreign trade to survive."
"And that justifies anything?" Sam's silver eyes bored into him. "Tell me, does your Emperor bleed differently than a peasant? Does he die with greater dignity?"
"I don't understand—"
"You will." Sam placed his palm against Liu's forehead, transmitting a fraction of his memories directly into the man's consciousness—just enough to provide context. The official's eyes widened in horror as he glimpsed Unit 731's laboratories, experienced the surgical vivisections, felt the chemical burns and radiation experiments.
Liu's sanity shattered instantly. His body remained physically intact, but his mind fractured beyond repair, mouth opening in a silent scream as he collapsed into catatonic shock.
Sam dressed unhurriedly, selecting a simple yet elegant hanfu from the wardrobe he'd had delivered. The surviving courtesans remained frozen in terror, trying to make themselves invisible.
"You've witnessed nothing," he told them, reinforcing the command with psionic suggestion. "Foreign merchants argued among themselves and departed."
Their minds accepted the implanted memory, original perceptions blurring and reconfiguring. Only Golden Lotus showed resistance, her experienced mind surprisingly resilient.
"What are you planning, Master Zhu?" she asked softly when the others had retreated.
Sam regarded her with mild curiosity. "Planning implies purpose. I merely act according to momentary inclination."
"You've spoken in your passionate moments," she ventured. "About Japan. About vengeance."
A cold smile touched his lips. "Not vengeance. Empirical investigation. I'm conducting an experiment regarding supposed divinity."
Golden Lotus bowed her head. "May heaven protect those in your path."
"Heaven," Sam repeated contemplatively. "I wonder if I might force it to manifest through sufficient provocation. An interesting hypothesis."
He left substantial payment—enough to purchase the entire pleasure house several times over—and departed into Suzhou's narrow streets. As he walked, unseen by ordinary humans, his mind made final calculations for trans-temporal displacement.
Japan awaited—not just in this timeline, but across multiple potential realities. His nanites had already constructed a portable Chronosphere from locally available materials, the device disguised as an ornate jade pendant hanging around his neck. Due to its portability, a new one had to be created with each use, but that was merely an inconvenience.
"Perhaps by ending supposed divine bloodlines, I might finally encounter something truly divine," he mused, activating the device as he reached an isolated courtyard. Reality distorted around him, molecules disintegrating as the temporal vortex formed.
"Let the experiment begin."