The Dragon's Gambit

The air was thick with incense, its heady aroma curling in delicate wisps through the dimly lit chamber. The faint glow of lanterns flickered against the polished wooden beams overhead, their golden carvings shimmering in the dying light. Outside, faint echoes of distant voices drifted in—eunuchs whispering, guards shifting their weight, and the creak of the palace's ancient bones under the weight of history.

Zaifeng, Prince Chun, awoke with a start.

His chest heaved, drawing in air as if he had been drowning moments before. Sweat clung to his brow, soaking the silk collar of his deep crimson robe embroidered with golden dragons. His heart thundered in his ears, and for several long moments, he sat frozen in place, his trembling hands clutching at the fine silk sheets beneath him.

He was young. He could feel it—his body free from the frailty of old age, his limbs strong, his skin smooth. His breath came in shallow gasps as he lifted his trembling hands to his face.

"My hands… these are not an old man's hands."

He stumbled out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a muted thud. The silk canopy above him swayed gently, the faint scent of sandalwood hanging heavy in the air.

In the bronze mirror across the chamber, the reflection staring back at him was unmistakable. A boy—seventeen years old—with sharp features, smooth skin, and eyes wide with disbelief. He stumbled closer, leaning in until his breath fogged the mirror's surface.

"This face… it's mine. But… how?"

The memories slammed into him like a tidal wave—his father's stern face, the infant Guangxu Emperor, the suffocating presence of the Empress Dowager Cixi, the trembling hands holding ink-dipped brushes over treaties, the bitter taste of regret.

And then… Li Chengxian.

The tiny one-room home, the scent of his mother's sewing thread and rice porridge, the faint hum of revolutionary songs on old radios, the quiet conversations with Zhang Yue by the riverbank. The endless history books stacked in crooked towers in his office. The sound of a clock ticking away the final seconds of his life.

Zaifeng stumbled back from the mirror, clutching his chest as his breath came in ragged gasps.

"What is this? A dream? A punishment? Have I gone mad?"

But the chill of the wooden floor beneath his feet, the weight of the silk robe on his shoulders, and the sharp sting of his fingernails biting into his palms told him one thing:

This was real.

Zaifeng staggered to the window and pushed it open, his trembling hands clutching the cold wooden frame. The Forbidden City stretched out before him, its sweeping golden rooftops glowing faintly under the pale light of the moon. The palace grounds were silent, still cloaked in the quiet of the night.

"This is… this is the Forbidden City. But it feels alive again. It feels… real."

The memories of his second life—of Li Chengxian, the historian—lingered heavily in his chest. He could still feel the weight of every lecture he had given, every page he had written, every regret he had carried to his grave.

"Why am I here? Why have I been brought back?"

His knees buckled, and he slumped to the floor, his forehead pressed against the cold wooden panels.

"Is this Heaven's punishment for my failures? Or… is this mercy? A second chance?"

The silence offered no answers. The heavens remained quiet.

But as the cool wind swept in through the open window, Zaifeng felt something stir deep within him—a flicker of determination, faint but growing stronger with each breath.

"No. I cannot waste this. If I've been given another chance, then I must act. I must… I must not let history repeat itself."

His thoughts raced. It was the year 1900—he could tell from the faint undercurrent of unease in the air, the looming shadow of conflict hanging heavy over the palace. The Boxer Rebellion was reaching its boiling point, foreign powers were tightening their grip on China, and the Qing Dynasty was staggering under the weight of its own indecision and decay.

He remembered this year vividly.

"This is the tipping point. This is where the cracks begin to spread faster than anyone can stop them."

But now he was here. Young. Strong. With memories of two lifetimes etched into his mind.

A faint knock echoed from the chamber door, followed by the soft voice of a eunuch.

"Your Highness? Are you awake? The Empress Dowager summoned you to court early this morning."

Zaifeng froze. Cixi.

Her name alone sent a shiver down his spine. In his previous life, he had respected her, feared her, and—at times—resented her. She had been a woman of brilliant intellect, ruthless ambition, and unwavering control. She had held China together with iron hands, but at what cost?

"This is it. My chance begins here."

His voice cracked as he called out, his tone steady despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside him. "Tell them I'll be there shortly."

The eunuch bowed just beyond the door before his footsteps receded into the distance.

Zaifeng turned back to the bronze mirror, studying his reflection. The face of a seventeen-year-old boy stared back at him, but the eyes… the eyes belonged to a man who had seen the rise and fall of empires, the cruelty of war, and the weight of impossible choices.

"I cannot act like a child. I cannot hesitate. Every moment matters now."

Slowly, he straightened his shoulders and adjusted his robe. His hands, though trembling slightly, were steady enough to smooth the silk fabric across his chest.

"This time… I will not fail."

The sky was beginning to lighten as the faint glow of dawn crept over the horizon, casting long shadows across the Forbidden City. Somewhere in the palace, preparations were already underway—servants bustling through narrow corridors, lanterns being extinguished, and the great wheels of imperial bureaucracy creaking into motion.

Zaifeng stood by the window for a long time, his gaze fixed on the sprawling rooftops below.

He could feel it—the weight of two lives, two sets of regrets, and two opportunities lost. But now, in this fragile moment balanced on the edge of history, he had something he had never possessed before: knowledge.

The knowledge of what was coming. The knowledge of what had gone wrong. The knowledge of where every crack in the foundation lay.

"This is not just a second chance. This is a burden. A responsibility."

His chest rose and fell as he closed his eyes, drawing in a slow, steady breath.

"I will not waste it."

The distant sound of a palace bell echoed through the halls, announcing the arrival of another day. Somewhere deep in the heart of the Forbidden City, Empress Dowager Cixi waited.

The young Prince Chun turned away from the window and stepped toward the door.

A new dawn was breaking, and with it, the beginning of something extraordinary.