Fang Zhiyi excused himself, claiming he had to study with Prime Minister Sima that evening before hastily leaving.
And indeed, that was the case. For the past few nights, Sima Ci had been coming to the palace as if it were his own home. He was acting as Fang Zhiyi’s temporary tutor—though not teaching him statecraft or the art of political balance. Instead, he focused on superficial things like imperial decorum, required readings, or ceremonial protocols for festivals.
In short, he wanted Fang Zhiyi to remain nothing more than a puppet.
And Fang Zhiyi played his part well. Though he appeared somewhat timid, he studied diligently and never failed to address Sima Ci as "Teacher," feeding the older man’s vanity.
If the last one had been this obedient, I wouldn’t have had to poison him.
That night, Fang Zhiyi spent a long time flattering Sima Ci, but the prime minister seemed in no hurry to leave. Instead, he sat sipping tea leisurely.
Fang Zhiyi couldn’t figure out what the old fox was scheming. Just as he was about to speak, Sima Ci suddenly said, "Your Majesty, this old minister—" Before he could finish, a eunuch rushed in, dropping to his knees in panic. "Disaster, Your Majesty! The Empress—she’s been poisoned!"
Fang Zhiyi stood up in alarm, acutely aware of Sima Ci’s piercing gaze. "Take me to her—now!" He didn’t even use the imperial "We."
Sima Ci’s expression darkened with something unreadable.
When they arrived at the Empress’s chambers, they found her lifeless, blood trickling from her seven orifices. Nearby lay the corpse of a palace maid, a hairpin lodged in her throat.
"What… what happened?" Fang Zhiyi stammered, his face a mix of horror and fury. The anger was genuine—even if he had no attachment to the original emperor’s wife, he couldn’t let her be murdered like this.
"Your Majesty," a court lady stepped forward, her tone eerily calm. Fang Zhiyi recognized her—she was one of the Dowager Empress’s attendants.
"The Empress came from humble origins and never fully grasped palace etiquette. The maid, Ping’er, repeatedly tried to instruct her, but the Empress refused to comply, leading to Ping’er being punished several times. Resentful after another beating today, she poisoned Her Majesty before taking her own life in front of witnesses. Please accept our condolences."
Her voice was steady, as if describing something as mundane as eating or drinking.
Even an idiot would realize this was a targeted assassination. And the mastermind? Whoever stood to gain from the Empress’s death.
But Fang Zhiyi couldn’t show a hint of suspicion.
With trembling hands, he slowly approached the Empress’s body, knelt, and clutched her shoulders as he wailed loudly—though no tears fell. His cries gradually faded into a silent, open-mouthed grimace of grief.
Sima Ci’s wariness dissipated.
This puppet emperor isn’t acting. He’s too simple-minded for schemes—just a fool.
Less than three days after the Empress’s funeral, Sima Cheng, Sima Ci’s son, proposed during court that his sister, Sima Ying—"a woman of virtue and talent"—should fill the now-vacant position of Empress. The ministers echoed the sentiment, save for a handful.
Fang Zhiyi wore a sorrowful expression before turning to Sima Ci, who had remained silent. "Teacher, what do you think?"
The courtiers fell quiet. The Emperor had just publicly called the Prime Minister Teacher!
Sima Ci was undeniably pleased, though he suppressed a smile as he bowed slightly. "Your Majesty, Sima Ying is my daughter. This old minister must abstain to avoid bias." With that, he strode out of the hall.
Fang Zhiyi sighed and deferred the matter.
Later, the Dowager Empress visited, urging him to remarry. Fang Zhiyi had already pieced it together—her maiden family was the Sima clan. No wonder she protected their interests so fiercely. The court was already the Simas’ domain.
He sighed again, insisting he needed to consult his "Teacher" first.
He knew his every word would reach Sima Ci’s ears.
Sure enough, Sima Ci returned the next day as if nothing had happened. When Fang Zhiyi pressed him again, he repeated his stance on recusal. Fang Zhiyi playfully grabbed his sleeve, refusing to let him leave until, with feigned reluctance, Sima Ci finally said,
"My daughter is well-versed in the arts. If Your Majesty finds her worthy, she may serve as Empress."
Fang Zhiyi beamed and agreed.
Sima Ci left in high spirits. To him, the new Emperor was now firmly under his control.
That very night, Fang Zhiyi lay awake. After dismissing the eunuchs, he summoned only Fuhai.
"Master." Fuhai’s address never changed—he knew his place.
Fang Zhiyi picked up a brush, writing as he spoke loudly, "Fuhai, I’ve never married an Empress before. How’s it different from a commoner’s wedding?"
