A throbbing, intense pain was the first thing he knew.
Zhao Feng fought to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
Finally, a thin crack of light pried itself open before him.
The dim glow revealed a towering, ancient hall, solemn and majestic. A rugged carpet of dark golden dragon scales stretched out before him.
At the top of the steps, at the far end of the carpet, sat an awe-inspiring giant. His gaze bored through the gloom like twin torches, holding a mesmerizing brilliance.
Where… is this?
Wasn’t I just playing a game?
My phone battery died, and I was just about to charge it…
Zhao Feng’s mind felt sluggish, hazy, as he took in his surroundings in a daze.
Damn, I didn’t fall asleep holding my phone again, did I?
But this didn't feel like a dream.
“At nineteen years of age, he was the champion of the armies. He beheaded our enemies at the Royal Court, annihilated Great Demons, and quelled a century of chaos in Yongzhou. Such a hero is not only the sorrow of the Zhao Clan but a wound felt by the countless subjects of the Grand Xia Dynasty!”
“Marquis of Jianhong, step forward to receive the decree!”
A commanding voice boomed through the great hall, its power deafening.
Zhao Feng struggled to look up. On both sides of the carpet, he could see figures in official robes standing in solemn formation. Was this… an imperial palace?
The Grand Xia Dynasty… he was fairly certain no such dynasty existed in history.
As Zhao Feng wrestled with his confusion, a towering giant of a man stepped out from beside him, his back as straight as a spear. Just looking at his silhouette, one could almost smell the lingering scent of shed blood.
“Today, we confer upon the ninth son of the Zhao Clan, Zhao Yunxiao, the title of first-class Tianzhu Marquis. He is to be promoted to great general, granted burial in the imperial tomb, and awarded ten carts of ancient treasures, three Xia Dragon Tokens, and ten dou of gold!”
“From this day forth, the entire nation shall mourn for three days. The court will abstain from meat for seven days as we pay tribute to the valiant soul of the Tianzhu Marquis!”
The lavishness of the rewards sent a ripple of astonishment through the great hall.
Only nineteen years old, and already anointed a marquis and a general.
While ordinary nobles were conferred titles like Marquis of Beijiang or Marquis Pingyuan, the title ‘Zhen Guo’—Guardian of the Nation—was an honor that would echo through eternity.
It was unprecedented, and perhaps unrepeatable.
After all, to be ennobled as a first-class marquis at nineteen was a height of prestige beyond imagination.
“Your Majesty, on behalf of my ninth brother, I receive the decree and offer my thanks to Emperor Xuan!”
The towering figure, his posture as unyielding as a mountain lance, knelt on one knee. His deep voice held little joy or excitement, only a faint, hoarse sorrow.
“This is what your Zhao Clan has earned. It is I who am in your debt.”
“Marquis of Jianhong, that is your child there, is it not? I wish to bestow a name upon him. Are you willing?” “My son has no merit to his name. I dare not accept such a royal favor.”
“The young men of the Zhao Clan are all heroes of the Grand Xia! As the Tianzhu Marquis laid down his life for our country beyond its borders, your son was born into this world. Perhaps it is the will of Heaven—it has taken My beloved general, but it has bestowed upon the Grand Xia another fine young man. I now confer upon him the name… Feng!”
“I hope he will one day uphold the aspirations of the Tianzhu Marquis to purge the world for the Grand Xia and unify Beiwei!”
“Your Majesty, the name is too noble. This subject fears it is too great an honor for him to bear…”
“Nonsense. The sons of the Zhao Clan are worthy of any honor!”
A single name, Feng?
Zhao Feng was taken aback, then almost laughed. What a coincidence. It was the same as his own.
Wait a second.
The child they were talking about… couldn’t be me, could it?
Zhao Feng looked down and was instantly stunned. He was wrapped in swaddling clothes, his tiny hands and feet adorably chubby, cradled in the arms of a beautiful woman wearing military armor.
“Bring forth the phoenix soul jade talisman for Feng'er,” a voice commanded.
