Mingdao Palace

The autumn wind whispered gently as the setting sun cast its golden glow over the Mingdao Palace in Weizhen County, Bozhou, on the Huainan East Road of the Great Song Dynasty (modern-day Luyi). It was a moment of serene beauty, with shadows and light interweaving, creating an atmosphere of cool warmth.

But the palace, a vast complex serving both as a temple and an imperial residence, was far from tranquil. Armed guards stood watch at every corner, and officials garbed in imperial purples and scarlets bustled about. The sight of numerous civil and military officials of the Song court stationed here underscored the gravity of the situation. At the palace's highest point, the rear hall atop a small hill, the scene was particularly solemn. There, several imperial banners bearing the three-dragon insignia fluttered prominently in the wind—a sight unmistakably signaling the presence of the emperor himself.

Anyone with a modicum of knowledge understood what this meant. Those banners, called Jinwu Daozhao, were exclusive to the emperor. Their presence confirmed that the Song emperor, Zhao Gou, was here.

While it was not unusual for a Song emperor to visit a Daoist temple—after all, Song emperors had a tradition of revering Daoism, and Zhao Gou's predecessor was even titled the "Daoist Emperor"—the atmosphere this time was markedly different from Emperor Zhenzong's grand visit to the same site years ago. The palace now exuded a tense and somber air. Armed guards were present in conspicuous numbers, and the typically cultured Song officials, known for their literary pursuits, had no leisure for pleasantries. Instead, they gathered in small, despondent groups, their faces betraying deep concern.

Their unease was not unfounded.

Since the Jingkang Incident, the Song dynasty had been plunged into crisis. With the Jurchen Jin forces advancing southward, two emperors had been captured, and rebellions erupted across the realm. The Song teetered on the brink of extinction.

And just as the court faced this dire situation, a bizarre and inexplicable incident befell the newly crowned emperor, Zhao Gou. Known for the imperial family's devotion to Daoism, the emperor's entourage had naturally planned a stop at the Mingdao Palace to pay homage to the Daoist patriarch, Laozi, during their journey southward to resist the Jin. But after completing his prayers and while touring the palace gardens, Zhao Gou had inexplicably fallen into the Nine Dragon Well before hundreds of civil and military officials. He had been unconscious for hours afterward.

Fortunately, the emperor eventually awoke, seemingly unharmed. The two chancellors had visited him to confirm his recovery. Yet the emperor, previously robust enough to ride horses for half a day and draw a five-stone bow with ease, had since made no move to continue the planned journey south. His public appearances had been limited to a single brief outing under the escort of a senior eunuch, Kang Lu.

This abrupt halt raised alarm. Only two months earlier, the court had been embroiled in fierce factional struggles following Zhao Gou's ascension in Nanjing (modern-day Shangqiu). These struggles had cost the lives of one Censorate official and two imperial students, and even a prime minister had been dismissed. After much strife, a national strategy to retreat south to Huainan and eventually to Yangzhou had been agreed upon. The empress dowager had already departed for Yangzhou, many royal family members had accompanied her, and key ministers had gone ahead to secure resources in the Jiangnan region. Military commanders were engaged in pacifying unrest along the route, and imperial eunuchs were opening pathways for the emperor's procession.

Yet the emperor himself had advanced barely 100 li from Nanjing before stopping at Bozhou, leaving his officials and attendants bewildered.

Rumors swirled. Some claimed the emperor, though uninjured, had lost his memory, failing to recognize his favored consort, Lady Pan, or even Kang Lu, his close attendant. Others speculated that the emperor, as a devout Daoist, believed his fall into the well to be a divine warning against the southern retreat, prompting him to reconsider his strategy and contemplate resisting the Jin in the north instead. More bizarre theories abounded, from Kang Lu imprisoning the emperor and plotting to replace him, to visions of divine generals descending to aid the court.

The only certainty was that panic gripped the imperial court stationed in Bozhou.

At the center of this storm, within the rear hall under the imperial banners, Emperor Zhao Gou appeared to be engaging in his usual evening practice of archery. He loosed arrow after arrow until he emptied two quivers, stopping only as dusk fell.

"Magnificent shooting, Your Majesty!" Kang Lu, the senior eunuch and de facto overseer of palace affairs, hastily stepped forward with compliments. "Does Your Majesty wish to dine with the guards tonight?"

"Why not?" the emperor replied with a faint smile, as if the question were trivial. "Do you have another suggestion?"

"No, Your Majesty," Kang Lu replied, clasping his hands in a gesture of submission. "But Lady Pan sent me to inquire, saying she has not seen Your Majesty for days and deeply misses you. She has even prepared snow cream for Your Majesty with her own hands."

Hearing this, Zhao Gou hesitated briefly, but then waved off the idea. "Send the snow cream here. I'll enjoy it with the guards at supper."

"Your Majesty!" Kang Lu's voice grew urgent, abandoning the usual affectionate tone of addressing the emperor as "Our Master." "That snow cream is a token of Lady Pan's affection. Sharing it with the guards would be unseemly. Even Your Majesty dining with the guards regularly risks angering the court officials, who may accuse you of scorning scholars and favoring warriors."

"Has the Song dynasty preserved any semblance of propriety since the Jingkang Incident?" Zhao Gou retorted coldly. "If these scholars are so concerned with propriety, why do they not direct their outrage at the Jin cavalry, rather than at me?"

With that, Zhao Gou strode out, leaving Kang Lu flustered. Guards immediately stepped in to block the eunuch from following. Recognizing his limits, Kang turned to the nearby officer, Yang Yizhong, for assistance. The young commander reluctantly followed the emperor but hesitated to overstep.

Zhao Gou, now standing alone on a hill overlooking the surroundings, seemed pensive. After a moment, he turned and addressed Yang Yizhong: "Fetch Lady Pan's snow cream for me and thank her on my behalf."

Surprised, Yang complied, leaving Zhao Gou to descend toward the sound of horses in the nearby camp.

For indeed, this was no ordinary emperor. Zhao Gou had been possessed—not by a spirit or a fox demon, but by the soul of a modern man, transported nine centuries into the past.

This "new" Emperor Zhao Gou, born Zhao Jiu in another life, was no grand schemer or hero but an ordinary graduate who had fallen into a well during an innocent visit to a Daoist temple.

Now, as the bewildered soul of Zhao Jiu struggled to adapt to the role of the beleaguered monarch, one thought dominated his mind: If I must be Zhao Gou, then I will rewrite history. And yes, I will resist the Jin.