Chapter 16: Ten Years in the Blink of an Eye

Chapter 16: A Decade in a Blink

Time slipped by like a fleeting shadow; seven years passed in the blink of an eye, marking the thirty-fourth year of the Chonghui reign. Adding the previous three years, Qin Yuan had now spent a full decade in this world. His inner strength had reached an astonishing level comparable to a millennium of cultivation.

"This punch carries the power of a thousand years—can you withstand it?" Qin Yuan couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. Thoughts of legendary figures—Zu Can, the Gu King, the Holy Spirit—flashed through his mind, and he quickly sobered.

The path ahead was long and arduous; for now, he would endure silently, neither advancing nor retreating. One day, he believed, he would outlast Zu Can, the Gu King, and the Holy Spirit.

Before stepping out, Qin Yuan changed his appearance. Now thirty years old, he needed to look his age. After years of practice in disguise learned from Zhu Hongdeng, his transformations were flawless. Besides, the difference between thirty and twenty was subtle—some in the Left History Academy showed hardly any change over a decade.

Soon, as usual, Qin Yuan arrived at the tofu stall run by Diao Chan. Or rather, the store. Four years ago, she had rented a shop. People improved with time.

"Hmm?" Qin Yuan asked, puzzled, addressing the pretty young girl standing behind the counter, her skin dark reddish and her long braid neatly done.

"Where’s your mother?"

"My mother won’t be coming anymore," the girl replied, revealing two small tiger-like teeth.

Qin Yuan felt a pang of melancholy. Over the past decade, so many people around him had come and gone; he had grown accustomed to it.

“What was your mother’s nickname? Tofu Diao Chan, right? What about yours?” a customer nearby asked.

"How about Tofu Xi Shi?" another proposed.

“There are already eight Tofu Xi Shis in the capital,” came a voice, exasperated.

“Enough of this—just call her Wang Jiudan,” someone joked.

“Get lost,” Qin Yuan interjected. “Why not call her Little A Qiao?”

The girl was far prettier than her mother. No one knew how good their family genes were.

Everyone agreed and looked to the girl for her consent. She smiled tactfully, “As long as everyone likes it.”

Then, Little A Qiao placed a bowl of tofu pudding, a basket of steamed dumplings, and a dish of chili oil before Qin Yuan, glancing at him a few more times. Qin Yuan merely smiled politely.

Suddenly, his pupils contracted sharply. On Little A Qiao’s table lay a copy of “The Golden Powder Family.” Could it be that other travelers from different worlds existed here?

Within three seconds, his pupils returned to normal. It was a mess of copied works—this was one of his own as well.

At that moment, a procession of official sedan chairs appeared on the street, the carriers rushing anxiously toward the palace, like ducks being driven into water.

What was going on? Qin Yuan was filled with questions.

Meanwhile, inside the water-surrounded Penglai Pavilion, the usually erratic Emperor Chonghui paced excitedly, staring at the kneeling palace guards.

“That old witch is seriously ill and near death? Are you certain?” he asked.

The guard, more precisely Chonghui’s brother-in-law Zhì Ruì, nodded firmly. “I bribed several palace servants near the Empress Dowager. There’s no mistake.”

Chonghui walked back and forth in the cramped pavilion, then stopped. “Can you contact Sixth Uncle?”

The Sixth Uncle referred to the late Emperor’s brother, King Gong, once immensely powerful.

If he could be persuaded to help, their chances would greatly improve.

“That might be difficult,” Zhì Ruì admitted.

Everyone knew King Gong was infamous for skulking. Being sixth in rank, “sixth” had become synonymous with evasion.

Chonghui stepped forward, grabbed Zhì Ruì’s hand, and said earnestly, “Because it’s difficult, I need you to do it. In this world, you are the only one I can rely on.”

The saying goes that a soldier dies for the one who understands him. Deeply moved by the emperor’s sincerity, Zhì Ruì’s eyes welled with tears. He knelt and swore, “Your Majesty, even if it costs my life and limbs, I will help you regain power.”

“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself. I want to share prosperity with you,” Chonghui said quickly, pulling Zhì Ruì up, whose eyes were reddened.

