Chapter 1: The Rebirth of the Huainan Scion
Chapter 1: The Rebirth of the Huainan Scion
“Chen Chang’an, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Within the sprawling, opulent halls of the Great Chu Empire’s Huainan Palace, the air was thick with a suffocating tension. Princess Consort Chu Yanran stood rigid, her features contorted in a mask of fury. In her hand, she gripped the Discipline Rod, its polished wood pointed accusingly at her own flesh and blood.
Behind her stood two young women—Chen Chang’an’s elder sisters. The third sister, Chen Chunhua, pressed a red silk handkerchief to her lips, her shoulders trembling with the effort to suppress a cruel snicker.
“Mother, you must remember that Ninth Brother was raised in the Foundling Hall,” Chunhua said, her voice a mock-plea. “He lacks the breeding of a true noble. Why waste your fury on one so unrefined?”
The seventh sister, Chen Qiuyue, rolled her eyes with visible disdain. “Third Sister, why do you always bother defending that fool? The Snowflake Steed was a personal gift from the Emperor to Mother. Only an idiot would fail to grasp its value. And yet, he had the gall to ride it out and break its leg!”
“...Mother rarely even deigns to ride it herself!”
At Qiuyue’s remark, Chu Yanran’s rage boiled over. She hoisted the Discipline Rod high and brought it down with a desperate, vengeful strength, striking Chen Chang’an across the head.
*Crack!*
Chang’an threw his arms up to shield himself. As the blinding white pain began to recede, he opened his eyes, his gaze hazy and disoriented. This scene... it was hauntingly familiar.
Three years ago.
The incident had begun because the Snowflake Steed was a creature of peerless beauty, its coat as white as fresh mountain snow. The eleventh brother, Chen Fusheng, had been overcome by the urge to show it off and had secretly taken it from the stables. Lacking the skill to handle such a spirited beast, Fusheng had fallen, and the horse had suffered a shattered leg. Terrified of their mother’s wrath, Fusheng had laid the blame entirely at Chang’an’s feet.
*So this is it... I’ve been reborn?*
Chang’an looked up at his mother. Her face was still flushed with a righteous, ugly rage, but his own expression remained utterly indifferent. In his previous life, no matter how many times Chu Yanran had beaten him, he had never confessed to a crime he didn't commit. He had pleaded his innocence, begging her to believe the truth.
And what had been his reward? He had been beaten within an inch of his life. While he lay unconscious, they had dragged him to the cold, damp water dungeon and left him there to rot. He had contracted a fever that nearly claimed him then. Even now, the memory sent a bone-chilling shiver through his marrow.
“I have already told you everything,” he said, his voice flat. “What more do you want?”
Chu Yanran’s expression darkened further. Chen Qiuyue stepped forward and planted a sharp kick into Chang’an’s chest. “How dare you use that tone with Mother? Making a mistake is one thing, but trying to smear Eleventh Brother’s name? Your heart is wicked beyond redemption!”
Chang’an clutched his bruised ribs, his eyes terrifyingly calm. He was an orphan, raised in the Foundling Hall until the age of ten. That year, the empire had been at peace, and his father, Chen Zhan, had arrived on a towering warhorse to bring him back to the palace. Chang’an had imagined it would be the start of a life of warmth and belonging. He never imagined it would be a decade-long nightmare.
Whenever an item went missing, his sisters accused him. They would strip him bare and force him to stand in the freezing snow as a lesson in honesty. During meals, they would mock his commoner’s manners, eventually tying a rope around his neck and forcing him to eat from the floor like a dog. They accused him of being tainted by the ‘lowly’ people of the Foundling Hall, forcing him to kneel so they could use his back as a mounting block for their horses.
They forced him to smile through the humiliation. They forced him to be grateful. To survive in this den of vipers, Chang’an had been forced to play the part of the simpleton, enduring every cruelty with a vacant grin. The list of their transgressions was too long to be recorded on a thousand bamboo slips.
“Fool, Eleventh Brother is the soul of propriety,” Chen Chunhua said, shaking her head. “He would never touch the Snowflake Steed without permission. Confess now and spare yourself the rod. We are only doing this for your own good.”
