Chapter One: Unexpectedly Becoming Emperor

Sun Zhaohua never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams, that he would one day traverse time and space. In his previous life, Sun Zhaohua had been an online novelist. Carelessly abandoning his work mid-story, he ultimately met his demise at the hands of a disgruntled reader who, unable to contain his anger, tracked him down and killed him at home.

He had thought his life would end there, but to his surprise, fate granted him a second chance. Yet the identity he now found himself inhabiting left him in an awkward predicament.

He had become none other than Zhao Huan, the ninth emperor of the Song dynasty. Of course, Zhao Huan had not yet formally ascended the throne at this point, but his imperial father was already preparing to abdicate in his favor.

In the year 1125, after the Jin army had destroyed the Liao dynasty, they set their sights on conquering Song. By now, their forces were arrayed outside the city gates of Kaifeng. Emperor Huizong, Zhao Ji, had already lost his nerve and was ready to flee; but before he left, he intended to pass the throne to his eldest son, Zhao Huan.

“Your Highness? Your Highness... are you awake?” called out the eunuch who waited upon him.

Zhao Huan opened his eyes slightly, gazing at the eunuch before him, whose voice was shrill and duck-like. He parted his lips, but before he could utter a word, the memories of both his lives began to merge. Zhao Huan felt a pain in his head so sharp it seemed about to split open. Unable to endure, he slumped to the side and fell into unconsciousness once more.

“Minister Wang, Your Highness... the Crown Prince seems to have fainted again...” The eunuch, who had thought Zhao Huan had awakened, now saw him slip back into unconsciousness. With no other choice, he braced himself and reported to Prime Minister Wang Fu, who had arrived to deliver the imperial edict.

Wang Fu glanced at the Crown Prince before him, and, once he was certain Zhao Huan was not feigning, cast a sardonic look his way. Turning to the eunuch, he said, “When His Highness wakes, you must advise him well. His Majesty is bestowing the throne upon him—not a blessing to be taken lightly. In the past, the struggle for succession was a battle where countless perished for one victor. But the Crown Prince, with the throne set before him, refuses to take it...”

The eunuch who attended Zhao Huan was, of course, his trusted confidant. Though he had long hoped Zhao Huan might one day ascend the throne—knowing his own status would rise accordingly—he understood all too well the peril facing the Song dynasty at that moment. If Zhao Huan became emperor now, he might well be the last, a ruler who would lose his country. No one would wish to inherit the throne under such circumstances.

But such matters were not for a mere eunuch to ponder, and so he could only respond to Prime Minister Wang’s remarks with careful tact.

Zhao Huan slept for most of the day. When he finally awoke again, night had fully fallen.

“Your Highness, you’re awake?” the eunuch whispered softly to him.

Zhao Huan looked around, still feeling disoriented by his surroundings.

Seeing that he did not speak, the eunuch muttered quietly, “Your Highness, if you ask me, perhaps we should flee. The Crown Princess came by this afternoon with a message—she’s already packed her things and is preparing to take refuge with the Military Commissioner of Wukang for a while.”

Zhao Huan frowned slightly, understanding that the Crown Princess referred to his principal wife, Zhu Lian, the daughter of Zhu Bocai, Military Commissioner of Wukang. It seemed his spendthrift wife had seen which way the wind was blowing and was making ready to run.

“Hmph! She certainly has her calculations well made,” Zhao Huan snorted coldly.

The eunuch, not expecting Zhao Huan to speak, was startled and immediately dropped to his knees, begging, “Spare me, Your Highness! I only relayed the message—I had no hidden agenda.”

Zhao Huan ignored him, rising from bed. Perhaps from lying too long, his legs were unsteady, and he nearly collapsed.

At that moment, a guard announced from outside, “Her Majesty the Empress has arrived.”

As the words fell, the Empress strode in, and upon seeing Zhao Huan almost fall, she was overcome with sorrow. She hurried to his side, supporting him. “My poor child, you...” she began, but the words caught in her throat.

Though Empress Wang held her title, she had long since lost favor. Over the years, both mother and son had languished in Emperor Huizong’s disregard. In the past, the thought of Zhao Huan ascending the throne would have been unthinkable, but now, with the crown within reach, she found no joy in it at all.

“He sent you to deliver the edict, didn’t he?” Zhao Huan gazed at the dignified, elegant middle-aged woman before him—his mother in this new life. Through the flood of memories, Sun Zhaohua realized that Zhao Huan had always held deep respect for her. Moreover, recalling his own untimely death in the previous life, without ever having truly honored his parents, he now felt a surge of warmth facing the Empress.

“My son, he said—if you do not obey your mother, you are unfilial; if you defy the imperial command, you are disloyal. Do you wish to be a man neither loyal nor filial?” The Empress spoke bitterly. Even a tiger will not eat its cubs, but such sentiment had no place in the royal clan. In the face of calamity, Zhao Ji thought only of saving himself, ready to cast his unloved son into the flames.

“Mother, I will accept,” Zhao Huan declared, resolute.

“Ah...” The Empress had meant to say more, but was taken aback by Zhao Huan’s forthright answer, leaving her at a loss for words.

“But taking the throne now is hardly a wise choice,” she said helplessly.

“I have no right to choose,” Zhao Huan replied. “Even if I refused, what good would it do?” He knew the course of history. According to the records, the Empress’ persuasion failed; Zhao Huan would rather be deemed disloyal and unfilial than accept the crown. Yet in the end, he was forcibly dressed in imperial robes and thrust onto the dragon throne by Zhao Ji, becoming the ninth emperor of the Song dynasty—Emperor Qinzong.

Life, as the saying goes, is like being forced—if you cannot resist, you may as well endure it.

“My poor child, it’s all my fault. I lack the means or favor to protect you,” the Empress said, her heart aching, blaming herself for her inability to secure her son’s safety at court.

Zhao Huan reached out and gripped her hand firmly, his gaze unwavering. “Mother, do not worry. As long as I am here, the Jin army will not breach the gates of Kaifeng.”

Looking at her son, the Empress felt a strange unfamiliarity—his eyes so steady, his tone so assured. Was this truly the meek and timid boy she had known?

“Enough, Mother. We ought to be glad. If not for these circumstances, do you think I’d ever have a chance at the throne?” Zhao Huan said with a cheerful smile, as if he were a changed man after a single night’s rest.

He had indeed become a different person.