New Ming

My name is Lu Bing, eight years old, and a time traveler. My mother was the wet nurse of Zhu Houcong, the crown prince of Prince Xing. I spent time in the palace since I could walk. People in the house thought I was ignorant and never avoided talking to me. They don't know that inside this skin of mine lives a soul that has lived through a lifetime. I knew Emperor Zhengde would die in two years. The thin, filial young man in front of him will be summoned to the capital by an imperial edict and sit on the Dragon Throne for forty-five years. I can't talk about this. If you say it, you are a monster and your whole family will die. That summer in Anlu was sultry and the mosquitoes couldn't be driven away from my face. I squatted in the corner eating cakes and listened to Zhou Chengye's people discussing how to create fake letters and how to frame Prince Xing's palace. The knife was brought to his neck inch by inch. Zhu Houcong was twelve years old, kneeling in the mourning hall, sweating through the layers of his filial piety clothes, his back always straight. He asked me: "Can we make it through alive?" I said yes. But I didn't tell him—I survived Zhou Chengye, Yang Tinghe, Zhang Cong, Xia Yan, and Yan Song. He defeated everyone except himself. I stayed with him for forty-seven years, from when he was twelve to sixty. The palm seal of Jinyiwei, the Three Dukes and Three Solitaries, and the power of the government and the public are all written in history. What is not written in the history books is that the person closest to the dragon chair is getting further and further away from him. Before he died, he asked: "Where is Lu Bing?" I opened a door for him alive. Outside the door is the sea. "New Ming Dynasty"