Chapter One Charles Foster

On the seventeenth day of the ninth month in the twenty-seventh year of the Tian Sheng era, a meteor from the heavens fell upon the capital, crashing into Goulan Alley on the west side of the city. On that day, all passersby in Goulan Alley were unharmed, except for Charles Jr., who was injured by the meteor and, after returning home, lay bedridden for several days. At that time, Charles Jr. was the ringleader of the Four Notorious Young Lords of Xianyang, wreaking havoc in the capital. Upon hearing the news, some rejoiced and clapped their hands, while others were deeply distressed—"Records of the Grand Historian: Annals of the Sacred Ancestor, Volume Eight."

On the twentieth day of the ninth month in the twenty-seventh year of the Tian Sheng era, in Cuiyi Garden within the The Foster Estate, the old Richard Foster was roaring in anger.

"You little brat! Are you trying to defy the heavens? How many times have I told you—not to set foot in those brothels and pleasure quarters before you come of age, or I'll break your damn legs!"

"It's bad enough you went to Goulan Alley, but you even dared to fight over women in public? How old are you, have you even grown all your hair down there? And do you even know who that person was?"

"Usually I can't be bothered with your mischief, but do you know what time it is now? The Empress Dowager is gravely ill and on her deathbed. Are you just waiting for those censors and officials to impeach me for failing to discipline my grandson?"

"If it weren't for the fact that you're injured right now, I would never let you off. I'd beat you to death, you little bastard!"

The old man outside the door was beside himself with rage and heartbreak. Inside, Charles Foster Jr. sat on the bed with his head wrapped in white bandages, staring blankly ahead, his face full of confusion and astonishment, as if his spirit had wandered off. He paid no heed to his grandfather's tirade.

It wasn't that he disregarded his grandfather's authority, but rather that Charles truly couldn't move at the moment, and he had more pressing matters to attend to.

"What the hell is this place?"

Within a small space about thirty feet square, Charles looked around in bewilderment and suspicion, realizing he was in a strange state.

Clearly, his body was still in his own room, being bombarded by Richard's angry shouts. Yet in this tiny space, he somehow possessed another body.

Looking ahead, Charles was even more startled. Opposite him stood a young man whose features were almost identical to his own, only a bit older—about twenty years old, with a pale face and eyes full of lifeless desolation.

"Who are you?"

Charles frowned, wondering if this was some illegitimate son of his late father, come to seek him out today?

No, that couldn't be—the age didn't match. If his father were still alive, he'd be about thirty-five or thirty-six now. He couldn't possibly have fathered a child at the age of ten.

And this figure seemed so ethereal, as if a gust of wind could blow him away. Was he a man or a ghost? And what exactly was this thirty-foot-square space?

The young man with the similar face didn't leave him guessing for long. With a calm expression, he replied, "I am you, thirty years from now—the former Prince of An of Great Qin, Charles Foster."

Though his words were spoken without emotion, to Charles's ears, it was like a thunderclap. His eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

Was the person before him claiming to be himself thirty years in the future? Was this some kind of joke?

After scrutinizing the man for a moment, Charles cautiously asked, "This is unbelievable. How do you intend to prove it?"

The man did look quite a bit like him, but this was simply too far-fetched. Who knew where this lunatic had come from?

"Proof? When you were six, you peed in your grandfather's teapot. When you were nine, you broke the emperor's snuff bottle while playing in the imperial study, and then shamelessly blamed it on the Fourth Prince. No one else should know about these things, right?"

That Charles Foster chuckled, looking at him with apparent interest. "And as for this recent brawl in Goulan Alley, you went to cause trouble for Edward Harper because you wanted to anger that old hag, the Empress Dowager, right? And to trip up your uncle William Foster a bit. But you need to be careful—though His Majesty is not the Empress Dowager's own son and doesn't respect her much, he still doesn't want to see that old hag provoked to death at this time. Your father is a war hero, greatly favored by His Majesty, but in this matter, he may not remember the old friendship he had with your father. You're being too reckless!"

Charles couldn't help but gasp, his heart in turmoil. The first two things alone were enough to shock him—though trivial, no one else could possibly know. As for the rest, it was as if his innermost thoughts had been laid bare.

His recent troublemaking in Goulan Alley was indeed intentional. Edward Harper was the Empress Dowager's younger brother, and for him to be frequenting brothels while his elder sister was gravely ill would look bad for the Empress Dowager and her family if word got out. He had meant to stir up a scandal, and if not for the inexplicable meteor that knocked him out, things wouldn't have ended so quickly a few days ago.