In the Marquis of Chengen's Estate, Tianqi Empire
The young master Gu, whose breathing had quietly ceased moments before, suddenly fluttered his lashes. His still chest began to rise and fall once more with faint, shallow breaths.
"Hmm—"
A soft groan escaped Gu Yanshu as he lay on the bed, his brow furrowing slightly at the discomfort coursing through his body before smoothing out again.
This reaction was hardly surprising. Gu Yanshu had been born prematurely, leaving him with a congenital weakness. In the wealthy and powerful Gu family, such a flaw would have been trivial—nothing that meticulous care couldn't manage.
But then, catastrophe struck. The apocalypse descended, and the world turned hostile overnight. The air thickened with invisible viruses and untraceable radiation. From then on, the frailty he'd carried since birth became a constant torment. Ten years into the apocalypse, Gu Yanshu had long grown accustomed to relentless discomfort.
Though he'd never before felt this particular brand of overwhelming exhaustion, the memory of his butler's alarmed cry before he lost consciousness left him unsurprised. His conclusion was swift—his condition must have worsened again.
Even as he adjusted to the pain, Gu Yanshu's mind raced:
Those stubborn rivals had finally relented recently, agreeing to abide by the trade rules he'd established. Even the authorities had, for the first time, acknowledged his status.
According to his butler, a banquet celebrating his rise as the apocalypse's wealthiest man was scheduled in three days. The venue was already prepared.
Whether those rivals had submitted sincerely or were merely biding their time, the upcoming banquet promised to be a battlefield.
His body was failing him more each day. As long as they didn't cross his bottom line, he could afford to relinquish some power and benefits—offer them a few concessions. But just as his thoughts whirred—
Creak—
The sudden sound of a door swinging open shattered his concentration. Though not jarring, the noise still made him frown. And in that instant, realization struck.
Gu Yanshu demanded nothing short of perfection in his living standards. Even in the apocalypse, he'd maintained the most refined lifestyle possible within his means.
A door that creaked at the slightest movement? Such shoddy craftsmanship would never be tolerated in his estate.
So... where was he?
Realization struck Gu Yanshu like a lightning bolt—followed immediately by a searing pain behind his temples.
"Hiss—"
Even after enduring a lifetime of illness, the sudden stabbing sensation forced a sharp gasp through his clenched teeth. The sound alerted the person who had just entered.
"Young master?"
Noticing Gu Yanshu's furrowed brow, Bai Zhu hurried to the bedside. The fair-faced attendant in servant's garb bent low, his voice laced with unconcealed worry. "Are you awake?"
But his question went unanswered.
Gu Yanshu's entire focus had been hijacked by the flood of foreign images and memories crashing through his mind. Though fragmented, his analytical mind swiftly pieced together the crucial truths:
He hadn't merely fallen unconscious—he'd died.
The body he now inhabited belonged to another: the legitimate youngest son of Tianqi Empire's Marquis of Chengen, coincidentally also named Gu Yanshu.
The pervasive soreness wasn't his terminal illness progressing, but aftermath of this body's recent severe fever. And this world...
Tianqi Empire.
Gu Yanshu mentally repeated the name. Well-versed in both Chinese and world history, he recognized no such dynasty. After a beat, he arrived at the modern term: parallel universe.
Yet he dismissed the philosophical implications. Whether parallel timeline or fabricated realm, Tianqi's peace and stability were treasures beyond measure to someone from the apocalyptic wasteland.
As he prepared to delve deeper into the host's memories, Bai Zhu's voice pierced through again:
"Young master? Have you truly woken?"
Gu Yanshu opened his eyes to see the anxious attendant hovering closer. A quick mental search supplied the name—Bai Zhu, his bookish attendant and personal servant.
Though his tone carried unfamiliar sharpness, Bai Zhu attributed it to illness and brightened. "It's truly this servant! Thank heavens you're awake!"
So the memories are reliable. The confirmation eased some tension in Gu Yanshu's shoulders—just as another discomfort demanded attention.
His throat burned like desert sand:
"Water."
Only then did Bai Zhu notice how hoarse his young master's voice sounded—the lips cracked with dehydration. He scrambled forward, helping Gu Yanshu sit up against the carved bedframe. After propping pillows behind him, the attendant hurried to pour water from the celadon teapot.
Handing over the cup, Bai Zhu waited until half its contents disappeared down Gu Yanshu's throat before venturing, "Does the young master feel any other discomfort?"
Between sips, Gu Yanshu had already gleaned the original owner's temperament from the inherited memories: a thoroughly spoiled noble brat.
Channeling the persona, he shot Bai Zhu a petulant glare. "Every damn inch of me hurts!"
The servant's unfazed expression confirmed this was typical behavior. "The physician said such lingering weakness is normal after such a grave illness," Bai Zhu soothed, adjusting the quilt. "With proper care, there'll be no lasting effects."
No lasting effects.
The words sent quiet relief through Gu Yanshu. After a decade in the apocalypse—where even his vast wealth couldn't buy relief from his wasting disease—the mere possibility of a healthy body felt miraculous.
His private rejoicing shattered when Bai Zhu continued fretfully:
"Truly, young master must never attempt such foolishness again! This servant understands the distress, but an imperial decree cannot be refused—"
Imperial decree.
The phrase triggered a cascade of memories. The original Gu Yanshu had collapsed with fever immediately after receiving the marriage edict.
For a marquis' untitled youngest son, an emperor-bestowed marriage should have been an honor. Yet this particular decree contained an unspeakable provocation...