Since being reborn, I never thought of doing anything earth-shattering. But in my spare time, I used the traditional characters I had learned to write many insights about political parties and political systems. Yet I had never openly discussed the current situation in Eurasia or the various aspects of Western civilization with anyone, nor had I ever told anyone that I was fluent in Western languages. In today’s world, from the emperor down to the officials, everyone is full of contempt and disdain for Western countries, and no one believes that the war ten years ago was a loss. No one is interested in Western studies.

Now, feeling gloomy, it’s really just because I’m disappointed in myself and feel sorry for my parents, who get so angry with others because of me.

Maybe I really should do something? William Sullivan thought gloomily. Am I really going to just muddle along, eating and waiting to die, letting future historians write the words “mediocre and unremarkable” for the fourteenth generation Prince Zheng?

Besides, it’s now the third year of Xianfeng. I wasn’t sure of the exact year at first, but since the Taiping Army just established their capital in Tianjing, that means it’s 1853.

If history continues on its original path, in a few years the Xianfeng Emperor will die, the Eastern Empress Dowager will join forces with the Sixth Prince to launch the Xinyou Coup, and the eight regents will either be killed or dismissed and exiled. Among those killed will be my father, the only iron-cap prince in the Qing dynasty to be granted death.

I don’t know how much my arrival has affected the course of history so far. I suppose the first to be affected are my siblings. In history, Prince Zheng Duanhua had many children, but because of my birth, it’s now one son and two daughters.

Also, because of my lack of ambition, my father has had more disputes with others, and even risked offending the emperor by privately declining a marriage proposal favored by His Majesty. As a result, my father’s relationship with the Xianfeng Emperor is far worse than in history, while Prince Gong is much more active than he was at this point in history, not just idly staying in his mansion to avoid suspicion.

If things go on like this, maybe my father won’t suffer a sudden disaster—after all, he might not even become a regent. But who can say for sure?

If I want to completely change the misfortune that may befall my family, I really need to do something. Besides, is China really going to let the Western winds sweep eastward, only being forced step by step into modern society by foreign guns and cannons? How many times will war indemnities plunder the wealth that generations of our people have accumulated?

Chapter Two: Flowers Don’t Intoxicate, But People Get Drunk (Part 2)

“Knock, knock”—there was a sound at the door. Henry Foster quickly went to open it, whispered a few words to Mrs. Foster outside, then turned back, winking and making faces: “Master, the young lady is lovesick waiting for you. You can rest easy and stay the night—I’ll just say you’re staying at the Duke of Debei’s residence.” With that, Henry Foster gently closed the door from outside.

William Sullivan, lost in thought, didn’t pay much attention to Henry Foster, until the sound of light footsteps approached, the door was gently knocked and pushed open, and William Sullivan finally looked up—only to be stunned.

By the door stood a breathtakingly beautiful classical lady, her makeup delicately applied, her features like a painting. She wore a fiery red gauze dress embroidered with butterflies, the cuffs edged with wide bands of peony embroidery on a white background. With natural allure in her bones, every movement made the gauze shimmer and flow. Her fair, slender hands, with all ten fingers painted in nail polish, were enough to make anyone’s heart race.

William Sullivan stared at her in a daze, unable to speak for a moment.

Since coming to this world, I’ve seen countless beauties, but this is the first time I’ve felt truly amazed. I never imagined the visual impact of a real classical beauty could be so stunning—far more charming than any movie star’s seductive poses on screen.

Her icy fair skin and red dress made her look even more alluring and fiery, her beauty beyond compare.

“Master, what do you think?” If Mrs. Foster hadn’t spoken up, William Sullivan wouldn’t have even noticed her presence. Mrs. Foster was finally relieved. After all, how could a courtesan dress so flamboyantly? Looking a bit more innocent and tender is what attracts affection! But this courtesan insisted on wearing a red dress, and Mrs. Foster couldn’t do anything about it. Seeing William Sullivan so entranced, Mrs. Foster was delighted—looks like I’ve got another money-maker for my brothel.

“Yes, yes,” William Sullivan answered hurriedly, then realized his own loss of composure and smiled wryly to himself. Since when did I become such a lecher?

Mrs. Foster grinned obsequiously: “Master, I’ll leave you and Emily Brooks to rest.” Then, thinking that sounded wrong, she quickly explained, “Just call her Grace Brooks, Master, don’t worry—she had a ghost marriage, married to a rooster, so I guarantee she’s a virgin.” She sighed, “Emily Brooks has had a hard life, doing this for her in-laws. Meeting you is her good fortune, Master, please be gentle and cherish her.” By the end, her words were downright suggestive, making William Sullivan’s heart flutter.

Mrs. Foster knew when to stop, gently pushed Emily Brooks inside, and quietly closed the door.

William Sullivan began to ponder. He had only come here to find someone to drink and chat with, never thinking of anything between a man and a woman. But hearing Mrs. Foster say that Emily Brooks came from a respectable but unfortunate family, should he really take her virginity? If he did, her first time—could he really not take responsibility? In his previous life, he’d had a few girlfriends, but never met a virgin, let alone such a stunning beauty. And now, her first time?

The more he thought about it, the more a fire burned inside him. This breathtaking beauty was about to be his, to love and cherish as he pleased. At this thought, William Sullivan couldn’t help but tremble slightly.