King Zhou died in the great fire at the Star-Picking Tower, the very blaze he had set himself.
As the flames consumed him, he seemed to hear the cries of battle as Xiqi's walls fell. But when he opened his eyes, he had returned to the time before the Investiture of the Gods War began.
He stared blankly at the lines on his palm as the first snow of the season fell outside the Star-Picking Tower in Chaoge City. The eight hundred feudal lords were still stationed beyond the passes. His uncle Bigan had yet to gouge out his own heart, and Su Daji's carriage had not even crossed the Yellow River.
Though he was the Son of Heaven, he was still only mortal. How could he fight against fate? Knowing the Shang dynasty was doomed, he had planned to lie flat, drink and make merry, and wait for the Zhou army to breach the city walls.
Until one day, a sky screen descended from above
[Hello, everyone! Today we're discussing the most ruthless figure in the history of Huaxia: the tyrant who burned shamans and divination bones, abolished human sacrifice, and pacified the four seas... Wait, no, I mean the greatest emperor of all time, who severed the Heavenly Dao with a mortal body: Di Xin!]
“Di Xin? That name does sound familiar.”
His fingers unconsciously rubbed the wine cup. Then he suddenly realized: wasn't that his own name?
Theme: My fate is mine to command, not Heaven's.
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