Chapter 1 Your Majesty, Welcome Home
A pale blue halo rippled out like water, enveloping everything. Li Shimin felt a strange weightlessness and warmth, as if he were soaking in a hot spring, or as if he were being lifted up by something soft yet powerful, rapidly traversing the long, dark tunnel.
His last thoughts lingered in the thick, lingering scent of medicine and agarwood in the Liangyi Hall, in Chengqian and Zhinu's scalding tears and choked responses, and in the depths of Wang Yi's calm eyes, in that seemingly never-before-seen, faint ripple.
Then came utter darkness and silence, where even the passage of time lost its meaning.
He didn't know how much time had passed—perhaps just a moment, perhaps eternity—but the warmth enveloping him began to fade, and he felt a solid touch beneath his feet. Then, light pierced his tightly closed eyelids, bringing a slight stinging sensation.
He tried to open his eyes.
The first thing that catches the eye is the unfamiliar, soft, and even light. There is no flickering candlelight, no changing daylight; the light is stable and bright, emanating from a flat, round disc embedded in the smooth "roof" overhead, radiating a milky white halo. There is no smell of medicine, no scent of agarwood, but rather an indescribable, clean, and slightly fragrant aroma, somewhat like grass and trees after rain, mixed with a very faint, unfamiliar sweet scent.
He lay on an extremely soft and wide "tatami mat," beneath him smooth, slightly cool fabric, the thin blanket covering him almost weightless yet unusually warm. He subconsciously moved his fingers; the touch from his fingertips was full and elastic, brimming with vitality. This feeling… was so unfamiliar, yet subtly tinged with an eerie familiarity.
He sat up abruptly.
His movements were fluid and without any hesitation, showing no signs of weakness or dull pain from prolonged illness. He looked down at his hands—the skin was firm, the knuckles were distinct, and the muscle lines were clear and strong. These were the hands of a middle-aged man, not the withered, veiny hands of an old man he had seen before he closed his eyes.
His heart suddenly raced, and blood rushed to his ears. He threw off the thin blanket and stepped barefoot onto the ground. The ground was a cool, smooth, mirror-like material, reflecting his blurry figure. He saw that he was wearing a strange white "undergarment," soft and clinging to his body, with a style he had never seen before.
He looked up and eagerly glanced around.
This was a square room, much smaller than the inner chambers of the Liangyi Hall, yet exceptionally clean and bright. The four walls were smooth white, adorned with several brightly colored paintings with peculiar brushstrokes, the scenes of which he understood nothing. On one side was a massive "glass window," through which countless tiny points of light were embedded against the deep blue sky, even as darkness fell outside. Further away, there were rolling hills, glittering with lights… mountains? No, those weren't mountains. Those towering, layered silhouettes reaching into the clouds, with countless windows letting in scattered light, resembled… a solidified, luminous honeycomb.
He walked to the "window," its smooth, cold, and flawless glass revealing a breathtakingly clear view. Between the "honeycombs," slender, luminous ribbons crisscrossed, upon which moving points of light, trailing their taillights, darted swiftly. Further on, several enormous beams of light could be faintly seen sweeping across the night sky, accompanied by an extremely faint, almost otherworldly clamor.
This place... is definitely not the Penglai Wonderland. At least, it's not the Penglai he imagined, shrouded in mist and filled with the chirping of phoenixes.
“Penglai…” he murmured, his voice clear and resonant, carrying a long-lost sense of power, yet revealing immense confusion and unease.
Just then, a soft "click" came from behind me; it was the sound of the door being opened.
He turned around abruptly, his muscles tensing instantly as he assumed an instinctive defensive stance, his gaze sharp as lightning, shooting towards the source of the sound.
A woman was standing at the door.
She wore a soft, close-fitting light-colored top and trousers, which accentuated her slender figure. Her short, jet-black hair was neatly tucked behind her ears, revealing her smooth forehead and gentle eyes. Li Shimin knew her face all too well—calm, insightful, and possessing a peace beyond her years. It was Wang Yi.
But she wasn't the Wang Yi he knew. The woman before him was no longer dressed in elaborate palace attire, nor did she possess that deliberately maintained aloofness. She simply stood there, looking at him with gentle eyes, a faint, genuine, and even slightly relieved smile playing on her lips.
