Chapter 7: Has My Fate Been Stolen?

April in Chang’an swept away the gloom of days past; the sky was exceptionally clear and pure. Along the riverbank, clusters of spring willows hung lush and graceful, growing freely, setting off the bustling crowds with a vibrant charm. Ladies adorned in subtle or lavish makeup, gentlemen clad in tinkling jade ornaments, Persian merchants and Kunlun slaves, all dressed in fine clothes astride spirited horses, made their way to Qujiang for spring outings.

In this city of spring, blossoms flew everywhere; on Cold Food Festival day, the east wind caused the imperial willows to sway obliquely.

This was the Cold Food Festival, a four-day official holiday in the Tang dynasty.

Even the emperor, feeling a bit lazy, had to bring his family out to enjoy the fresh spring greenery, to stroll by the verdant grass, and to boat on Qujiang.

Yet, beneath the golden sheen of Qujiang’s waters, which seemed calm and unruffled, turbulent undercurrents roiled unseen.

“Assassin! Protect His Majesty—”

A whistle pierced the clear sky.

Startled birds above, resembling chickens in shape but sounding like phoenixes, were frightened into flight, their droppings falling like a flood, turning the river into a tempest.

“Assassins are hiding on the pleasure boats, their traces cunning and elusive. Conduct thorough searches in order!”

Military orders were as unyielding as mountains. On Qujiang, dozens of boats scoured the waters, preferring to kill mistakenly than to let a single assassin escape.

If they caught someone seven parts resembling an assassin, the head was severed and presented to the underworld. If not, under the pretense of clearing obstacles, they were hauled or kicked into the river for a soak.

Bathed in the fading sunlight that stretched across the water, half the river shimmered in silvery hues, half glowing red. Song Ruozhao emerged from the reddened pool, cursing inwardly—

“This damn donkey, it’s either blocked or stitched up with needles!”

Regaining consciousness, she struggled toward the shore, feeling as though her body weighed a thousand pounds. A swimming champion in past competitions, she now floundered like a novice, as if tangled in water weeds.

Here a snag, there a snag, as if the water plants had learned to grapple like the thousand-handed Guanyin.

Fortunately, someone thrust a bamboo pole as thick as an arm toward her, and with a mighty tug she was hauled ashore.

On the bank stood her benefactor, Song Xiaodi, dressed like a flamboyant peacock. Seeing her drenched state, he merely shrugged: “Second sister, you’ve picked up another husband again. This time, whose household did you drag in?”

Song Ruozhao, also the second sister in her modern family, hazily glanced at the “household” she had “picked up.”

The three “water weeds” that had dragged her down surfaced one after another: an uncle, a fresh-faced youth, and a little scoundrel.

The uncle had suffered badly from water choking; his eight-character headscarf was tangled with hair atop his head. As he coughed bitterly, his head bobbed like a delivery man’s ears bouncing over a speed bump.

The fresh-faced youth calmly opened his eyes, savoring the thrill of survival. But the pleasure was short-lived—spotting bloodstains on his trouser leg, his pupils dilated wildly, and he fainted.

The little scoundrel looked like a lotus root freshly pulled from the mud—dirty but plump. Barely three years old, he was given priority for rescue.

Turning from the three, Song Ruozhao surveyed the riverbank scene. The Tang dynasty’s style was unmistakable: women with hair coiled in buns, men wearing headscarves; noblewomen in chest-high skirts, attendants in narrow-sleeved jackets. The assassin had not been caught; news spread quickly. Children cried for their parents, couples called for their kin, and all returned home hastily. The colorful tents and curtains of the aristocrats were trampled into mud amid the chaos.

Immersed in the scene, Song Ruozhao was overjoyed: the time-space tunnel developed by their partners had succeeded so vividly?

Indeed, the time-travel bracelet assigned by the temporal company glowed a clear blue on her wrist.

[System prompt: “Beep, welcome to mid-Tang. System detects slight deviation. Current time-space mission: ‘Save My Emperor.’ To continue binding, please respond.”]

“I won’t bind,” Song Ruozhao replied decisively.

After all, she was headed for the splendid Tang dynasty, not this mid-Tang where eunuchs could ride the emperor’s head and relieve themselves at will.

[System reply: “Understood. Keyword ‘bind’ detected. Binding activated!”]

“...” She was exasperated.

“Perfect—fainting from coughing, fear, fury, and now with a child added to the mix, makes it easier for me to pack up,” Song Xiaodi calculated with glee.

The three “water weeds”: the eldest would be her brother-in-law, the youngest her nephew, and the in-between one she took upon herself to adopt as a concubine for second sister.

Flashing his peacock-like robe, he vaulted onto the donkey he had won from a cockfight, pulling along the “new household,” the donkey’s rear hurting as it trotted away.

After curfew struck, Chang’an city resembled a giant chessboard whose master had shut his eyes. The last glimmers of light faded with the dimming of human activity.

