Zhao Yan sometimes had to admire Li Meiren's persistence—no matter the situation, she always managed to steer conversations toward his studies and self-improvement.
He felt that instead of hoping to gain status through her son, Li Meiren would be better off striving to elevate her son through her own achievements. After all, he truly had no talent for academics, while her beauty was undeniably etched upon her face.
After giving birth to her son, Li Meiren hadn't given up on advancing her position and winning favor. But the Tianyou Emperor rarely visited the rear palace, paying her no attention—not even granting her an audience.
She had no choice but to settle for the next best thing.
Zhao Yan wore a pained expression as he hastily swallowed a few mouthfuls of congee before groaning and collapsing onto his bed. Through a folding screen, he watched Li Meiren pacing back and forth in the outer chamber, faintly catching snippets of their conversation.
"Xiao Qi still doesn't seem quite right… We must invite Yu Zhen Fashi to examine him…"
Zhao Yan shuddered in terror, even forgetting his plans to feign illness and amnesia.
He suddenly remembered who Yu Zhen Fashi was—a prophet from the Western Path revered for communicating with deities, healing illnesses, and foreseeing the future. After arriving in Great Chu, the Tianyou Emperor had honored him as National Preceptor. Rumors said he was extraordinarily powerful, capable of seeing straight through a person's soul with a single glance.
What if one look from him exposed Zhao Yan as a transmigrated soul?
He groaned twice, pretending nothing was seriously wrong, and feigned sleep.
In truth, Zhao Yan was worrying unnecessarily. While he knew Yu Zhen Fashi was formidable, he didn't realize that within the palace, no consort below the rank of imperial consort could possibly secure an audience with Yu Zhen Fashi—except by the Tianyou Emperor's own decree.
The constant tension of recent days exhausted him, and he slept straight through until the next morning. The following day, he felt noticeably more clear-headed.
When the Imperial Physician came to check his pulse, he declared Zhao Yan nearly recovered, estimating he could return to the Imperial Study within two days at most.
Li Meiren happily escorted the physician out.
Watching her retreating figure, Zhao Yan eyed the two books on the bedside cabinet. He reached out cautiously and pulled them over. The cover of "Three Character Classic" was written in traditional characters. Opening to the first page, he found the entire front side densely covered in traditional script—he could barely recognize them but found the text extremely awkward to read. When he flipped to the reverse side with Western Path script, it might as well have been celestial writing.
His vision went dark, and the book thudded to the floor.
Li Meiren turned back and hurried over upon seeing the fallen book, her eyes crinkling into a smile. "My Xiao Qi is so studious! Hearing he can return to the Imperial Study, he's already reviewing his lessons."
No, no, don't misunderstand! He didn't want to go to the Imperial Study, nor was he trying to review anything.
Li Meiren picked up the "Three Character Classic" and sat beside him. "It's cold in winter—don't stretch your hands out and catch a chill. Just lie there, and your mother will read to you." With that, she opened the book and began reading earnestly.
Zhao Yan managed to absorb a few phrases at first, but soon it felt like Sun Wukong listening to the Tight-Fillet Spell—every word caused him physical discomfort.
After finishing the "Three Character Classic," Li Meiren moved on to the "Thousand Character Classic," and after that, she began reciting poetry. Her patience and endurance were terrifyingly strong.
For two straight days, Zhao Yan listened in a daze.
In his groggy state, he heard Li Meiren tell him, "You'll need to wake early for studies tomorrow. From now on, your mother will personally escort you to the Imperial Study every day."
Zhao Yan fell into a fitful sleep, his heart filled with apprehension.
Perhaps because his thoughts lingered on these matters day and night, he dreamt incessantly throughout the evening. He dreamt of scoring zero on a math test in elementary school and being singled out by the teacher to write a self-criticism on the podium. He dreamt of his high school years, when the teacher pointed at his nose and called him a fool. He dreamt of the shame and embarrassment of being mocked by his deskmate after striving for so long, only to remain at the bottom of the class in the monthly exams.
