Chapter 1: The Prime Minister's Eldest Son?

“The people from the Prime Minister’s Manor are here! Hurry!”

“Shen Xuan, why aren’t you kneeling to welcome them!”

Crack—

With a sharp sound of leather biting into flesh, the steward eunuch’s whip lashed without warning across Shen Xuan’s thin back, drawing a hiss of pain from him. He gritted his teeth and lowered his gaze.

“Hmph! The little bastard still doesn’t know his place, does he? Still thinks he’s Young Master Qin of the Prime Minister’s family?”

A mocking laugh sounded in his ear.

Shen Xuan remained silent, but a trace of confusion flashed in his eyes.

Young Master Qin?

A title that had appeared countless times in his memories.

Shen Xuan knew this title did not belong to him, for the Young Master Qin they spoke of… had died three years ago.

He had once been the legitimate son of Prime Minister Qin—a young lord of the capital, envied by all.

But one day, the Prime Minister brought home a boy about his own age. Only then did he learn that the Prime Minister’s real son, lost for many years, had finally been found.

He was nothing but a substitute.

His birth father became his foster father; the legitimate son became the foster son. Everything that once belonged to him became that boy’s instead.

He could only stand dazed on the sidelines, watching the Prime Minister and his wife embrace the true heir, Qin Shaotian, weeping tears of joy. He listened to the butler’s urging at his ear, bewildered as to why he could no longer live in the courtyard he had called home for fourteen years.

“Xuan’er! Though Shaotian has returned, you are still my son, and that will never change!”

Shen Xuan remembered clearly that on the day Qin Shaotian came home, the Prime Minister had summoned him and sworn this solemn promise.

But how laughable it was.

On the day of the Crown Prince’s wedding, they all saw it with their own eyes—it was Qin Shaotian, drunk and reckless, who tore the dress from the Crown Princess. But when the prince, furious, rushed to the scene, Qin Shaotian’s servant pinned the blame on Shen Xuan, insisting he was the one who molested the princess in his drunkenness.

And the others—silent, they shielded the truly guilty Qin Shaotian behind them.

Those so-called fatherly feelings seemed a cruel joke at that moment.

To defile the Crown Prince’s consort was a crime punishable by death.

He was only beaten with fifty strokes and banished to the Sima Prison—a misfortune within fortune, or so the Prime Minister’s family must have thought.

But everyone forgot—how could a young lord, pampered from birth, survive fifty strokes of a military rod?

On the third day of his exile to Sima Prison—the very day Shen Xuan transmigrated—he was already dead.

“Shen Xuan, what are you staring for?”

“Hurry and bring the mounting block over, or do you want another taste of the whip?”

The steward eunuch’s sharp voice was as piercing as ever.

Shen Xuan knew these were more than mere scoldings; after three years, he had long since lost track of how many times he’d been whipped.

“That won’t be necessary!”

Suddenly, a crisp and commanding female voice rang out.

The carriage curtain lifted, and a tall, elegant figure stepped down.

The autumn wind was bleak. The woman’s brow, wrapped in white ermine, furrowed almost imperceptibly as she strode forward, looking down at Shen Xuan.

Seeing the familiar face from his memories, Shen Xuan felt a complicated turmoil rise within him.

Qin Shujun—the girl he had called sister for fourteen years, the apple of the family’s eye, favored even by the Empress herself, and granted the title of Princess Taiping.

Shen Xuan knew all of this had nothing to do with him. Yet the flood of memories upon seeing Qin Shujun left him with a bitter taste.

He quickly suppressed his emotions, bowed deeply with calm composure, and said, “Your lowly servant Shen Xuan greets Your Highness the Princess.”

Shen Xuan?

Qin Shujun’s lovely face froze for a moment at the name.

She had long known that her brother, after three years in Sima Prison, must harbor resentment.

She had mentally prepared herself, expecting that the moment Shen Xuan saw her, he would break down in tears, complain, or explode with anger over three years of bitterness.

Yet she had not expected such calm.

Even the surname Qin, had he changed it?

She had grown used to her brother’s arrogance and condescension. Now, seeing him composed yet perfectly observant of a servant’s etiquette, she felt an inexplicable irritation in her chest.

