Chapter 1: The Foolish Young Master Who Fell Into the Water, Frighteningly Shrewd

“Master, something terrible has happened! Disaster! Young master is drowning! He’s unconscious!”
The maid’s frantic cry shattered the tranquil elegance of the manor.
A creak sounded.
The golden nanmu doors of the study swung open, revealing walls lined with books, a fragrant haze of incense, and antiques and calligraphy scattered haphazardly across the floor.
A little girl in emerald attire, stumbling over the threshold, fell and crawled urgently towards the writing desk.
“Can’t you see the master is drafting a memorial? Why panic here instead of fetching the physician? What use is your fuss?”
A middle-aged man in sumptuous silk, barefoot and cross-legged, sat before a huanghuali desk, dipping his brush calmly, his attention wholly absorbed in the documents.
With the Crown Prince under house arrest for misconduct, and the Emperor now preparing a grand examination for his sons, the capital buzzed with speculation. Factions were stirring, alliances forming. His own position was unique—he must not get entangled. He ought to draft a memorial, both to honor old acquaintances at court and to remind the Emperor of his unwavering loyalty.
The maid gaped at the master’s composure. His son’s life hung in the balance, yet he remained unmoved—his reputation for coldness was evidently well-earned.
Helpless, she murmured assent, bowing and retreating slowly.
“Wait. Which young master did you say was drowning?”
The man didn’t even lift his eyes, continuing to write as he asked offhandedly.
“Master, it is Young Master Yuxi, drowned in the Lotus Flower Pond.”
The maid answered respectfully, head bowed.
The man’s body jerked, his head snapping up to glare at the maid. He flung his brush to the ground, slipped on one shoe, and dashed toward the Lotus Flower Pond, one foot bare, the other shod, uneven in his haste. The maid hurried after him, carrying his shoe.
Yuxi in danger—his own head at risk. What need for memorials now? Might as well jump into the pond himself.
“Isn’t Yuxi’s courtyard far from the Lotus Flower Pond? That foolish child spends his days locked inside, lifting weights for amusement. Why would he suddenly wander to the pond?”
“It was the eldest young master, sir. He switched Yuxi’s courtyard last month, saying Yuxi needed a bigger yard, more sunlight, and exercise—it might help his mind.”
Even as she panted, the maid answered with respect.
‘Yuxi may possess extraordinary strength, but at nineteen, his mind is still that of a four-year-old. Exercise is pointless—he should be worshipped quietly within the manor like a Buddha. The eldest is so muddle-headed!’
The man, lost in thought, had already reached the pond’s edge. He saw a crowd, and among them, a young man in blue silk lay soaked on the ground—it was none other than his foolish son, Yuxi.
Beside Meng Yuxi, someone knelt, raising a hand high—not a gesture of aid. Sure enough, a moment later, the hand slapped Meng Yuxi’s face heavily.

