Chapter One: Returning to the Eighth Year of the Hongwu Era

On the throne lacquered with golden dragons, within the golden ceremonial canopy, Zhu Yuanzhang opened his eyes.

An extraordinarily grand spectacle filled his vision.

Twelve dragon banners stood arranged to either side.

There were sixty-four banners bearing the sun, moon, gates, and other emblems; six rows each of phoenix banners, bear banners, Five Sacred Mountains banners, and banners representing the Twenty-Eight Lunar Mansions.

There was also one Big Dipper banner, one great standard, and more besides.

Hundreds of banners of every kind filled the scene.

Each banner was accompanied by five armored soldiers: one carrying the banner, while the other four guarded it with bows, crossbows, swords, and sabers.

Two tigers and two leopards stood nearby, along with six elephants.

There were also officers bearing golden melons, golden tallies, ceremonial swords, round fans, lantern cages, Azure Dragon and White Tiger standards, and every other implement of imperial ceremony, guarding the surroundings.

The ceremonial guard was solemn and imposing. The dukes and ministers stood in reverent silence, while envoys from every kingdom waited respectfully.

The many ceremonial displays and the multitude of people filled the broad square before the Gate of Manifest Obedience, yet there was not the slightest disorder. All that could be seen was the magnificent bearing of a great empire.

Yet Zhu Yuanzhang’s eyes held a trace of bewilderment.

Was he dreaming again?

These scenes of the past truly had been branded deep within his soul.

He had already lived for fifteen full years in the modern world, more than six centuries later.

Yet whenever he awoke from dreams at midnight, he still often dreamed of those bygone days.

But Zhu Yuanzhang knew that such scenes could appear only in dreams.

He could never return.

The man he was now was no longer the Hongwu Emperor, Zhu Yuanzhang.

He was instead an associate professor named Zhu Jianjun at the New China Institute of History.

The original Hongwu Emperor had long since lived out his life and been buried within Xiaoling Mausoleum.

After an unknowable span in the murky void, he had opened his eyes again to find himself a ten-year-old boy, still possessing every memory of the Hongwu Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang.

But in the end, he could not return.

If the distance between here and the Ming dynasty had been ten thousand miles, or even a hundred thousand, then so long as it was still somewhere on Earth, he would have exhausted every means at his disposal to go back, relying on the advanced transportation of the modern age.

But what separated him from that world was more than six hundred years.

Six centuries of time could not be crossed, no matter how advanced modern technology became.

The days of the past were past. Once gone, they could never be recovered.

By now, after his initial bewilderment and a long period of silence, he had grown accustomed to modern life and accepted his identity in the present age.

He no longer dreamed of returning to the Hongwu era. Such fantasies were simply impossible.

Heaven had already treated him generously.

He had been nothing more than a commoner from western Huai. Of the eight members of his family, four had starved to death, and he himself had nearly collapsed by the roadside and become one of the dead from famine.

Afterward, he had even become a monk and begged for food.

A man whose earliest wish had been merely not to starve to death had ultimately become the emperor of an empire.

He had driven out the northern invaders, restored the Chinese realm, and founded the Great Ming, which endured for more than two hundred years.

He had thought his life had reached its end. Who could have imagined that, through an extraordinary twist of fate, he would arrive in the modern age, live another life, and witness countless wonders he had never even dreamed of before?

He had truly been blessed beyond measure.

A person needed to know contentment.

Even if his previous life had left him with countless regrets; even if, while reading the history of the Ming, he had encountered so many unworthy descendants who made his blood boil and left him wanting to beat them to death.

Even if he still wanted to destroy the wealthy merchants of Shanxi, the landed gentry, the audacious corrupt officials, and every last northern invader—

Once he had confirmed that he truly could not return, he had no choice but to gradually let it all go, accept his life in the later age, and face it with calm.

Only in the depths of night did he dream that he had once again become the Hongwu Emperor: a figure feared throughout the Hongwu court and maligned beyond recognition by later generations.

The memories of several decades from his former life had brought him more than endless recollections. They had also given him countless advantages.

They had taught him more about navigating human affairs, and his knowledge of the final years of the Yuan and the early Ming had allowed him to stand apart in the field of history.

At only twenty-five, Zhu Jianjun, who had also been born in the countryside, had already become an associate professor in the history department of a prestigious university.

He had shattered a record that had stood for decades since the university’s founding.

Modern life was tranquil and peaceful. He was no longer the Hongwu Emperor who had once stirred the world.

Yet he also enjoyed many things that even an emperor could never have possessed in his day: the marvels of modern civilization.

“Offer praise!”

The master of ceremonies drew out the two words in a slightly peculiar tone.

The dukes, ministers, officials, and envoys from every kingdom, who had been standing in solemn attendance, all fell to their knees.

As music arose, voices like roaring mountains and crashing seas followed:

“Heaven assists the virtuous!”

“Offer praise again!”

“Peace throughout the realm!”

“Offer praise a third time!”

“May Your Sacred Person enjoy ten thousand blessings!”

This dream was far too real.

None of his earlier dreams had ever been so clear.

The thunderous acclamations broke through Zhu Yuanzhang’s thoughts.

In the past, the cry had always been “Ten Thousand Years.”

This present form of address had been devised during the second year of the Hongwu reign, after he had decided that only an ancient turtle that had attained supernatural powers deserved to live for ten thousand years. He had discussed the change with Li Shanchang.

