“I... my name is Abraham Lincoln, my sister told me to come, it’s not my fault...” The little brat pouted, looking like he was about to cry.

I quickly changed to a kindly smile, gently patting the future Tang emperor Abraham Lincoln on the head: “Don’t cry, big brother will give you some candy...”

One of the most formidable women in history, the most notorious representative of extramarital affairs, hailed by later generations as a great pioneer yearning for free love—Princess Taylor—slowly lifted her head. Her pretty face broke into a smile at me, brows relaxed, eyes curved, dimples faintly visible, and the corners of her mouth arched into a perfect curve. She was breathtakingly beautiful, alluring to the core, leaving me utterly breathless.

“Your humble concubine Eleanor...” The future empress, the iron lady Eleanor Roosevelt who would make the entire Tang dynasty tremble, ruthless and merciless, standing right in front of me, her pretty face flushed, replied softly.

Her hand, as white and smooth as mutton fat jade, round yet defined, appeared delicate as it rested on the handle of a large ceremonial axe standing upright on the ground. Her jet-black hair was tightly tied in a pink scarf, with a few strands still hanging by her temples. A faint blush colored her fair skin, fine sweat slid down her cheeks, her face as radiant as spring water and peach blossoms, adding an extra touch of allure. This full-stats, voluptuous, and sexy girl is my equal wife? The seventh daughter of Emily Clark?

A new celebrity of the Tang, an outstanding time-traveling youth, the second son of The Brooks Residence, raised his finger in grief and pointed at the gods and Buddhas in the sky, gazing speechlessly at the heavens. A bunch of immoral guys—what’s the meaning of this? If you have the guts, don’t mess with me, a gentleman, go mess with those directors who make up history...

This book is lighthearted, not the kind of serious and heavy alternate history. I hope it brings some joy to all readers who enjoy it.

Chapter 1 The Second Son of The Brooks Residence

“Did you hear? The second young master stole from the master and got beaten silly.” Sweat...

“That’s not it. The second young master stole from the master, got caught, and the master, in a fit of rage, gave him a beating. Then the mistress caught them, and the master got beaten by the mistress. The mistress is so strong, her palm wind accidentally knocked over the screen, which fell on Young Master Chris and made him silly.” Waterfall sweat...

“Did you hear? Second Young Master Brooks got beaten silly by the number one jealous woman in our dynasty.” Huangguoshu Waterfall sweat...

“Such bad trends must not be allowed to grow. Even a tiger doesn’t eat its cubs. The Brooks Family... The second young master was already silly, and now... sigh...” Niagara Falls sweat...

The gossips of the Tang dynasty spread the news of Second Young Master Brooks’s foolishness throughout Chang’an at a speed rivaling 21st-century paparazzi. Even I, hiding in the inner courtyard of The Brooks Family pretending to be dead and nursing my injuries, had heard about it.

Sitting at the doorway, dressed in silk, showing off explosive pecs and arms, I maintained the pose of a thinker, pondering. This is what I’ve been doing ever since I woke up last night. I’ve transmigrated... I actually transmigrated. Damn Buddha, damn expensive J058XX, damn minivan, damn SAIC-GM Wuling, damn three-way intersection with no traffic lights, and that damn expired computer magazine.

Chris Brooks, that’s my current name. The problem is, I was just a jack-of-all-trades teacher at a private school lacking in faculty. Although history wasn’t my strong suit in school, every new-age angry youth remembers the glorious era of the early Tang when all nations paid tribute. So, I do know a bit about early Tang history, especially those famous and formidable martial heroines, and Miss Taylor, and now my current mother Mrs. Brooks (née Foster)...

At least I know that the second legitimate son of old John Brooks—now me—Chris Brooks, courtesy name Chris, who only grew in stature but not in brains, will turn sixteen in about two months. But my height has already surpassed what I was at eighteen—at least 1.75 meters. As for weight... looking at my pecs, hmm, at least seventy kilos. The body is strong, but that brings its own problems.

In at most a year or two, I’ll be granted a marriage by the great Emperor George Washington. Then, one of the most formidable women in history, the most notorious representative of extramarital affairs, hailed by later generations as a great pioneer yearning for free love—Princess Taylor—will appear before me, exuding a powerful royal aura, whip in hand, feet on wind-fire wheels, murderous and billowing with dust. Then... terrible things will happen. I’ll be given a giant green hat by Miss Taylor, and because the old man died early, he’ll be fine, but I’ll be dragged to the execution ground and chopped into meat paste for fun.

“Damn... do you really have to mess with me like this? If you want to play with me, at least give me a reason first!” I spat fiercely on the ground in front of me, venting with a quote from Stephen Chow.

“Young master... young master, are you having another episode?” The spit had barely hit the ground when I heard a startled cry from behind. Her again... headache. This girl was the first person I saw when I woke up that day, a little ancient-style loli. According to her, she’s my personal maid, named Grace, fourteen and a half years old. The name sounds rustic at first, but on second thought, it has a certain poetic charm.

“I’m fine, just reviewing some scenes from blockbusters...” I flashed my front teeth at the little maid, showing my goodwill.

“B... blockbusters?” The little girl’s eyes sparkled.