Drawing a deep breath, she spoke stiffly, “Grandfather is gravely ill and misses you dearly. His Majesty, in recognition of General Qin’s loyal service, has granted you a special pardon. You are allowed to leave Sima Prison and return home.”

With that, she turned her head away, adding coldly, “Shen Xuan, you may go home now.”

Home?

A mocking smile flickered at Shen Xuan’s lips.

He had dreamed of hearing those words countless times.

But to his dying day, no one from the Qin family ever came to see him—not even once.

Shen Xuan was not the man he used to be; he harbored no such unrealistic hopes. And yet, it was precisely now, at such a time, that the people from the Prime Minister’s Manor had come.

As her words fell, the steward eunuch and the kneeling eunuchs all blanched.

They had only known someone from the manor was coming—not that they would be fetching Shen Xuan home.

For three years, these people had tormented Shen Xuan nearly to death!

Yet to their astonishment, Shen Xuan simply raised his eyes and answered calmly, “This servant thanks His Majesty for his great kindness and is grateful for General Qin’s pity.”

Servant?

Qin Shujun’s face darkened instantly.

Though Shen Xuan’s manner was respectful, his etiquette faultless, she felt a surge of annoyance. “What do you mean by this? You may not be a trueborn son of the Prime Minister’s family, but you still hold the title of Young Master Qin—must you debase yourself to win pity?”

Young Master Qin?

A cold smile crept into Shen Xuan’s heart.

On that day, faced with the Crown Prince’s fury, the Qin family, fearing implication, had publicly declared him a fake and hurried to distance themselves.

And where was this place?

Sima Prison!

A place as notorious as the Office of Imperial Clans.

The eunuchs here delighted in tormenting and degrading those once so lofty, sating their twisted desires.

A Prime Minister’s son? It only meant extra beatings and more horses to feed.

Ever since, Shen Xuan had reverted to his birth surname, Shen, and abandoned the name Qin.

“Your Highness jests. How dare a lowly one like me?”

“Qin Xuan!”

Qin Shujun’s lovely face frosted over. She had disliked Shen Xuan since childhood.

She, Princess Taiping, had mastered the classics, the arts, calligraphy, and music—a true talent of the capital. Yet her elder brother was a good-for-nothing wastrel.

When she learned he was adopted, she felt relieved, as if freed of a burden.

Especially after meeting her true brother, Qin Shaotian—skilled in archery and riding, valiant and talented, and handsomely made. Qin Shujun felt this was the brother she truly deserved.

“Don’t give me that sarcasm! You were never the true heir, yet you enjoyed fourteen years of luxury in my brother Shaotian’s place. After only three years away, you already feel wronged?”

Her distaste grew as she looked at Shen Xuan. “Fine! I’ve done my duty by fetching you. Since you call yourself a servant, don’t ride with me. If you have the spine, don’t return to the manor at all!”

“Let’s go!”

With that, Qin Shujun boarded her carriage, not sparing Shen Xuan another glance.

At this, the steward eunuch and his ilk exchanged glances of relief. It seemed Shen Xuan would be unwelcome back at the manor—they could rest easy.

Watching Qin Shujun’s departing figure, Shen Xuan’s eyes grew deeper.

The Prime Minister’s Manor?

If he could, he would never set foot in that repugnant place again.

But unfortunately, his household registration and credentials were all there. Only after retrieving them could he truly leave.

But before that, there were matters to settle.

Shen Xuan surveyed those around him, taking in the shifting faces.

He walked up to the steward eunuch.

“Qin Xuan, now that you’re free, behave yourself. Don’t forget our years of ‘guidance’—it’s all for your own good…” The eunuch brushed dust from his clothes, speaking with habitual arrogance.

But before he could finish—

Shing—

Shen Xuan drew the guard’s saber in a flash.

A cold gleam, a spray of blood—before anyone could react, the eunuch’s round head, eyes wide, fell to the ground.

“I’ll remember.”

Shen Xuan’s voice was calm as his gaze swept the crowd.

“The killer is Shen Xuan, a commoner. If any of you object, you may send someone to take me.”

With that, he turned and strode from Sima Prison amid stunned silence.

Only the guard, staring at the blood-spattered blade now sheathed at his side, was left shaken to his core.

So fast!