“Bastard, stop playing dead!”
The man nearly fainted from rage, leaping up and kicking the offender squarely in the face with his muddy bare foot.
“Second son, are you courting death?”
The second young master tumbled backward, scrambled up, clutching his mud-smeared face. He’d received secret orders from the capital—now was the perfect time to rid himself of the fourth son. How was his father present in the manor? He stared in confusion.
“Father? When did you return?”
The man had no time for this wretch. He scooped up Meng Yuxi, noting the red handprint on his son’s face. Breathless with anxiety, he pinched his own philtrum to steady himself, then cried out.
“My foolish child, wake up! Please wake up, don’t frighten your father!”
He tried desperately to revive Meng Yuxi, but there was no response. Panicking, he hugged his son, tears streaming, shaking him desperately.
Disturbed by the shaking and yelling, Meng Yuxi slowly opened his eyes. Where once he’d been embraced by a beautiful, tempestuous woman, now he saw a scruffy, tearful, snot-nosed middle-aged man. He tried to speak, but something blocked him, irritation rising. Suddenly, he vomited up the pond water he’d swallowed.
“Father, father—what father! I’m your ancestor, let go!”
Meng Yuxi wiped his mouth, rudely rebuking the man who clung to him in his distress.
A sudden, sharp pain seized his mind, fragments of memory flooding in, nearly causing him to faint again. Fortunately, the pain subsided as quickly as it came.
He had been a minor figure on Blue Star, relying on a photographic memory and keen calculation to make his way, eventually earning a name as a consultant in the VIP lounge for card games. He’d just begun flirting with a beautiful woman at a pool when, upon diving in, he found himself inhabiting the body of an ancient simpleton obsessed with candied hawthorn and milk.
Here, in the Great Li Dynasty—a dynasty unknown to Chinese history—the man holding him was Meng Hongchang, a trusted retainer of the Emperor, overseeing national weaving and expanding the royal treasury, second only to provincial governors, frequently accompanying the Emperor on southern tours, spending years in service away from home.
Meng Hongchang, seeing Yuxi awaken, was overjoyed, knowing his own head was now safe. Hearing Meng Yuxi’s insults, he wasn’t angered at all, only nodded eagerly.
“Yes, yes, you’re my ancestor—but you must call me ‘father’ in public.”
Meng Hongchang grinned, hugging the drenched Meng Yuxi, his voice so low only the two could hear.
Meng Yuxi stared wide-eyed at the man who claimed to be his father yet acted so meekly. There was clearly more behind these whispered words.
He searched his mind for clues, but the original owner’s memories were muddled and indistinct. No impression of his mother—only that his father treated him with extreme indulgence, yet everyone else was met with severity.
Whenever his father was home, the entire Meng family lived under his strict gaze, tail between their legs, careful in every action.
But out of sight, the previous owner suffered constant bullying from jealous brothers, unable to articulate grievances due to his feeble mind, placated by a string of candied hawthorn or a meal of milk.
Meng Yuxi shook his head with a sigh, struggled to stand, and examined himself—soaked from head to toe.

The original owner’s physique was truly remarkable: handsome and upright, arms long past his knees, muscular and strong, clad in luxurious silk. On his back, muddy and wet, was a faint shoe print, almost unnoticeable.
Meng Yuxi calmly surveyed those around him, noting their varied expressions. Aside from relief at his survival, every emotion was present.
He strode directly to his second brother, Meng Chenxuan, grinning.
“Second brother, does your face still hurt where father kicked you?”
Meng Yuxi had seen his father’s muddy bare foot and Meng Chenxuan’s mud-marked face, instantly realizing what had happened.
“Bas... Fourth brother, it’s nothing, you...”
No one dared utter the word ‘bastard’ in front of Meng Hongchang.
A loud slap echoed.
‘You dare “yes” me?’
Meng Yuxi didn’t wait for Meng Chenxuan’s false concern. With lightning speed, he swung a round slap, sending Meng Chenxuan spinning several times before he crashed to the ground.
Meng Chenxuan was the worst bully in the simpleton’s memory. Meng Yuxi didn’t care to recall the details but knew the original owner had once been tormented into wetting his pants.
“Second brother, covering only one cheek is far too tiring. Let me help you find some balance.”
Seeing blood trickle from Meng Chenxuan’s ear, Meng Yuxi added,
“Does it hurt? Just eat a candied hawthorn, you’ll be fine.”
‘Eat a candied hawthorn, you’ll be fine’ was Meng Chenxuan’s catchphrase.
At that moment, the crowd witnessing the fourth young master’s actions were uniformly shocked and fearful, each wondering how the simple, transparent fourth son had suddenly changed.
Meng Yuxi remained serene—"a ruthless man stands firm." A lifetime in the VIP lounge at the Lisboa, he understood this truth best.
Now, armed with five thousand years of culture, he had arrived in this alien dynasty. If he didn’t claim the throne, he’d at least rise above all others, and then rename the Great Li Dynasty to Great Huaxia. Otherwise, he'd betray his ancestors!
With this thought, Meng Yuxi couldn’t help but sigh. The moment to bring glory to his people had finally come.