"Your Highness, the imperial physician has arrived," a maid curtsied deeply, her voice gentle yet respectful.
Xu Ning, now inhabiting the body of the Third Prince, opened his eyes slowly. In truth, this body wasn't sick—just hungry. Now that he had eaten a bit, he felt significantly better. He hadn't received the storyline yet and didn't know the original host's temperament or mission, so he simply waved his hand in a calm, dignified manner and said, "You may withdraw."
The two maids exchanged a quick glance, then bowed and exited the chambers.
As the carved door closed softly behind them, Xu Ning's gaze drifted across the palace chamber. The room was vast and filled with a refined grandeur befitting a royal prince. Antique shelves lined the walls, adorned with all manner of rare curios and delicately arranged bright flowers in fine porcelain vases.
From a cloisonné enamel beast-ear incense burner resting on a red sandalwood base, a fragrant mist slowly curled into the air. The scent was both soothing and subtly invigorating.
Beside the bed—its rosewood frame inlaid with cold, polished marble—stood a beautifully engraved narra wood table screen. Winter plum blossoms danced across its ivory surface, serene and noble.
Just from the furnishings alone, Xu Ning could tell that the prince he now occupied had lived a life of indulgence and prestige. What, then, could have possibly driven this person to make a desperate wish to the system?
He took a deep breath.
The system kicked in, and the memory transfer began. Even though he had mentally braced himself this time, the intense wave of information still struck him like a piercing blade. Xu Ning's forehead creased as he silently endured the pain.
This body's name was Li Xun, the only younger brother of the current Emperor of the Great Yong dynasty. Born to the same mother, the Empress Dowager, he was titled Prince Jiahui, and had even been granted his own territory in the rich lands of Taiyuan—a gift that signified ultimate favor.
Jiahui—"Jia" for excellence, "Hui" for benevolence.
Few knew the true reason for the Emperor's favoritism. Most assumed it was natural affection between siblings. But the truth was far more tragic—and loyal.
During the brutal fight for the throne, Prince Jiahui had risked his life countless times. He had delivered secret orders, diverted assassins, manipulated court politics, and even once stood as bait in the dead of night, awaiting a blade meant for the Emperor.
Xu Ning's memories filled with flashes of war, blood, betrayal. The Great Yong Palace had once run red with the lives of imperial sons and nephews. The current Emperor had emerged victorious, but not merciful. Every defeated rival was ruthlessly executed.
The massacre sent a clear message: no rebellion would be tolerated. And yet, while the civil and military ministers quaked in their boots, Prince Jiahui finally tasted the sweetness of reward. He became the most pampered figure in the inner court. Even the Empress had to treat him with care, and the consorts would line up just to earn his favor.
He had everything—except love.
Even as the most favored prince, Jiahui was still a man. He too longed for someone who could make his heart stir, someone who would see him not as a symbol of power, but as a person.
That someone arrived in the form of a general—not a man, but a woman clad in battle armor, fierce and radiant like a phoenix on the battlefield.
General Hua Jin.
She was unlike the painted court nobles and powdered scholars who recited poetry under moonlight. Those men repulsed Jiahui. They were too delicate, too false. Some even used more rouge than the palace maids.
But Hua Jin…
The first time he saw her, she was atop a warhorse, armor glinting beneath the sun, a trail of defeated rebels in her wake. Her long black hair whipped in the wind like a banner, her gaze steady, unfearing.
Jiahui met her a few more times after that. Each time only deepened his feelings. She rarely spoke unnecessarily, only bowed politely and answered clearly. There was no attempt to curry favor, no softness in her demeanor. And that was what moved him most.
Hua Jin's respect was genuine—not born out of flattery but duty. It made her seem real in a world of masks.
The Emperor was aware of his brother's infatuation but did not speak openly. Instead, he began an investigation—one that would determine if this formidable woman was worthy of standing beside his most beloved brother.
The feelings between Jiahui and Hua Jin were never made public. Yet everyone in the palace quietly accepted it. Rumors buzzed like bees, but none dared speak too loudly.
The marriage was considered almost a certainty.
Then—war.
A brutal winter came early. In the north, the bearded Xiongnu tribes began their invasion. Seeking food and shelter, they crossed the border like a tide, burning villages and looting supplies.
The Emperor, seeing the threat, called upon General Hua Jin to lead the defense.
And he made a promise—when she returned victorious, he would bestow his dearest brother's hand in marriage.
Xu Ning, now holding Jiahui's memories and body, exhaled slowly.
So this was the story.
A prince who had everything except love. A general who never made a promise. And a bond that had bloomed in silence, without confessions or declarations—only action and presence.
And yet… something must have gone wrong.
Xu Ning's eyes narrowed. For this task to even exist, there must have been betrayal, or regret. Someone's heart must have shattered.