On the day he retired, Zhou Zheng died suddenly of a heart attack. When he opened his eyes, he had become the eleven-year-old Zhao Dezhao.
Feeling the plain robe of the Guizhou Defense Commissioner on his body, he sneered: In my last life, I spent thirty years grinding through officialdom. And now I have to start all over again as a prince?
In the courtyard, the imperial guards practiced Taizu’s Long Fist, their movements limp and lifeless.
He flung open the window. “How can you use such weak techniques to help my father pacify the realm?”
His second uncle, Zhao Guangyi, came over at the sound and feigned concern. “Dezhao, you’re ill. Don’t tire yourself out.”
Lowering his eyes to conceal their cold glint, he replied, “Your nephew dreamed of stars falling over Youzhou and Yanmen. It stirred something in me.”
The next day on the training grounds, he publicly took apart the army’s formations and used modern tactics to reshape the imperial guards from the ground up.
The veteran general Shi Shouxin slapped the table in praise. “Where did Your Highness learn such deadly techniques?”
Zhou Zheng looked north, tracing the Sixteen Prefectures of Yanyun on the map with his fingertip.
“Because this time, I mean to rule the realm openly and rightfully!”