He rushed out the door, only to find himself in a dimly lit room the next second.
The room was unmistakably the one he currently occupied, with a faint candle flickering on the wooden desk behind the screen. Under the candlelight, a child lay sobbing, his shoulders trembling with grief. The ink on the copy of The Thousand-Character Classic spread beneath his hands, yet he remained oblivious, crying as if his heart would break.
Zhao Yan approached and called out, "Hey, little one? Why are you crying here?"
The child lifted his head at the sound, his fair, delicate face flushed red from crying, his eyes swollen and pitiful.
Zhao Yan froze: this was clearly himself.
He recalled his lonely childhood, hiding in a corner of the kindergarten to cry in secret. His heart softened, and he walked over to pat the child’s head, asking gently, "What’s wrong? Why are you crying?"
The child grew even more distressed, sniffling, "Mother Consort makes Xiao Qi study every day. Xiao Qi is so tired, he wants to sleep, to rest… Waa…"
"Xiao Qi?" Zhao Yan stared in astonishment at the child dressed in ancient attire.
Was this child the Seventh Prince—the original host whose body he had taken over?
The child tugged at the hem of his clothes, looking up pleadingly, "Brother, can you study for me?"
Zhao Yan felt deeply conflicted. "I don’t know how to study either…"
The child gazed at him with teary eyes, his voice soft and milky, "No, you do." He blinked twice, his long, curled lashes fluttering. "I am you, and you are me." With that, he climbed down from the stool and tugged Zhao Yan forcefully into his seat.
As Zhao Yan reached out to pull the child back, he suddenly transformed into the child’s form, sitting upright at the desk. His small hand clutched a brush, writing uncontrollably.
Beside him stood his mother consort, holding a ruler, tapping it rhythmically as if striking his very heart.
The more he wrote, the more his hand trembled, until a heavy stroke dragged a long, thick line of ink across the page.
Li Meiren’s face darkened as she snapped, "Rewrite!" The ruler came down sharply.
Zhao Yan jolted awake, his body sticky and uncomfortable. Reaching behind, he felt his back drenched in cold sweat.
He pondered the child in his dream—could it be that the child, too, feared studying and refused to wake, leading to the original host’s premature death?
But why was he the one who had crossed over?
Was it because he had read the book? Or because they shared the same name? Or perhaps because he and the original host looked identical?
And what did the child mean by saying, "I am you, and you are me"?
Zhao Yan racked his brains but found no answers. As the candle burned out, exhaustion overwhelmed him. He turned over in bed and quickly fell back asleep.
At the second watch of Yin hour, hurried footsteps echoed outside the room.
The door swung open, letting in a gust of cold wind. The candle was relit, and the bed curtains were drawn aside.
A pair of hands pulled the sleeping Zhao Yan from his blankets as Li Meiren’s voice sounded in his ear, "Xiao Qi, stop sleeping. Get up quickly. Today, you must attend the Imperial Study."
Chen Xiang deftly wrung out a cloth to wipe his face, while Ban Xia swiftly assisted with dressing, combing his hair, and putting on his shoes in one seamless motion.
Rubbed into a daze, Zhao Yan rubbed his eyes and glanced out the window at the pitch-black sky. He let out a groan of despair, then decisively Reverted to a previous save from a quarter-hour earlier.
If not for the system's limit on Revert to a previous save duration, he would have gone straight back to when he fell asleep.
In the next moment, everyone vanished, and he was curled up under the blankets, sound asleep in the warm bed once more.
When Li Meiren arrived with the palace maids again, he Reverted to a previous save again. They came once more, and he Reverted to a previous save again… Over and over, no matter what, he insisted on sleeping his fill before rising.
He was still young, not yet six years old.
Waking up early to study would truly be the death of him.
In the book, hadn't the original host died at seven from the exhaustion of studying too hard?
He absolutely could not follow in the original host's footsteps.
At the same time, in the Imperial Bedchamber of Sweet Spring Palace.