She did not bow, did not address him as "Your Majesty," and did not use the self-reference of "your subject" or "Your Excellency." She simply looked at him as if he were a family member returning from a long journey.
“Your Majesty,” she began, her voice clear and melodious as he remembered, but less respectful, more natural and warm, “Welcome home.”
Home?
This word was like a pebble thrown into the turbulent lake of Li Shimin's heart, stirring up even greater ripples. Here? This bizarre, utterly unfamiliar place—was it "home"? His and Wang Yi's...home?
Countless questions flooded his mind: Where was he? Penglai? Why did this scene appear? Why had his body regained its youth? What about Chengqian and Zhinu? The imperial edict they read… “The soul returns to the immortal Penglai Mountain,” “A cenotaph”… Did they truly believe it? How were they now? How was the Tang Dynasty?
He opened his mouth, his throat tightening, a thousand words stuck in his chest, and for a moment he didn't know where to begin. Finally, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to suppress the turbulent emotions that belonged to an emperor, his gaze fixed on Wang Yi with complex emotions, and slowly spoke, his voice slightly hoarse from regaining its vitality, and a hint of barely perceptible tension:
"Is this... Penglai?"
Li Shimin stood before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, outside which lay the tireless, dazzling lights of Chang'an (or rather, the "Chang'an" of this unfamiliar world), the light flowing like a river, reflecting in his suddenly youthful eyes, yet filled with turbulent emotions. Wang Yi—or rather, this woman who had shed all her Taoist robes and disguises, her short hair neat, her temperament still as calm as still water—narrated calmly, each word like a cold chisel, shattering the cognition, emotions, and even the hopes for the final stage of his life that he had built up over the past decade, and hastily piecing them together with a material he could not comprehend, creating a bizarre, absurd, yet suffocatingly real new world.
Penglai is fake.
The practice of cultivating Taoism is fake.
That otherworldly paradise, which embodied all his romantic reveries in his later years, was nothing more than an illusion she meticulously wove to get closer to him and achieve her goals.
She was not a citizen of the Tang Dynasty, nor even a creation of this time and space. She came from a "modern" world a thousand years in the future, a world he could not even imagine. Here, the "magic"—electric lights, glass, skyscrapers, and speeding "iron cars"—was just ordinary "technology." In this world, she was the head of a vast commercial empire, a... female CEO.
And the subtle feelings, dependence, and even the vow of "staying together forever" that they shared amidst the fragrant medicinal herbs of Qixia Garden and the twilight of Liangyi Hall... the core purpose of all this was actually... "borrowing sperm to have a child"?
For the sake of her family's fortune, and because she refused to submit to the marriage rules of this world, she transcended time and space and chose him—the Emperor of the Tang Dynasty, the Zhenguan Emperor—as the father of her child.
Li Zhi… the child he thought had long since turned to blood and become a hidden pain in his heart, was actually alive. In this world, she lived under the name "Li Li Zhi," learning the art known here as "music."
Shuyao, Qingyun… He personally chose these names, thinking they merely expressed his pity and blessings for the children Wang Yi had mentioned. It turns out they were both his daughters. They grew up here, each with their own life path—Shuyao studied mathematics, while Qingyun… was forced to shoulder the enormous family business left by her mother, but because she was a woman, she faced immense difficulties.
He brought him back not for any carefree life, not for a romantic promise of lifelong companionship, but... hoping that he, as a father, could stand up for his daughters.
Li Shimin felt a violent dizziness, more intense than any blood loss on the battlefield or the weakness brought on by any illness. He staggered backward, his back slamming heavily against the cold, smooth glass window with a dull thud. The solid touch reminded him that this was not a dream.
He slowly turned his head, his gaze returning to Wang Yi's face. Those eyes, which he once found clear as glass and unfathomable, were now calm, even carrying a hint of composure after completing a major mission, and... perhaps even she herself was not fully aware of the weariness and hope that belonged to a mother.
There was no fear, no apology, only a calm statement of facts and a sense of entitlement in including him in the "plan".
