The newly appointed officials were nothing like their predecessors—utterly incorruptible and unyielding. Upon taking office, they immediately launched sweeping reforms, slashing many of the resources and privileges previously granted to noble families and redirecting tax exemptions and preferential policies toward the common people. This quickly stirred up lively discussions among the populace.
Emperor Shunying had recently taken a liking to attending court sessions, though he could never manage to rise early in the morning. To accommodate this, he pushed back the start time and sat listening as his ministers reported their recent achievements.
"Your Majesty, the five southern provinces have had a bountiful harvest this year! The people have sent a basket of rice as tribute!"
Emperor Shunying's eyes gleamed at the sight of the rice carried in by his guards. "Good, very good," he murmured. Though he was a lackadaisical ruler, he was not cruel. While he paid little attention to state affairs, he was more than happy to see peace and prosperity in the land.
"Your Majesty, the desert control efforts in the west have also shown initial success. Here is a crop grown in those lands," another official presented, holding out a fruit with both hands.
Fang Zhiyi, who had been resting his eyes, glanced over and was startled. "Damn, where was this discovered?"
"General, the locals found it while working on desert control. This crop is not only drought-resistant but also highly productive. They won’t go hungry anymore," the official replied, tears welling in his eyes. He had once been part of a peasant uprising in the northwest—after all, who would rebel if not driven by hunger?
Pleased, Emperor Shunying rewarded his ministers with silver—because, frankly, he had too much of it.
The Xuanjing Bureau was highly active, its network spanning the entire empire. All gathered intelligence ended up on Gao Liang’s desk, who then filtered it and passed the crucial details to Fang Zhiyi.
With such a secretive agency in full swing, some local officials found themselves in trouble. If someone took a mere hundred taels of silver in bribes, the Xuanjing Bureau would be at their door within three days, armed with irrefutable evidence—time, place, and witnesses—leaving no room for denial.
Still, Fang Zhiyi wasn’t indiscriminately executing people. Those caught taking a hundred taels or less were simply stripped of their posts, hauled back to the capital for re-education, and eventually released.
Under Emperor Shunying’s name, Fang Zhiyi also established free schools for children of age, allowing them to enroll and even take imperial examinations. However, the curriculum no longer focused on stale classical texts but instead covered agriculture, animal husbandry, industry, military strategy, and more.
This naturally provoked outrage among the literati, but Fang Zhiyi dealt with them harshly. The ringleaders were strung up and left in the sun for three days, with their misdeeds written up and hung around their necks. The Xuanjing Bureau had no trouble digging up dirt—and if none existed, well, they could always fabricate some.
After about seven or eight such public humiliations, the protesting scholars dwindled. The main reason was that no one in court dared back them anymore. The old, pedantic ministers had mostly died off, and the few remaining were those Fang Zhiyi had deliberately spared.
Fang Zhiyi handpicked instructors from within the bureaucracy. Normally, such sweeping reforms would face fierce resistance, but everyone knew Fang Zhiyi now held overwhelming power—commanding both the military and the Xuanjing Bureau. Even those who cursed him in their hearts dared not speak a word against him.
Emperor Shunying paid no mind to any of this. As long as the country was peaceful and his ministers stopped bickering in front of him, he was content.
One day after court, Gao Liang followed Fang Zhiyi.
"General, that leftover troublemaker Old Man Cheng has been cursing you at home, calling you a traitor who deceives the throne. Should we…?" Gao Liang drew a finger across his throat.
Fang Zhiyi chuckled. "Who, that old fool Cheng?"
"Yes. These people never learn. If not for your mercy, they’d have joined their dead comrades long ago."
"Let him be. He means no real harm—he’s loyal to the state, and he has one redeeming quality: his writing is excellent."
Gao Liang didn’t understand.
"I kept some of these old-timers around for two reasons. First, to prevent the newcomers from growing complacent without opposition. Watching them argue with the old guard is rather entertaining. Second, these men have no ulterior motives, and each excels in his own field. That makes them valuable."
"If he wants to curse me, so be it. It’s not like I’ll lose flesh over it."
As Fang Zhiyi walked away, Gao Liang pondered whether he should just assassinate Emperor Shunying and put Fang Zhiyi on the throne. After a long moment, he shook his head and left.
Ten years passed in the blink of an eye. Fang Zhiyi’s policies bore tremendous fruit. Young men who rose through the new examination system now filled key roles—some improving crop yields, others inventing water pumps, and some even joining Fang Zhiyi’s military training camps.
Meanwhile, Emperor Shunying enjoyed another decade of carefree living, though his health steadily declined. On his deathbed, he tearfully begged Fang Zhiyi to look after the Crown Prince. Fang Zhiyi could only sigh—he had warned the emperor countless times to ease up on his indulgences, but the pleasure-loving ruler refused to listen. He agreed to everything else, just not to giving up his vices.
The following autumn, Emperor Shunying passed away peacefully.
As the nation mourned, Fang Zhiyi swiftly arranged for the Crown Prince’s immediate coronation before the late emperor’s coffin. The prince was stunned.
"Fang—Uncle Fang," he stammered (his father had insisted on the address), "Father said you were to assist me for a time before discussing my ascension."