A rustle came from the Dragon Bed, and Feng Zongguan immediately gestured to the eunuchs behind him. A dozen eunuchs swiftly lit the candlesticks, brought the dragon robe, and stood by the Dragon Bed holding a golden basin.
Feng Zongguan stepped forward, personally drew back the Dragon Bed Curtains, and addressed the figure inside respectfully, "Your Majesty, it's the first quarter of the Yin hour. You should rise now."
The Tianyou Emperor was diligent; since ascending the throne, he had always risen at the Yin hour to review memorials and prepare for the Morning court session.
As soon as Feng Zongguan finished speaking, the Emperor opened his eyes, threw off the bright yellow brocade quilt, and sat up.
Beneath the dragon robe, a certain part stood erect.
Adhering to the principle that flattery never fails, Feng Zongguan praised, "The Imperial Physician's medicine is truly effective. Your Majesty is vigorous and healthy, a great blessing for Great Chu!"
The Tianyou Emperor chuckled twice, swung his long legs off the Dragon Bed, stood up, and spread his arms.
Feng Zongguan waved, and attendants immediately stepped forward to drape him in the dragon robe, assist with washing, pin up his hair… and put on his dragon boots.
When everything was ready, the Tianyou Emperor glanced at the water clock to the left of the Dragon Bed—it was exactly the second quarter of the Yin hour. He had just taken a step when, in the next moment, he was back on the Dragon Bed.
The Tianyou Emperor froze for a moment, scanned the Dragon Bed, then reached to feel his attire. The dragon robe was gone, leaving only his undergarments, and his hair was loose.
As the Dragon Bed Curtains were drawn back, the Tianyou Emperor abruptly turned, his sharp eyes fixed intently on Feng Zongguan's outstretched hand.
The winter chill seeped in, and Feng Zongguan felt a cold shiver down his spine under the Emperor's gaze, finding His Majesty's expression rather frightening. His extended hand hovered uncertainly—neither advancing nor retreating—as he steeled himself and called out, "Your Majesty?"
The Tianyou Emperor asked coldly, "What time is it now?"
Feng Zongguan replied cautiously, "Exactly the first quarter of the Yin hour."
"The first quarter of the Yin hour?" The Tianyou Emperor frowned.
Feng Zongguan ventured carefully, "Your Majesty, shall you rise?"
The Tianyou Emperor sat up again. Beneath the dragon robe, a certain part stood erect.
Just as Feng Zongguan was about to offer flattery, the Tianyou Emperor cut him off impatiently, "Enough talk. Hurry with the washing and dressing."
Feng Zongguan's heart sank: Here it comes, that familiar feeling is back.
Last time, His Majesty had been just as irritable and critical of him.
Feng Zongguan grew even more cautious.
After the Dragon Vein rose and fell seven times, and the Tianyou Emperor repeatedly dressed and undressed seven times, his face turned completely dark.
The first time, he could have dismissed it as a hallucination from overwork, but this time he was certain he was fully awake: time had genuinely rewound, and it had done so unpredictably seven times in a row.
Was it merely to prevent him from dressing?
Did it want him to appear before his court ministers in all his bareness?
Then what was the reason for the repeated appearance of that final memorial the previous time?
The Tianyou Emperor firmly believed he was blessed by the Eternal Heaven. Deities would never be so trivial—it must be someone practicing sorcery!
He carefully recalled the details of these two reversals: the time, location, and people present. There were no common factors.
He then glanced at Feng Zongguan waiting nearby and the other eunuchs and palace maids: none of them seemed aware of the time reversals; only he could perceive them.
But one thing was certain: the first time reversal occurred precisely when Li Meiren went to the Hall of Eternal Zenith to request an audience with him.
The Tianyou Emperor’s eyes darkened. After getting up for the eighth time and finally donning his dragon robe, he summoned the shadow guard hidden in the darkness and commanded, “Go to Jingfu Pavilion immediately and keep watch. Report every move of Li Meiren to me without fail!”
He was determined to find out whether Li Meiren, in her desperate bid for favor, had resorted to some underhanded scheme!