Anger, a raging fury of being utterly fooled and exploited, instantly overwhelmed all his reason. Who was he? He was Li Shimin! The Grand General of Heavenly Strategy, the Emperor Zhenguan, an emperor destined to be etched in history and revered for all eternity! His life was one of conquest, governance, glory, and regret, but he was never anyone's pawn, much less a tool for anyone to "borrow sperm"!
"You..." His voice was squeezed out from between his teeth, trembling with an impending explosion and the powerful strength of a young body, a stark contrast to the frail, dying old man he had been moments before, "How dare you... deceive me like this?!"
He stepped forward, unleashing the chilling aura of a commander who could lead thousands of troops and make decisive, ruthless decisions. Despite wearing ridiculous modern pajamas, the oppressive force in his eyes was enough to chill anyone who had ever seen blood. He reached out, seemingly wanting to grab the woman's collar, to demand an explanation and justice.
However, his hand froze in mid-air.
It wasn't because Wang Yi was hesitant or afraid—she simply looked at him quietly, her eyes even carrying a hint of understanding, as if she had long anticipated his reaction.
It was because another image suddenly and uncontrollably crashed into his mind—
In the last instant before the pale blue halo engulfed him, inside the Liangyi Hall, his sons, Chengqian and Zhinu, were kneeling before the empty dragon bed, suppressing their immense shock and grief, and in the name of the new emperor and prince, they announced to the world: Emperor Taizong Wen has passed away, his soul returning to Penglai.
Their voices were choked yet resolute, their figures appearing lonely and heavy in the flickering candlelight. They turned his "ascension" into a fait accompli, transforming that bizarre disappearance into an official narrative shrouded in mythology, beneficial to the stability of the new dynasty. Following his final (guided) wish, they directed his "final resting place" to Penglai, leaving his "physical body" to... the woman before them.
They believed. Or rather, they chose to believe, and based on that belief, they faced the future of the empire without their father.
And yet here he is, in a completely unfamiliar world, with the body of a twenty-seven-year-old at its peak, being told that it was all a long, meticulous, and purposeful "deception".
The anger still burned in his chest, but at the root of that flame, a cold, complex sense of powerlessness suddenly seeped in. What was the use of his anger towards her? What was the use of questioning her? Time could not be turned back; he could not return to his Tang Dynasty, could not return to his sons, could not return to his identity and responsibilities as an emperor.
He was no longer "Li Shimin." In the history of that world, he had "died," in a legendary way.
He slowly lowered his hand, his chest heaving violently. The rage in his eyes was gradually replaced by something deeper and more chaotic—shock, absurdity, the pain of betrayal, fear of the unknown, and… a trace of bewilderment and trembling about the new identity of “father” that he himself was unwilling to admit.
His daughters. Beautiful, graceful, and elegant. In this bizarre and wonderful world, his blood flows in their veins. They exist, they grow, they need... a father to support them.
Wang Yi watched the storm rise and fall, the calm settling in his eyes, waiting for his initial outburst to pass. She didn't urge him or explain further; she simply walked to a nearby cabinet, picked up a flat, dimly lit "board" (Li Shimin later learned it was called a tablet computer), and gently swiped her fingers across it a few times.
Then, she turned the "board" towards Li Shimin.
On the screen are three photos.
The first image shows a young girl sitting in a brightly lit room, holding a uniquely shaped musical instrument (a violin) in her arms. Her head is slightly tilted, her smile bright and radiant. A faint resemblance to her features can be seen in her eyes and brows, but more so in the vibrancy and untamed spirit of her age. Next to her are the words: Li Lizhi, Curtis Institute of Music.
The second picture shows another girl sitting at a desk piled high with books and papers covered in strange symbols. She pushes up her glasses, her gaze focused and calm, her features more delicate, and her demeanor composed. The caption reads: Li Shuyao, IMO Gold Medalist, Princeton prospective student.
The third picture shows a younger-looking girl in an ill-fitting suit skirt, standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window in an extremely spacious, simply furnished yet oppressively claustrophobic office. Her back is straight, yet she exudes an inexplicable loneliness and heaviness. Her facial features are youthful, but her expression is clearly feigned maturity. The caption reads: Li Qingyun, President's Assistant.
Three daughters. Three completely different moments in life.