A moment later, Zhao Feng watched as a pale-faced eunuch with a solemn expression approached, carrying a dark red jade talisman etched with dragon motifs.
A delicate, fair hand gently took the talisman. The beautiful woman holding him whispered softly, “Thank you, Emperor Xuan, for your generous gift.”
What is going on…
Zhao Feng blinked. Is this a dream?
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He couldn’t hold on any longer and drifted into sleep.
Lincheng City, the Sky Marshal Manor of the Zhao Clan.
The Grand Xia Dynasty had five Divine Generals, and the head of the Zhao Clan was one of them.
With nine generals from a single household, all of them loyal and courageous, the Zhao Clan was the nobility of nobles in the Grand Xia Dynasty, bathed in endless glory and wealth.
But beneath that boundless prosperity lay the lives and blood of their kin.
Six of the nine sons of the Zhao Clan had already perished.
The youngest marquis had joined the military only two years prior and had just been promoted to colonel. Then, during the battle of Yongzhou, he had, as a mere colonel, led ten thousand cavalrymen straight to the enemy’s royal city.
He broke through fifteen cities and slew a hundred demons.
With achievements worthy of ten generations, he became the sixth son of the Zhao Clan to die a hero’s death in service to the nation.
Now his name was immortalized in the Pantheon of Heroes, revered and remembered by all.
At this time, about three months had passed since the conferment of the ‘Tianzhu Marquis.’
Over this period, the residents of the Zhao Manor had gradually emerged from their grief, the gloom on their faces lessening.
And today, a happy event at the mansion brought a rare liveliness to the estate.
Elite families and high-ranking officials from various states either came personally or sent representatives to Lincheng. A procession of luxurious carriages was parked before the Zhao Clan’s Sky Marshal Manor, drawing countless passersby to stop and stare.
Today was the hundred-day celebration for the seventh young master of the Zhao Clan, son of the Marquis of Jianhong, Zhao Feng.
This favored child of heaven, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, had been granted a name by Emperor Xuan himself—a name now known throughout the land. As he was from a family of divine generals, there was no doubt he was destined for greatness.
As the saying goes, it’s best to curry favor early.
Within the Sky Marshal Manor, in a room of the Sun and Moon Pavilion.
Zhao Feng nestled in the arms of his mother, Su Meiying, curiously observing the hustle and bustle outside.
In the past few months, Zhao Feng had come to understand that he wasn’t dreaming. He had… transmigrated.
This wasn’t some historical dynasty, but a world called the Azure Sky Realm.
A world of martial artists and Great Demons, of swordsmen and temples.
Fortunately, the Grand Xia Dynasty was powerful. Demons were forbidden within its borders, and few dared to infiltrate the country. The people lived relatively well-off lives—to say nothing of someone like himself, born into a top-tier family.
The days ahead were full of hope.
“Feng'er, do you know that I never wished for you to be born into the Zhao Clan?”
Outside, the air was full of lively and boisterous noise, but inside the room, a worried expression clouded Su Meiying’s face as she spoke in a low, mournful voice.
Zhao Feng looked up at his mother in surprise.
His vocal cords were not yet fully developed, so he couldn’t speak. Even if he could, he couldn’t ask her why; the shock would probably scare the poor woman to death.
To him, Su Meiying seemed quite young, barely in her early twenties.
But the meticulous care and warmth she had shown him over the past months had made him grow somewhat dependent on this new mother of his.
“I had already chosen a name for you. Le Ping. Zhao Anping. I only want you to be happy and safe, to grow up healthy. Unifying the world… that is the dream of the royal family, not the Zhao Clan, and certainly not mine.”
Su Meiying murmured softly to herself. The fawning faces of the nobles outside brought her no pride or happiness; in fact, she found them rather glaring.
“Emperor Xuan named you in the hope that the Zhao Clan would find new life after the death of your ninth uncle. The name carries the hopes of the royal family, and it serves as both an expectation and a spur for the Zhao Clan…”
She said no more.
This weighty expectation, placed upon her own child… she could easily imagine that the more favors he received today, the greater the pressure he would have to bear in the future.