Fuhai was baffled. Was the Emperor so excited about marriage that he couldn’t sleep?
Still, he answered dutifully, "There are many rituals—ancestral prayers, three days of ceremonies—"
Fang Zhiyi suddenly tapped the brush against the desk. "Three days? That long?"
Fuhai’s eyes flicked to the writing on the desk. He was literate—and what he saw sent a shock through him.
"If you want to die, go find someone else. If you want to live, keep answering my questions."
He stared at the Emperor in disbelief. In the candlelight, the timid puppet was gone. Instead, a ruler of chilling authority sat before him. One glance from Fang Zhiyi made Fuhai’s knees weaken. He remembered glimpsing the late Emperor as a child—that same imperial aura had terrified him then. And now this young sovereign… one hand holding a brush, the other toying with a sharp wooden spike…
Fuhai felt death looming.
"Master, it takes three days. Two for ceremonies, and only on the third may you meet the Empress."
"Ah, so tedious. Commoners have it easier—no such complications."
Fang Zhiyi kept writing as he spoke.
"We offer you a chance—to stand above all but one. Do you want it?"
Fuhai shuddered. He had stumbled upon something forbidden: this puppet Emperor was far more than he seemed. And now, there was no turning back.
"If We die, so do you."
After a heartbeat of hesitation, Fuhai’s expression hardened. "Master shouldn’t say such things—it’s unseemly if overheard." With that, he gave a slow, deliberate nod.
Outside, two eunuchs yawned.
"Our Emperor doesn’t act like one. No wonder the Prime Minister has us watching him."
"Less chatter. Just do as we’re told."
"Let’s swap shifts already. I’m exhausted."
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
s the Eldest Princess, renowned for her cold and aloof detachment, became the most docile of lambs, obeying his every command without question. But when the final move was played on the chessboard, as Gu Chenghan seized everything and ascended on the verge of apotheosis, that very Princess suddenly embraced him from behind, her tone carrying a dependence never heard before: "Wait... you haven't yet... commanded me to love you forever." Gu Chenghan froze abruptly. She... hadn't been hypnotized?! ... [The Eldest Princess's Diary] [When my soul was extracted, becoming the sole spectator outside my own shell] [At first, there was overwhelming fury, until I saw] [How he used my sword to effortlessly shatter my inescapable doom] [How he wielded my authority to eradicate fatal conspiracies I had never even detected] [Like a deity, he rescued me from the deep mire I was trapped in] [If not for those annoying vixens, he and I would be a match made in heaven] [I think I am ill, gravely ill] [My deity should belong to me alone] ... "Hypnosis? Oh, it succeeded, my dear Master." "Only this time, it's my turn to hypnotize you."
nd fell into a coma while saving his younger sister from an out-of-control car. He became a vegetable. No one knew that his consciousness had crossed into a world of cultivation. Over the course of sixty years, he began as the lowest kind of mine slave, struggling to survive amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood. By sheer chance, he eventually obtained the complete memories of a fallen Immortal King. Alchemy, medicine, formations, feng shui, physiognomy, artifact forging… Every great inheritance of the cultivation world was now his. But when he opened his eyes again, he discovered that ten full years had passed in the modern world. To pay for his treatment, his father had sold the family’s shop and house, leaving himself covered in lasting injuries and illness. His mother had cared for him day and night, and more than half of her hair had already turned white. His younger sister, who had been only fifteen back then, was now twenty-five. To help repay the family’s debts, she had been forced to lower her head and put on a smiling face in places of glittering lights and endless revelry. Only then did Chen Xuan understand that what he had lost was not merely ten years. He had lost the life his entire family was meant to have. The good news was that he had brought back the memories of an Immortal King’s entire lifetime. The bad news was that his soul had returned alone—his cultivation had not come with him. Spiritual energy was scarce, resources were depleted, and the modern world still had firearms, surveillance, capital, and laws. If he wanted to protect his family, break free from everyone’s control, and become truly invincible beneath the heavens, he would have to start all over again.
m back to his original world. In the end, he realized he had overthought things. [Hey, why is Shen Manni, the female lead, acting strange? Shouldn't she be fawning over the male lead at this point?] [Zhou Qiaoqiao, are you sick? Weren't you supposed to break off your engagement today?] [Damn it! An Youyi, please do your job as an undercover agent and sell my information to the protagonist, you idiot!] ... At this moment, Xu Mo himself didn't know that these female leads had already heard his inner thoughts. Then they decided not to play by the rules. Xu Mo: Please respect my profession as the big villain!