It was Cold Food Festival, when all fireworks were banned.

In the most remote corner of the Song household, a dark room with one bed, four family members on two mats.

Song Ruozhao enjoyed the main bed, pondering the use of the time-travel bracelet when the system suddenly popped up “The Legend of Golden Flower.”

Compelled by some strange impulse, she closed her eyes fuzzily and allowed memories to blur and merge.

The Song family was a scholarly household, with Song’s father currently magistrate of Raozhou. A man of no great distinction, having lost his father in childhood, his wife in middle age, and in old age...

Yet lucky enough to have a son late in life—Song Xiaodi, the flamboyant peacock.

Coupled with the frequent joyous occasions marking the coming of age of his five daughters.

Neighbors summed up the family as “Five Golden Flowers and One Good-for-Nothing.”

The gentle eldest sister, first in virtue and talent.

The dim-witted second sister, forever two years old.

The clever third sister, sharp-tongued.

The graceful fourth sister, versed in the four treasures of the study.

The budding fifth sister, composing poetry in five steps.

The good-for-nothing sixth brother... well, the six livestock prosper.

After all, he spent days gambling on cockfights and running with the animals—an apt description.

But why include the dim-witted second sister among the famed five golden flowers?

Because her childhood name was Golden Flower!

Legend had it she learned to speak at eight, to walk at five, to shake her head at three, but could cry from birth.

Now at twenty, all she did was cry.

When the eldest sister failed to teach her manners, she cried.

When the third sister cursed her, she cried.

When the fourth sister splashed ink on her, she cried.

When the fifth sister tripped her, she got up and cried.

Every time a husband she “picked up” was snatched away by Song Xiaodi, she just cried.

Speaking of husbands, Song’s father had no worries; four daughters were all beautiful and talented, leaving only the matter of choosing others’ sons.

As for the second daughter...

Though slow-witted, she was selective.

Six years ago, during the conflict of the Four Kings and Two Emperors, she took in a man with injured legs as her husband; Song Xiaodi extorted 400 wen from him, but the man had a beautiful wife, stole a door latch as a crutch in the dead of night, and ran away.

Four years ago, after the war calmed, she took in a man napping on a bridge; Song Xiaodi extorted 800 wen. The man was already a father; he broke down a door and fled overnight.

Two years ago, in peaceful times, she took in a man dazzled by her beauty, bound hand and foot to the bed. He turned out to be a grandfather, but with a thunderous palm strike, the bed shattered, and he fled.

Song Xiaodi was adept at extortion, managing to rack up a tidy sum. Unfortunately, the young grandfather was an old hand at kung fu, and escaped.

With such good business, Song Xiaodi’s first thought upon waking was how much to price the bride price this time.

The window was broken, sunlight stinging her eyes. After a night, she had no interest in the Golden Flower legend and immediately summoned the time-travel bracelet.

“Hey, I don’t want the Golden Flower legend. When we signed the contract, the destination was Gan Ye Temple—”

The system responded mechanically: [Owner, I do not understand. Please try another phrase.]

Song Ruozhao rephrased: “I want to go to Gan Ye Temple, find Wu Zetian, bring her warmth, build her image! Achieve promotion, raise salary, and live in ease!”

[System: Owner, I am still learning. Please tell me how to achieve promotion, raise salary, and live in ease?]

“...Who’s asking whom here?”

Suddenly recalling the donkey who had carried her through time but lost his nerve, dumping her into Qujiang while relieving himself, now long gone, she snapped: “I want to file a complaint. Your driver committed abandonment!”

[System: No abandonment occurred; the Vermilion Bird itself got lost.]

Song Ruozhao: “...”

The system’s dullness was evident. She tried: “Transfer to human support.”

[System: No human support is online currently. I am AI Xiao Liu. Please consult me first.]

“...Such dark humor.”

Song Ruozhao: “I am consulting you, but your answers don’t solve my problems!”

[System: Whether or not I solve them, please say if I have answered.]

“...”

“Then you must know who I am, where I am, and what I’m doing?”

[System: Owner, after time travel, your identity is the dim-witted Song family member you studied. You are in the third year of Zhenyuan era, reign of Tang Dezong Li Shi. From this point, each emperor suffers at the hands of eunuchs. Your mission: ‘Save My Emperor.’ Current progress: 1%.]

[First mission completed. Reward:...]

So today’s rescue was for the emperor. Song Ruozhao pricked up her ears, expecting a generous reward.

[Reward: Rescue the emperor again tomorrow night. Thank you for your cooperation.]

??? She was baffled.

The system was so slow-witted that a few words couldn’t clarify matters.

Thanks to the system, she lived in the moment and fretted about tomorrow.

Well, she pointed at the three unconscious “water weeds” on the floor: “Stupid system, tell me, which one is the emperor?”

[System: The uncle with the kangaroo ears is Emperor Li Shi; the cute child beside him is Crown Prince Li Chun.]

“Then who is the most handsome fresh-faced youth?”