Zhao Feng saw the sorrow knitting his mother’s brows. In that moment, she was not the awe-inspiring Seventh Lady of the Sky Marshal Manor, nor the iron-willed female general who struck terror on the battlefield. She was simply a mother.
Unable to speak, he just buried his head more firmly against her chest, trying to convey his reassurance through the warmth of his small body.
Feeling the movement in her arms, Su Meiying looked down. She saw her child’s long eyelashes and lovely face, and her eyes softened in an instant.
She held Zhao Feng and rocked him gently, her delicate hand soothing the infant as if to comfort her own heart.
“No matter what, your mother will help you. Your father has already stepped into the ‘Immortal’ realm, and there’s a chance you will inherit that power.”
“Even if your talent in martial arts is mediocre, the power your father passed on will be enough for you to keep pace with your forefathers when they were young. You will not fall behind your peers.”
“No matter what happens, Mother will always stand behind you. I will not let anyone harm you…”
She whispered, more to herself than to him.
“The hundred-day feast is about to begin. Why are you still in here?”
Just then, the robust Marquis of Jianhong walked over. His palm wrapped gently around Su Meiying’s waist as he asked in surprise, “What are you thinking about? You don’t seem happy.”
“Of course not.”
Su Meiying composed herself, looking up with a smile. She didn’t share her true thoughts with her husband. She knew the men of the Zhao family were single-minded, taking pride in dying on the battlefield. Her own tender feelings for her son would never outweigh the thousand-year glory of the Sky Marshal Manor.
“Have all the sisters-in-law arrived?”
“They have. They’re just waiting for you and Feng'er.”
The Marquis of Jianhong glanced at Zhao Feng and rubbed his little head. His rough palm felt like a coarse file, making Zhao Feng roll his eyes.
Can’t this blockheaded father be a little more gentle?
Su Meiying, holding Zhao Feng, entered another room already filled with the ladies and madams from the various courtyards. At once, a babble of voices surged toward them.
“Oh my, Feng'er is so handsome! Even more so than Ming'er when he was a child.”
“Yes, Wei'er, look at your little brother. Isn’t he adorable?”
“Ooh, he’s staring right at me with his little eyes!”
Apart from the ladies of the various courtyards, their children were also present. The youngest, only a year or two old, clung to the legs of the adults, their curious eyes round and bright as they stared at Zhao Feng in his swaddling.
The older children, around five or six, appeared mature beyond their years. They weren’t mischievous at all, but stood quietly to the side, looking bored. Yet they didn’t dare leave, showing little interest in their new little brother.
“Come on, Feng'er, let Third Lady hold you.”
A beautiful woman took Zhao Feng from his mother, her face full of affection. Then she exclaimed in surprise, “Oh, is Feng'er hungry?”
“He just ate this morning,” Su Meiying replied.
The beautiful woman had no reason to doubt it. Thinking Zhao Feng was just fussy, she didn't worry further and simply pinched his little cheek gently, chuckling merrily.
The other madams also crowded around to coo over Zhao Feng. When the time seemed right, they began to present their gifts one after another.
Su Meiying hurriedly tried to decline, but the gifts were firmly thrust into her hands. These were treasures money couldn’t buy. By the end, the gifts received for Zhao Feng’s hundred-day feast had filled half of the Sun and Moon Pavilion, all of them rare and precious. The woman holding him, Third Lady, placed a bracelet made of a jade-like material on Zhao Feng’s tender wrist, saying it had spirit-nourishing effects.
Zhao Feng, who had been growing drowsy from all the chattering, felt a change the moment the bracelet was on. Strands of coolness flowed from his wrist into his body, and his mind felt much more awake.
The sleepiness was swept away, his thoughts becoming sharper.
He squinted, and suddenly, blurry characters leaped into view before him.
Compared to the muddled state he was in when he first transmigrated, the characters had slowly grown clearer over the past few months as his brain developed.
But now, as if a nearsighted person had just put on glasses, everything became crystal clear.