Li Shimin's gaze was fixed on the screen, on the three young faces. The embers of anger still burned within him, but another, more primal and turbulent emotion, like a spring tide breaking through the ice, violently assaulted his newly rebuilt defenses.
His bloodline. His flesh and blood. In this unfamiliar space and time that made him uneasy and even angry, they truly existed and grew vividly.
Wang Yi's voice rang out at the right moment, still calm, but seemingly with something more: "Lizhi is more like you, proud and once she's made up her mind, no one can change it. She's caused me a lot of trouble because of her love for music. Shuyao is the quietest and most stubborn, immersed in the world of mathematics, feeling that it's more real and beautiful than anything else. Qingyun..." She paused, looking at the lonely figure in the third photo, her voice lowering, "...she's the most sensible and also the hardest working. I handed the company over to her not because of favoritism, but because only she can handle it, and only she's willing to. But this society...is not tolerant of women in power. Those old guys on the board, their overt and covert tactics, the extra contempt and suppression from business rivals because she's young, because she's a woman...she doesn't say it, but I know."
She raised her eyes to look at Li Shimin, her gaze clear and direct: "I brought you here because you are their father. In this world, the name 'Li Shimin' has no meaning, but as a father, you can have it. They need to know their origins, they need blood relatives besides me for support. Especially Qingyun, she needs someone who can help her stand firm, someone who will allow her to not have to face all the open and hidden attacks alone... a powerful backer."
“I’m not asking you to forgive my deception,” Wang Yi continued, his tone calm. “That was my choice, my plan, and I will bear all the consequences. But they are innocent. Your blood flows in their veins. You were once the ruler of a country, and you know best how to win people’s hearts, control situations, and break through predicaments. Those skills apply here, in the business battlefield.”
"You can hate me, you can think all of this is utterly absurd. But now that you're here, now that you know of their existence," her voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable power, "you, Li Shimin, what will you choose to do?"
Should he wallow in the anger of being deceived, trapped in the memories and loss of his past identity? Or should he accept this absurd reality, re-examine the world as a father, and do something for his three daughters whom he has never met but who are already caught in the vortex?
The neon lights of the city outside the window still flickered, silently conveying the rules and rhythms of this unfamiliar world. Inside the room, all was quiet, save for the extremely faint hum of the central air conditioning system.
Li Shimin remained standing in the same spot, his back against the cold glass. His gaze slowly moved from the photo on the tablet to Wang Yi's face, and then to the boundless, unfamiliar, dazzling lights outside the window.
The anger had not subsided, the confusion remained, and the concern for the Tang Dynasty and for Chengqian Zhinu surged into his heart, bringing a sharp pain.
However, the loneliness and heaviness emanating from the three young faces on the screen, especially Li Qingyun's youthful face, pierced his heart like a fine needle, reaching a soft corner he himself was unaware of.
He was once a father. Chengqian, Qingque, Zhinu… He loved them, taught them, and worried himself sick over them, ultimately departing with regret and solace. Now, in another time and space, he has three daughters who exist in such a bizarre way, and… need him.
The emperor's soul awakens in an unfamiliar body, carrying the fury of being fooled and pride, as well as a sense of responsibility and unease belonging to a father that even he himself has not yet figured out.
He remained silent for a long time, so long that the lights outside the window seemed to dim for a moment.
Finally, he spoke very slowly, his voice hoarse, but no longer trembling; instead, it carried a complex weight:
Where are they now?
He didn't address Wang Yi, didn't question her about the details, and didn't even offer any direct emotional response to her earth-shattering confession. He simply asked where his daughters were now.
This is a beginning. From an emperor to a father, the beginning of a transformation in identity. It is also the first step he takes in facing this completely unfamiliar, challenging, and absurd new world.
A fleeting look of relief, and a deeper emotion, flashed across Wang Yi's eyes. She knew that the most difficult first hurdle was over.
“Lizhi is in Philadelphia, USA, and has an important concert coming up. Shuyao is in Switzerland attending a math summer camp. Qingyun,” she glanced at her watch, “should still be at the company learning how to take over the business at this time.”
She gently placed the tablet on the table beside her; the screen remained lit, displaying photos of her three daughters.
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