[System: Facial recognition in progress, please wait...]

Painful? Tang Feng felt secretly proud. For cultivation, he feared no pain, having endured unimaginable agony to forge his skin and bones. Pain was no obstacle.

And Murong Jiao even knew to curry favor with Murong Banchen, earning Murong Huaying’s admiration. This younger brother was finally awakening.

“I’m not doing it for you; I don’t deserve your thanks.” Yun Yuan’s tone was sharp and provocative, unlike the awkward restraint she showed when first meeting Murong Hualou.

A bar was a place for urban white-collar workers to vent, lively yet chaotic; but now it seemed unusually quiet. If the pounding music stopped, it might resemble a tranquil café.

She, unbound by feudal-era education, knew that in this era, names bore generational markers.

Song Tao gratefully glanced at Fire Wuyang’s departing back, unable to say more, and turned serious.

The rod in his hand gleamed with golden light as Huineng struck the head of a rushing Water Sun Dragon. With a crashing sound, the dragon dissolved into mist.

The Sword Sect’s power made Long Tianyu formidable. With Dou Qi protecting him, he could fly through the air, but since this was the imperial city, he dared not fly too high lest he attract attention.

Chen Jin halted, eyes coldly scanning a nearby forest, raising his hand to signal.

Summing it up: Chen Jin had no hope for ninjutsu. Without chakra, no one could compete.

Here, Ba Qi was undifferentiated, only one type, and the user’s body showed no discoloration.

Occasionally, faint animal roars and melodic cries could be heard—exotic beasts kept by the Jinchi family.

Before he could approach, the target opened its massive mouth, shooting a water arrow straight at him.

“You!” Li Zhenfeng trembled, crawling on his knees. If this happened, how could he still get by? Zhao Kun beside him was equally furious.

Mount Mei’s True Lord informed He Xuanyao that the disaster was not natural but caused by man—the culprit was his beloved and trusted teacher, Taisheng.

A faint smile curled lips. Even now, seeing the nightingale’s face close by still made him happy.

After a short distance, they encountered a martial sovereign-level beast, slain casually by Shen Cangyan, and pressed on.

“How’s it? Did you clarify their intent?” A burly man with a long scar on his arm asked the returning third brother.

Zheng Ya was hardly poor, with plenty of scholarships. His refusal to change his phone merely proved his rustic ways.

“I’ll take you to Bloodpeak Castle now!” Chris said, pulling Xiao Xie inside.

“True, Muge never invited us to her family ball, maybe because of Julie’s matter; she thought we were in low spirits and arranged this on purpose,” Angel said.

Liao Xuebing felt his intelligence insulted. Forcing calm, he finished his meal and went outside. “Since you, Wu Chunxing, want a checkup, then uncle will examine you.” But Wu Chunxing had slipped away early.

“All right, you may go, and rest early. Thank you for your hard work,” Zhang Tianshi waved the loyal uncle off.

Even eight demi-gods dared not clash directly with Long Mu, instead circling and dueling around him. The fight grew more intense: come and go, strike and block, tumbling and rolling. At this point, none dared expend full strength, lest a single blow from Long Mu leave them crippled.

“Didn’t you see they were struggling? I want to help, or Ruona will get hurt,” Xuan Mo said.

“No, no, no... I never meant that,” Wang Ning’an waved his hands repeatedly. It wasn’t that he’d grown dull or lazy; with Zhao Zhen before, talking was useless.

Family must not be involved, or they’d be implicated. However, he had many trusted followers unknown to them. Now was the time to merit honor.

Since this time Duan Ke only needed to greet people briefly, he enveloped himself in true qi and stepped out of the flying ship.

“Ci, Ci Yun.” Lin Chao reached out to grab him again, but his hand was caught by Jiang Ciyun, as if to caution her restraint.

“Xiaomeng, where are you?” Su Ran asked; she was currently on a silver weapon quest, needing a priest.

Hearing Tian Ci’s words, everyone was stunned. Xu Chen froze, Wu Ran and Xu Peng gaped in disbelief. Xu Qing lowered her head, face flushed deeply with embarrassment, unsure what to say. Yet Tian Ci, unfazed, ate on calmly.

After reciting the phrase loudly, Patchi straightened his arm holding the metal scepter. Brilliant light gathered on the four crystals atop the staff, shooting skyward.

But because Rudolf guarded his company too well, the ‘news agency’ lacked any sense of crisis. Neither Laura nor old Warren realized the harshness of the supernormal world.

Days later, doctors performed a second surgery on Jin Yan, successfully removing the bullet embedded in his body. After resting half a month, Jin Yan was finally discharged.

Xiang Lao and Wang Kun nodded. Tang Yan picked up the phone and reserved a table at a nearby restaurant. They arrived, and the waiter led them to a private room. Though small, it did not dampen their spirits.

“You all are too casual. I thought you had plans,” the eldest sister said, half amused, half exasperated.