When I woke up, the bitter taste of opium was still in my mouth.
It was not smoked by me, but by the original owner. The previous owner of this body, Prince Gong Zaihong, soaked himself in pipes and wine jars and smoked himself to death within three months after the signing of the Treaty of Shimonoseki. Then I came, taking with me all the memories of the 996 social beasts in my previous life, and became the youngest prince in this precarious Qing Dynasty.
My fingers are still trembling. I don't know if it's the sequelae of opium or the sequelae of time travel. I sat up holding on to the rosewood bedpost. The five-clawed golden dragon embroidered on the silk quilt was soaked with cold sweat and twisted like a snake. The maid heard the noise outside and came in with a copper basin. She knelt on the ground and waited for me to wash up, her hands shaking.
I opened my mouth to ask about today's date, but before I could say anything, there was a burst of chaotic footsteps outside the study. The butler crawled in and couldn't speak clearly: "Your Majesty! British Minister Dou Nale, Japanese Minister Fumio Yano, and counselors from Russia and France are all waiting in the main hall. They said... They said that if you don't sign today, the coalition forces will enter Beijing."
The copper basin fell to the ground, and the warm water splashed on my feet. The maid kowtows like pounding garlic, and her forehead hits the green brick with a thumping sound.
