George Washington's clothes, which had finally started to dry, were once again soaked in cold sweat. What should he do? Survival or death—an agonizing choice that would never have appeared in the eyes of an ordinary 21st-century person like George Washington—now loomed so urgently before him.

According to history, George Washington would be captured, then thrown by that bastard Esen onto the vast grasslands to breathe fresh air for over a year, chewing on pure, preservative-free beef and mutton for more than a year. After that, he would be welcomed back to the capital by the loyal ministers of the Ming Dynasty with gongs and drums.

And after that, he would be locked up by his dear younger brother in the so-called Southern Palace for a full seven or eight years. In the end, thanks to a bunch of self-serving civil and military officials, a grand and tumultuous coup would unfold, and he would finally regain his throne.

That’s history. In other words, if he chose not to resist, he should be able to survive. However, he’d first have to experience over a year of grassland life in his motherland, and then, after returning to the capital, spend seven or eight years counting ants in a little black room called the Southern Palace under the “attentive care” of his own younger brother.

Of course, if he had a laptop and wireless internet, being a shut-in for seven or eight years wouldn’t be a problem. But the issue was, this was ancient China five or six hundred years ago. Forget about Wi-Fi—he probably wouldn’t even be given a fishing net in that prison. Still, at least he’d be alive.

But if he resisted, then he really might become the first unlucky soul in history to play the “one-day time-travel tour.”

Would he fall heroically on the soil of his motherland like a martyr, chanting those lofty words about “life is precious, love is higher, but for freedom, both can be given up”?

Such behavior, for someone like George Washington—who lived in the harmonious society of the 21st century, had his freedom to own a small home stripped away by sky-high real estate prices, and watched helplessly as love was snatched away by expensive jewelry and cars—was complete nonsense.

Without his life, love and freedom would all become nothing but fleeting clouds. Having time-traveled into an emperor, he hadn’t gotten any benefits; starving and thirsty, to go seeking death so “heroically” would be something George Washington would never do, even if he lost his mind.

“The Battle of Tumu Fortress was my fault.” George Washington took a deep breath of the blood-tinged air, raised a middle finger full of emotion toward the sky, and made his final decision. Since Heaven had let him time-travel to this era, there must be a reason. So, he would live.

More importantly, if he just died like this, who knew if there would ever be another chance to time-travel? As a 21st-century opportunist who had traveled through time, George Washington made the greatest and most forward-looking choice of this era: not to resist.

Resist, my ass. I’m unarmed, don’t even have an AK—George Washington said, tears streaming down his face.

Chapter Two: The Extremely Frustrating Blood Edict of Abdication

But before that, he had to first persuade this group of loyal and courageous subordinates who were determined to die rather than surrender. Although they hadn’t spoken yet, if any of these blockheads wanted him to die for the country while he didn’t want to, it would easily lead to conflict.

He couldn’t just sincerely tell them: “Brothers, let’s just surrender together. Esen, our ethnic minority brother, actually isn’t so bad. Not only won’t he mistreat us, but he’ll also treat us to good food and drink—meat at every meal, wine at every sitting. After our long trip on the grasslands, we can go back to the capital and spend a few years in a little black room eating vegetarian food to cleanse our guts. After that, this emperor will make a comeback, demote himself from retired emperor to emperor again, and give you all big official positions.”

Saying that now would be utter nonsense, and shameless to boot. He couldn’t bear it. After all, he had been an exemplary young professional in the modern world—he couldn’t just throw away his dignity the moment he arrived in ancient times, right?

Since he wanted to survive and would inevitably return to the capital one day, why not do something now? At the very least, he could give his good little brother a couple of sweet dates in advance—maybe his conditions would be better when he was squatting in the little black room in the future.

“Do you have paper and brush?” With his mind made up, George Washington turned around and asked the middle-aged eunuch beside him.

The middle-aged eunuch froze, staring blankly at George Washington. “Your Majesty, this servant didn’t bring any.” Well, they’d barely escaped with their lives—who would remember the Four Treasures of the Study? Besides, he was just a eunuch, not a literary youth. Why would he carry those things around?

“Bring me a knife.” Knowing that time was tight, George Washington reached out to grab the saber from the head guard’s hand.

“Your Majesty, you mustn’t!” The head guard was stunned at first, then immediately knelt down in tears. The others all knelt down in unison as well. Realizing what was on their minds, George Washington couldn’t help but laugh and cry. “Relax, I’m not trying to kill myself—I want to write an edict of abdication.”

He snatched the knife, lifted his cloak, revealed the bright yellow dragon robe he was wearing, and with a few swift slices, cut off a large piece of the front.