Chang’an let out a sharp, jagged laugh. *For my own good?*
Chen Fusheng was not even of their blood; he was the adopted son of the Prince of Huainan. He was the Imperial Laureate, the top scholar of the examinations—a ‘dragon among men.’ Three years from now, he would succeed Chen Zhan as the Prince of Huainan and be enfeoffed as the Marquis of Victory. And once he held the reins of military power, his true nature would be unmasked. He would collude with the northern barbarians to usurp the throne. He would slaughter his adoptive parents and save the most brutal humiliations for his eight sisters, forcing them into the most debased of lives.
In his previous life, Chang’an had fought Fusheng until his last breath. But without the support of his family, he was eventually captured and sentenced to death by a thousand cuts—*Lingchi*. Three thousand and six hundred slices of his flesh. And his sisters? They had stood in the front row of the execution grounds, cheering and applauding as the executioner’s blade worked.
Chu Yanran bit her lip, whistling the Discipline Rod through the air. “And you have the nerve to laugh? A true man of the Chen line should stand tall! How can the Huainan Palace harbor a coward who lacks the courage to admit his faults?”
Chang’an’s face remained a mask of ice. *In my previous life, everything I did was wrong. In this life, I will simply do nothing. This time, I live only for myself.*
“Fine,” he said. “I was wrong.”
Chu Yanran froze, the rod hovering in mid-air. The ‘Fool’ had actually yielded?
“Yes. It was me,” Chang’an continued. “I broke the horse’s leg. I accept the punishment.”
He reached out and snatched the Discipline Rod from Chu Yanran’s hand before she could react. “The house rules of the Huainan Palace state that acting without parental consent warrants twenty strokes. You don’t need to exert yourself, Mother. I’ll do it myself.”
Chu Yanran watched him with a sneer. *You, who are so terrified of a scraped knee? You think you can strike yourself?*
A flash of cold resolve crossed Chang’an’s face. He swung the rod down with brutal force against his own thigh.
*Crack!*
The wood bit deep. His eyes flared red with the sudden spike of agony. “One!”
“Is that enough?” he rasped. Chu Yanran recoiled. What was this? Was he truly capable of such self-mutilation?
“If it’s not enough, then again!”
*Crack!*
“Princess Consort, may I ask you one thing?”
*Crack!*
“Let me return to the Foundling Hall. Let us never look upon one another again!”
*Crack!*
“Chen Chang’an, thanking you and your entire family for their ‘kindness’!”
*Crack, crack, crack...*
Chang’an was a man possessed. Twenty strokes, each delivered with more ferocity than the last, landed on his legs. Though his body screamed in pain, his heart felt a strange, soaring sense of relief. He wanted out. Out of this family, out of this capital. Who sat on the throne? What became of the Huainan legacy? If the world burned to ash...
*What the hell does it have to do with me? I am done. I am giving up. I am letting the darkness take me.*
“Princess, please... let me return to the Foundling Hall. Is that so much to ask?”
Chu Yanran’s gaze darkened as she clenched her teeth. Chen Chunhua hurried forward, her face a mask of concern. “Ninth Brother, do not resent Mother. As the saying goes, the deeper the love, the harsher the lash.”
*The deeper the love? Go to hell.*
Chunhua tried to help him up, but Chang’an recoiled as if touched by a leper. Without looking at her, he said calmly, “Third Princess, you are a high-and-mighty lady of the court. Do not soil your hands by touching a wretch like me.”
“Ninth Brother, you...” Chunhua froze, staring at him in bewilderment. In the past, he would have been ecstatic if she had even spoken to him. What had changed?
Suddenly, a young man in fine brocade robes rushed through the doorway and threw himself onto his knees before Chu Yanran with a heavy *thud*.
Chen Fusheng.
His face was a masterpiece of feigned remorse. “Mother, it is all my fault! I failed to stop him in time. I am the one who allowed Ninth Brother to commit such a grave error! I am willing to share his punishment!”
Chang’an almost wanted to applaud. *What a performance. You break the horse, and now you play the martyr?*
Chang’an merely sneered. Looking at Fusheng’s face—the face of the man who had ordered him sliced into three thousand pieces—Chang’an felt a surge of cold electricity. He raised his hand and, in full view of his mother and sisters, delivered a staggering slap across Fusheng’s cheek.
*Smack!*
It was crisp. It was loud. It was efficient.
The room fell into a deathly silence. Chen Fusheng stared at Chang’an in absolute shock. He had been slapped? By the ‘Fool’? In the past, Fusheng could have spat in his face and Chang’an would have thanked him for the moisture.
*Has the world turned upside down? Damn him, I’ll kill him!*