In the capital of Dafeng Dynasty, in a prison cell, Xu Qi'an slowly regained consciousness. The air was thick with a damp, putrid stench, which made him feel slightly uncomfortable and caused his stomach acid to well up.
"What the hell is this stench? Did that damn Erha crap on my bed again?..."Judging by how badly it reeked, the little demon had probably taken a dump right by his pillow.
Xu Qi'an owned a dog—a Siberian Husky, commonly known as an "Erha" for its famously daft antics.
"After a decade drifting through Beijing's relentless grind, the loneliness got to me. A man can only endure solitude for so long before he starts craving some companionship - a dog, maybe, for comfort and distraction. Not that kind of physical comfort, mind you."
"The world came into focus as Xu Qi'an woke up, and one thought dominated his groggy mind: What the hell?"
He found himself lying on a tattered, icy straw mat beside rough stone walls. Three bowl-sized square windows pierced the masonry, their barred sunlight falling across his chest—illuminating the restless dance of dust motes in the stagnant air."
Where am I?
Xu Qi'an lay in dazed bewilderment, grappling with the question—until a far more terrifying realization struck.
I've fucking time-traveled."
The memories came as a conqueror comes: unannounced, unstoppable, carving their path through the defenseless terrain of his mind.
Xu Qi'an, courtesy name Ningyan, served as a constable in Changle County under the jurisdiction of the Dafeng Dynasty's Capital Prefecture and earned his compensation-meager enough to tally on one hand: two silver taels and a single dan of grain each month.
His father, a veteran, fell in the Shanhai Campaign nineteen years ago. And his mother followed soon after... Still, the memory brought Xu Qi'an a faint comfort.
As the old saying went: "Those orphaned by fate were never ordinary."
Back in his past life, he'd checked all the boxes—police academy, stable government job, the whole "iron rice bowl" dream. Too bad playing the dutiful civil servant had never been his thing.
What he truly craved was boundlessness—freedom, the gilded decadence of wine and song, and the unapologetic philosophy he'd once scribbled from Ji Xianlin's diaries:—
So he did the unthinkable—he quit. Plunged headfirst into the roaring tides of business, leaving the safety of his "golden rice bowl" behind.
"Then why the hell am I in prison?"
He wrestled with the flood of memories—and soon pieced together his predicament.
Xu Qi'an had been raised by his uncle since childhood. But his relentless martial training devoured over a hundred taels of silver yearly, a bottomless pit that earned his aunt's lasting resentment.
He peaked at Refining Essence by eighteen. Soon after, his aunt drove him out of the family home.
Thanks to his uncle's connections, he'd secured a constable position at the yamen. Life had been decent—until three days ago.
His uncle, Xu Pingzhi, a seventh-rank Green-Robed officer of the Imperial Blade Guard, had been escorting a shipment of tax silver to the Ministry of Revenue when disaster struck.150,000 taels—gone.
The court erupted. The Emperor, in his fury, decreed execution for Xu Pingzhi in five days.Three generations of the Xu family would share his punishment: men exiled to the borderlands, women to the Pleasure House.
As Xu Pingzhi's nephew, Xu Qi'an was stripped of his constable badge and thrown into the Capital Prefecture dungeons.
Two days. In two days, he'd be shackled and marched toward the bitter, windswept frontiers—to toil until death.
"Hell difficulty right from the start..."A chill crawled down Xu Qi'an's spine. This was a feudal empire. No human rights. The borderlands? A graveyard of exiles where few survived a decade. Many didn't even make it there, succumbing to disease or "accidents" along the way.
"System? "His voice echoed in the cell.
No response.
"System... Daddy System, answer me!"
Silence.
No system. No cheat. Just two days until exile. With his Refined Essence peak physique(stronger than the ordinary), he'd survive the journey—only to be worked to death like a beast of burden.
"I can't die like this." He paced like a caged animal. His police training screamed at him: "Recover the silver, and the law permits redemption!"
But hope flickered out as fast as it came. No access to case files. No time.
His footsteps echoed. A jailer led a haggard scholar to his cell. "Half an incense stick's time, "the guard grunted.
The scholar offered a ceremonial bow to the jailer, waiting until the man's footsteps faded before pivoting to confront Xu Qi'an.
His moon-pale robe and jade-crowned hair framed a face of lethal elegance—blade-sharp brows, eyes like winter stars, lips pared to a ruthless line.
Recognition struck Xu Qi'an like a gong:
Cousin. Uncle's heir. And now, a freshly minted jǔrén (a successful candidate in the imperial examinations at the provincial level) of the Dafeng's civil service.
Xu Xinnian's expression never wavered. "Three hundred taels to the border guards—our family's final coins. Consider it a farewell gift: you'll reach the frontier alive."
"And what becomes of you after this generosity?" Xu Qi'an blurted. Then he remembered—this cousin had never been his ally. His aunt's contempt had seen to that. Only his uncle had ever treated him as family; the others, especially the younger ones, had mastered the art of polite indifference.
Moreover, in the original host's memories, this cousin was also a master of elegant phrasing—a veritable king of verbal warfare.
Xu Xinnian waved a dismissive hand. "I've been stripped of my scholarly rank, but my academy mentors will shield me from exile. Worry about yourself. Keep your head down in the borderlands, and you might survive a year—if you're lucky."
Xu Xinnian studied at the renowned White Deer Academy in the capital, a rising star among the newly minted jǔrén. That was why he hadn't been thrown into prison after his father's disgrace—though he was confined to the capital and had spent days desperately petitioning anyone who might help.
Xu Qi'an fell silent. He doubted Xu Xinnian's fate would be any better than his own. Stripping his scholarly rank was just the beginning—next would come the dreaded "mean status," branding not just him but all his descendants. No more civil service exams. No hope of redemption. Generation after generation, forever barred from rising again.
Moreover, in two days' time, the women of the Xu family would be consigned to the Pleasure House, subjected to unspeakable humiliation. Xu Xinnian was a scholar—how could he possibly continue living in the capital with such disgrace hanging over him? Perhaps exile to the borderlands would be the kinder fate.
A sudden realization struck Xu Qi'an. He lunged forward, gripping the iron bars with both hands. "You're planning to kill yourself?!"
An uncontrollable wave of sorrow surged in his chest... I don't even know him.
Xu Xinnian flicked his sleeve with an impassive expression. "None of your concern." Then, after a pause, his gaze dropped slightly—avoiding his cousin's eyes—and his tone softened. "Just survive."
With that, he turned decisively to leave.
"Wait!" Xu Qi'an's hand shot through the bars, seizing his sleeve.
Xu Xinnian halted, staring back in silence.
"Can you get the case files?" Xu Qi'an demanded. "The investigation records on the missing tax silver."