Fang Zhiyi knew better. Before his death, Emperor Shunying had privately confided that if the Crown Prince proved unfit, Fang Zhiyi should become regent and fulfill his grand vision. That way, the emperor could at least face his ancestors with dignity.
"Zhiyi, if my son is incompetent… you may depose him, but don’t kill him. And if he ever tries to kill you—" The emperor, his face gaunt with illness, paused. "I’ve left a secret decree to protect you."
Thinking back on this, Fang Zhiyi sighed. The emperor had been a negligent ruler, but he’d treated Fang Zhiyi well.
"Enough of that. I’ve spent years cleaning up your father’s messes—I’m exhausted. Must your family keep milking me dry?" Fang Zhiyi didn’t mince words.
The Crown Prince was taken aback. It was true—his father had spent his life in leisure, and as far as he could remember, Fang Zhiyi had handled everything. At times, he’d even seemed more like the emperor. The prince had even suspected him of plotting usurpation.
Though Fang Zhiyi had been his tutor, what ruler would tolerate such concentrated power in another’s hands? Yet now, Fang Zhiyi seemed almost… relieved.
"Listen, I want a grand estate, plenty of servants, and a hefty pension. Understood? I’m retiring!" Fang Zhiyi rambled on.
The Crown Prince—no, now the Emperor—was momentarily speechless as he watched Fang Zhiyi hand over everything in one go: the military tally, deployment plans for all troops, training schedules, and even the command jade token of the Xuanjing Bureau. The new Emperor was certain—his "Uncle Fang" simply didn’t want the job anymore!
"Afraid I’d kill him?" the new Emperor mused as Fang Zhiyi walked away without hesitation. "Impossible. With Fang Zhiyi’s current reputation and influence, not even I could touch him—let alone my father. He’d be crushed like an ant."
Watching Fang Zhiyi’s carefree, almost giddy demeanor, the Emperor shook his head, dismissing his suspicions. Just how much had his father overworked this man?
Fang Zhiyi retired.
The entire court was stunned. Whispers spread—had the new Emperor forced this powerful minister out? Yet no one celebrated. Under Fang Zhiyi’s governance, the realm had known peace, corruption among officials had vanished, and he had even introduced better leave policies and retirement systems. Even the old ministers who once resented him now held him in high regard.
Still, during court sessions, eyes often drifted to the empty seat—one the new Emperor refused to remove. Sometimes, even the Emperor glanced at it.
Meanwhile, Fang Zhiyi roamed the marketplace with a few servants, a birdcage in one hand and a dog leash in the other, swaggering like a petty ruffian.
"Duke Fang! Your dog killed my duck yesterday!" A headscarf-clad woman, Sister Li, blocked his path angrily.
"Uh… Sister Li, I’ll pay for it," Fang Zhiyi replied, his tough-guy act crumbling instantly.
Laughter erupted around them.
"Your Grace, come dine at my place today?"
"Scram! You just want me to tutor your brat, don’t you?"
"Duke, my daughter’s wedding is tomorrow. Would you—"
"Sure! But there better be meat!"
Hidden spies recorded every detail and reported back to the Emperor.
Reading the reports, the Emperor was incredulous. He glanced at the towering pile of memorials before him and chuckled bitterly, mimicking his mentor’s tone: "Damn it, who in their right mind would want to be Emperor?"
By the time Fang Zhiyi left this world, he was bedridden, unable to move. News of his death plunged the nation into mourning. Historians recorded him as a villain in his early years, a regent in his later years—a executioner who once bathed the capital in blood, yet also the architect of the Wei-Wu Dynasty’s golden age. Posterity struggled to define him.
His legacy was summed up in a single line:
"To repay the lord’s golden platform’s grace, I raised the jade dragon and died in his place."
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."
lan, the Luo family, tracked him down - along with the babies in their arms. Mo Xuan stared pensively at the paternity test results from over a dozen top institutions, both domestic and international, showing a 99.99% match between himself and the two baby girls. At 23, Mo Xuan, a doctoral student, had become the father of two three-year-old children. The kicker? The mothers weren't even the same person! He gradually realized he was being lured step by step into an elaborate trap designed by these two yandere sisters. "Be good, little Xuan. Sister's life belongs to you entirely." "Brother, if you try to run away, I'll have no choice but to tie you up." Mo Xuan: "Do whatever you want, ladies. I give up."
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.
uld barely embark on the path to immortality. Just as he was on the verge of death, his golden finger awakened. No matter whether it was poison, drained blood and vital energy, diminished lifespan, or any other physical debuff caused by paying a price—once midnight passed, everything would be refreshed. From then on, whenever someone asked what kind of person Chu Ran was, the answer was simple: Forbidden arts that other cultivators dared not learn? Chu Ran would learn them. Prices that even demonic cultivators dared not pay? Chu Ran would pay them. Lifespan that even righteous cultivators dared not burn? Chu Ran would burn it. All the blood essence in his body? Take it. Want both his hands and feet? He would cut them off and send them to you. You say he’s finished? He wasn’t built to sit idle. You think he’s gone mad? No—he was simply waiting for midnight. From that day onward, Chu Ran would respect neither Heaven nor Earth, bow to neither gods nor ghosts. He had only one wish: For midnight to arrive a little sooner.
