In the thirteenth year of the Zhaoqing era, Marquis Zhiyuan Zhu Zhixin was framed for treason and sentenced to have his entire family executed.
The execution was overseen by the Fifth Prince, Zhang Zeyu, whom Zhu Zhixin had personally taught to shoot a bow.
That day, snow blanketed the execution grounds. Zhang Zeyu poured him one final cup of wine, eyes red, and said, “General Zhu, may you rest in peace.”
Zhu Zhixin drained it, then laughed and cursed him. “You heartless brat.”
That same year, Crown Prince Zhang Ji was deposed, the Third Prince Zuo Hang was placed under house arrest, and the Seventh Prince Su Xinhao was exiled to the frontier.
Only the Fifth Prince, Zhang Zeyu, climbed to the throne, treading over his brothers’ blood and tears.
When Zhu Zhixin opened his eyes again, he had returned to the age of twenty.
In his previous life, his blind loyalty to the imperial family had earned him a death without even a whole body left behind.
This time, he only wanted to be an idle marquis: tending flowers, riding horses, and watching those imperial princes fight one another to the death all over again.
But this life seemed to have gone a little off course.
Why did Crown Prince Zhang Ji look at him with such frenzied joy, as if he had found something he’d lost?
The Third Prince Zuo Hang came to his residence every day, claiming he was “taking refuge” but really just refusing to leave.
The letters Seventh Prince Su Xinhao sent back from the frontier grew more and more intense, each containing just one line: “Wait for me.”
And then there was the future emperor, the Fifth Prince, Zhang Zeyu.
In his previous life, he had killed Zhu Zhixin without the slightest hesitation. This time, he stood in the rain outside Zhu Zhixin’s military camp all night, just to see him once.
Looking at the four princes before him, each with his own agenda, Zhu Zhixin fell into deep thought:
Had they all been reborn too?