After discussing the details for a while, Zhì Ruì said, “Your Majesty, I cannot stay here long, lest others become suspicious.”

“Be careful,” Chonghui warned, discerning the gravity of the situation.

Zhì Ruì bowed and left the cramped pavilion with a heavy heart.

At the same time, outside the Empress Dowager’s palace, worried ministers gathered in clusters. Most had been promoted by the Empress Dowager herself; some had never even seen the emperor.

If she died, according to the old rule of “a new emperor, a new court,” they would certainly face a purge.

Just then, an unremarkable old eunuch emerged from the palace.

“Eunuch Li!” The ministers swarmed toward him like flies drawn to filth, nearly knocking him down.

“Gentlemen, please calm yourselves. The Empress Dowager merely caught a cold and is fine. She orders that you carry on with your duties,” Eunuch Li said sternly.

“Why can’t we see her if it’s just a cold?”

“Exactly!”

“Step aside! I want to see the Empress Dowager!”

The ministers clamored, pushing forward.

Eunuch Li snorted sharply. Several ministers seemed struck by a heavy hammer and collapsed. The rest instantly quieted.

Soon, they helped each other away.

Eunuch Li turned and returned to the palace, approaching the bedside. Behind the curtain, he lowered his gaze and respectfully said, “Your Majesty, all the ministers have left.”

“Hmm, you may go,” came the weak voice.

“Your servant takes his leave,” Eunuch Li backed out quietly.

In the following days, news of the Empress Dowager’s grave illness spread like wildfire throughout the capital.

The upper echelons and the common folk held starkly different views.

The upper class feared that if the Empress Dowager fell, the delicate balance would collapse, threatening even the withered Great Hun’s stability.

The lower class believed that with the old witch gone, the emperor reclaiming power might usher in a new era.

“A new era,” Editor-in-Chief Shao Guilin sneered. Though not part of the elite, as a historian, he saw clearly.

Without the Empress Dowager’s subtle ‘boiling frog’ balance, powerful local officials would clash fiercely with the unpredictable emperor.

Then, if Yu Ting simply followed the popular will, the Great Hun could change its name on a whim.

“Your insightful opinion, Editor-in-Chief,” Qin Yuan flattered.

“Insight, my foot,” Shao Guilin said, lifting a teapot steeped with countless goji berries. He sipped for a long moment, then sighed, “When one reaches middle age, one must resort to drinking goji berry water from an iron pot.”

“Is it possible that it’s not because of middle age, but out of necessity?” Qin Yuan joked.

Usually, heavyset men didn’t fare well in that department—and Shao Guilin was the heaviest of all.

Ten years ago, such a joke would have earned Qin Yuan some petty revenge from Shao Guilin. Now, with his seniority at the Left History Academy and nearly eighth-rank strength, things were different.

“Laugh at me today, and tomorrow you’ll be me,” Shao Guilin retorted.

Qin Yuan thought to himself, tomorrow’s me is still tomorrow’s me.

“You’re thirty and still unmarried. The youngest Lu Yunfei’s child is already attending private school,” Shao Guilin continued to tease.

Just then, a clerk entered, saying, “Recorder Qin, a young man outside claims to be your son and requests an audience.”

“When did you have a son?” Shao Guilin was stunned.

“He is the son of Lady Guo,” Qin Yuan smiled.

Lady Guo was the Empress Dowager’s cousin’s granddaughter and a famed beauty in the capital. Qin Yuan had met her during a performance.

A mature, handsome, and talented man. A beautiful widow long without a husband.

Their interactions naturally led to an entanglement.

Lady Guo even had her son call Qin Yuan “father.”

Among the upper class, this was no scandal; moral constraints were for the lower classes only.

Shao Guilin instantly understood and pointed at the doorway with his thick, short fingers.

“What?” Qin Yuan said.

“Get lost,” Shao Guilin snapped.

After Qin Yuan left, the frustrated Shao Guilin took a large gulp of his goji berry water.

He had struggled endlessly for promotion to no avail, while Qin Yuan, seemingly unambitious, had casually entangled himself with the powerful.

Shao Guilin rummaged through his pockets and found a letter, muttering, “If I don’t take a chance now, this life will be over.”

…

(End of Chapter)