With interest, Zhu Yuanzhang watched the assembled crowd prostrate themselves, saying nothing.

It was only a dream, after all. There was no need for him to concern himself with it. He might as well see how matters unfolded.

The emperor’s full, resonant voice did not sound as expected, and the civil and military officials were all astonished.

Yet none dared raise their heads to look.

They simply remained motionless.

Zhu Yuanzhang waited for more than twenty breaths. When he saw that no one had moved, he found it rather amusing.

After a moment’s thought, he said, “I am well. Rise, all of you.”

His voice was loud and powerful.

The moment he spoke, Zhu Yuanzhang himself could not help but freeze.

That voice was exactly the same as in his previous life.

It was Zhu Yuanzhang’s voice.

It did not belong to Zhu Jianjun.

He instinctively looked at his hands, and his pupils contracted.

These hands had broad palms, and numerous scars marked the fingers—the traces left by the turbulent years at the end of the Yuan dynasty.

They were utterly unlike the hands of Zhu Jianjun, a man in his twenties in the later age.

He secretly pinched himself hard.

Pain followed.

There was actually a sensation of pain.

Could this not be a dream?

Could everything before his eyes be real?

But how had he returned from the modern world, six hundred years later, to the Hongwu era?

His thoughts raced. Memories that had seemed confused began to clear.

On Friday afternoon, he had suddenly felt an urge to visit Xiaoling Mausoleum again.

As the weekend had just begun, he had bought a plane ticket and set off on an impromptu journey.

That very night, he had stayed at a hotel not far from the mausoleum.

The following day, he had chosen not to squeeze onto the subway or pay any attention to the people calling out to him to rent an electric scooter. Instead, he had run there.

He had treated it as exercise.

At the very back of the Xiaoling scenic area, he had looked at the words carved into the stone: “The Tomb of the Ming Grand Founder.”

He had also looked upon the burial mound that rose like a hill.

He had stood there for a very long time.

He had not been mourning his own past.

He had been thinking of his younger sister.

It was not only he who lay buried within that tomb. She was there as well.

She had not despised him for being poor or looked down on him for his low birth. She had married him without hesitation, treated him with wholehearted devotion, taught him countless lessons about conducting himself in the world, and borne him sons and daughters.

When Guo Zixing had imprisoned him, leaving him dizzy with hunger, and he had clearly realized that Guo Zixing intended to put him to death—

It was his younger sister who, heedless of danger, obtained two freshly baked flatbreads and hurriedly tucked them into her clothes before secretly bringing them to him.

The skin of her hands had been burned bright red and covered in blisters, yet she had ignored it entirely, urging him only to eat quickly.

In the fifteenth year of the Zhizheng reign, he had led his army across the river, while his younger sister and the rest of the family remained in Hezhou.

The Mongol forces had counterattacked and severed communications between the front and Hezhou, leaving the city isolated.

When panic spread, it was his younger sister who stepped forward to encourage the soldiers, calm the people, and stabilize the rear.

In the twentieth year of the Zhizheng reign, Chen Youliang had led his forces eastward, advancing straight toward Jiangning.

Zhu Yuanzhang had personally led his troops to resist him.

Chen Youliang’s strength had been overwhelming. With his army at the city walls, officials, wealthy families, and common people within the city had begun making preparations: some planned to flee, while others hid their gold and silver and stockpiled grain.

At that critical moment, once again it was his younger sister who stepped forward. She brought out all the family’s gold and silk and personally rewarded the soldiers, steadying their morale.

After he became emperor, he had wanted to find her relatives and grant them honors and rewards, but she had refused.

Later, there were many times when his temper flared and he wanted to kill someone. Each time, it was his younger sister who stopped him.

With her, there was a home.

With her, his inner palace remained orderly, and no trouble ever arose.

Whenever he needed her most, she had always stood silently behind him, encouraging and helping him.

Yet such a wonderful woman had died far too young.

The eighth month of the fifteenth year of the Hongwu reign, on the day of Bingxu.

It was a day Zhu Yuanzhang never wished to think about, yet could never stop thinking about.

On that very day, his younger sister had died.

She had left him forever.

The past unfolded vividly before him, yet all that remained before his eyes was a cold grave.

A pain like his heart being carved out swept through his entire body, and tears blurred his vision.

He reached out to support himself against the heavy, cold stone bricks. In a daze, his younger sister appeared before him.

She was holding two steaming flatbreads, offering them to him and urging him to eat them while they were still hot.

She paid no attention at all to the skin burned by the hot bread.

At that moment, Zhu Jianjun could no longer control his emotions. Tears poured down his face, and he wept until he fainted.

After that, he remembered nothing.

When consciousness returned, he was here.

Was this a dream?

Or was it reality?

Had his younger sister missed him as well, seen how hard he had struggled in the later age, and brought him back?

Or had Heaven taken pity on him, allowing him to live through what seemed like one great dream and witness all the many events that followed?

Zhu Yuanzhang clenched his fists tightly.

Whatever the truth was, this time he absolutely would not allow his younger sister to leave him so soon.

But as soon as that thought arose, his heart suddenly tightened.

What year was it now?

Please, let it not already be past the eighth month of the fifteenth year of the Hongwu reign, on the day of Bingxu.

If it was, then the pain would be unbearable.

Bang, bang, clang!

Bang, bang, clang!

At that moment, the familiar sound of flower drums rang out, interrupting his thoughts.

Zhu Yuanzhang turned toward the sound.