Book One: The Road to Power

The Pei family of Hebei, the Zhang family of Hedong, the Cui family of Shandong, the Wei family of Guanlong, the Chu family of Huainan, the Wang family of Shannan, and the Yang family of Jiannan—the seven great families share control over the Tang Empire.

The protagonist, Henry Bolton, is the most insignificant illegitimate son of the Zhang family of Hedong. But one day, by chance, he suddenly discovers a tremendous secret hidden in his own background. From then on, the empire would know no peace...

Volume One: The Zhang Family of Hedong

Chapter One: The Frying Pan

The night was deep, the crescent moon hung like a hook, and a single silver star hung lonely in the western sky.

Henry Bolton was a member of the Zhang family of Hedong, which ranked fifth among the seven great families of the realm. The family head, Edward Bolton, was his eldest uncle, currently serving as Minister of Rites in the imperial court, while his father, William Bolton, the sixth brother of Edward Bolton, held the position of Chief Historian in Fenyang Commandery.

William Bolton had many wives and concubines, who bore him a total of twenty-five sons, of whom eighteen survived. Henry Bolton was the eighteenth, hence his childhood nickname was "Eighteenth Lang."

Although he was born into an aristocratic family, he had lived alone since the age of ten. He was an illegitimate child, and the lowest in status among all the illegitimate sons of the family. His mother's background was unknown; she became a Taoist nun when he was ten, leaving behind an old servant to care for him. The old servant was mute, and Henry Bolton always called him Uncle George.

At this moment, there was movement in Uncle George's room. Every day before dawn, he would go to the Taoist temple where Henry Bolton's mother had become a nun and kowtow once before it. He had never missed a day in twelve years, like a devout religious follower.

The door was gently knocked twice—this was Uncle George's way of reminding him that it was time for his nightly swim.

Henry Bolton rolled off his sleeping mat, took off his underclothes, and slowly walked into the courtyard. The night was like water, and the September wind already carried a hint of chill. Exiting the courtyard gate and walking twenty more steps brought him to the riverbank. This was the Zhang residence's protective river, only five zhang wide but three zhang deep. The dark water faintly reflected the ripples, like a jade belt winding for several li, meandering southward from an outlet.

Henry Bolton tied four heavy iron sandbags to his ankles and wrists. He took a deep breath and leapt into the river. The icy water quickly submerged his head, and the tremendous impact forced him to close his eyes. He plummeted rapidly in the water, all sounds vanished, and he seemed to fall into a boundless world of darkness. Yet in that instant, all kinds of emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness—suddenly surged into his heart. Henry Bolton was overwhelmed with wild joy; that long-lost inspiration had returned.

This was a fragment of the past that could only be triggered by accident. Fifteen years ago, that arrow not only shattered his shoulder bone and severed his meridians, but also broke his memory.

Who was he, really? The childhood memories he should have had before the age of seven were replaced by other scattered fragments because of that arrow. Those fragments seemed to be from his previous life: dazzling jewels, beautiful women, lonely nights.

But these fragments were too broken for him to piece together a complete picture. It was like a drop of water hanging from an eyelash—vague, as if he could see something, but nothing was clear.

Henry Bolton opened his eyes wide in desperation. Before him was the pitch-black riverbed. That inspiration vanished in a flash, like a kite with a broken string, instantly becoming a black dot and then disappearing without a trace.

A deep sense of loss filled his heart once again. How many times had it happened? They always slipped away in an instant, never allowing him to grasp them. And as time passed, he could recall fewer and fewer fragments. Some scenes from his previous life that had appeared clearly in his youth were gradually obliterated by the long fifteen years.

What could not be erased were only the marks of vicissitude and loneliness from his previous life, engraved deep in his heart.

'Whoosh!' He burst out of the water, the deep blue sky above his head. He had returned from the boundless darkness to reality. His name was Henry Bolton, courtesy name Qubing, of the Zhang family of Hedong.

Henry Bolton spread his arms and swam swiftly through the slick, icy river water. Since the age of ten, regardless of bitter cold or scorching heat, he had done this midnight swim every day. Even in the bleakest winter, when the river froze, he never missed a day.

At first, he only needed to swim one lap around the river each day. But as he grew older, he began to tie iron sandbags to his body, and the number of laps increased. Now, the sandbags on his hands and feet weighed thirty jin, and within one hour, he had to swim five laps around the protective river—a challenge that pushed his endurance and strength to the limit.

His broad arms struck the water powerfully, sending up a spray of bright white droplets.

'Only by stimulating all your meridians to the utmost can the arrow wound from your childhood keep you from becoming a cripple.'