The first thing Shen Yi felt was not the majesty of the cosmos or the flow of eternal Qi. It was a cold, wet towel slapping him directly in the face.
PA!
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, please wake up! The Hour of the Tiger is upon us!"
Shen Yi opened his eyes, ready to fire his personal assistant. Instead of his penthouse in Beijing, he saw a ceiling painted with dancing cranes and gold leaf. Instead of his 1000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, he was being swaddled in yellow silk like a heavily armed burrito.
He tried to sit up. His body refused. It was too top-heavy. He looked at his hands. They were tiny. Chubby. There was a dimple on his knuckle.
Right. Shen Yi closed his eyes, suppressing a scream that would have sounded embarrassingly high-pitched. I died. I transmigrated. I am the Emperor.
"Your Majesty is sluggish today," a high-pitched voice tittered. It was Head Eunuch Gao, a man whose face was plastered with so much white powder he looked like a glazed donut. "The Prime Minister is waiting. We must not be late for the Morning Court."
Shen Yi groaned. He glanced at the water clock in the corner. 3:30 AM.
In his previous life as a CEO, Shen Yi was an early riser. He woke up at 5:00 AM for yoga and market analysis. But 3:30 AM? This wasn't discipline. This was a labor violation.
"Get me coffee," Shen Yi croaked. His voice cracked. "Espresso. Double shot."
Eunuch Gao blinked. "Cough-fee? Your Majesty, the Imperial Physician recommends warm goat milk for your developing bones."
Shen Yi stared dead-eyed at the ceiling. Goat milk. "Fine," he whispered. "Dress me. But if you put me in the pink sash again, I will have you audited."
The journey to the Hall of Supreme Harmony was degrading.
Shen Yi refused to walk—partly because his legs were short, but mostly out of protest. He was carried in a yellow sedan chair by eight muscular men.
He sat cross-legged, reviewing the memories of the original owner of this body, Li Chengyuan. The kid had been a blank slate. A terrified, lonely 7-year-old who liked crickets and feared loud noises. The perfect puppet.
Asset audit, Shen Yi thought, closing his eyes and sensing the hum inside his veins. The energy was there. It was terrifying. Deep in his dantian, he didn't feel a trickle of water like the novels described. He felt a star. A dense, heavy, terrifying ball of golden nuclear fusion. The Primordial Sovereign Dragon Physique.
It was currently dormant. If he poked it, he might explode. "Capital reserves are high," he noted. "Liquidity is zero. I have no control over the funds."
"Arriving at the Hall of Supreme Harmony!" a herald shouted.
The Throne Room was designed to intimidate. Massive red pillars, smoke curling from bronze censers, and five hundred of the most powerful men in the Empire kneeling in silence.
Shen Yi was carried to the Dragon Throne. He climbed up. It took effort. The throne was built for a six-foot warrior. He scrambled up the wood, huffing slightly, until he reached the cushion.
And there it was. His nemesis. The Stack.
Three embroidered silk pillows stacked on top of each other. Without them, his legs would stick straight out and he wouldn't be able to see over the desk. With them, he looked like a toddler in a high chair at a fancy restaurant.
Shen Yi sat down. He adjusted his heavy ceremonial hat, which threatened to slide over his eyes. He picked up his "Scepter"—a jade tablet that was comically large in his hands.
"Long Live the Emperor! May he live ten thousand years!"
The chant shook the walls.
Five hundred heads hit the floor.
Shen Yi looked out at the sea of backs. 'My employees. Half of you are embezzling. The other half are incompetent.I need to fire at least 30% of you by Q3.'
"Rise," Shen Yi squeaked. He cleared his throat. He pushed his Qi down, trying to sound older. "Rise."
The voice came out deeper this time. Not a child's voice. It had a strange, resonant hum, like a cello bowed in an empty cathedral. The Ministers shivered. They stood up, glancing nervously at the booster seat.
Prime Minister Wang stepped forward. He was an old man with a beard so long he tucked it into his belt. He looked like a tortoise that had learned to file taxes.
"Your Majesty," Wang droned, opening a scroll that unrolled all the way to the floor. "The agenda for today. First, the ritual selection of tea leaves for the Ancestral Temple. Second, the poetry contest in the Southern Provinces. Third..."
Shen Yi's eye twitched. Filibuster. They were reading the garbage agenda. They were trying to bore him to sleep so they could pass the real laws after he was sent to school.
Shen Yi endured it for ten minutes. 'Tea leaves? Who cares? Authenticate the vendor and move on.' 'Poetry? Subjective value. Irrelevant.'
"Twelfth," Wang continued, "The allocation of 400,000 gold taels for the... ah... renovation of the Summer Palace's ornamental lake."
Shen Yi's ears perked up. The Summer Palace. That was the Empress Dowager's residence. 400,000 taels. That was enough to fund two infantry divisions for a year. And they were spending it on a lake?
"Stop," Shen Yi said.
Prime Minister Wang paused. He looked over his spectacles with a patronizing smile. "Your Majesty? Do you need to use the privy? Eunuch Gao—"
"I said stop," Shen Yi said. He stood up on his pillows. He was still shorter than the desk. He climbed onto the desk itself. Now he was standing on the Imperial table, looming over the Ministers.
"400,000 taels," Shen Yi said. "For a lake."
"It is for the Empress Dowager's peace of mind," Wang said smoothly. "Filial piety is the foundation of the Empire. Surely Your Majesty wants his Royal Mother to be happy?"
The trap was set. If he said no, he was unfilial—a sin in this world. If he said yes, the Treasury bled.
Shen Yi smiled. It was the smile he used when he was about to dismantle a competitor's subsidiary.
"Prime Minister Wang is right," Shen Yi announced. "Filial piety is paramount."
Wang smirked. Easy.
"However," Shen Yi continued, walking to the edge of the desk. "I read the report from the Ministry of Works last night. The current lake is already stocked with golden carp. The water is clear."
He pointed a chubby finger at the Minister of Works. "If the lake needs 400,000 taels of renovation, it must be in terrible disrepair. If the Empress Dowager's lake is in disrepair, that means the Ministry of Works has been negligent."
The Minister of Works went pale. "Your... Your Majesty..."
"Negligence towards the Empress Dowager is a crime," Shen Yi said. His voice dropped. Behind him, the air shimmered. For a split second, the shadow cast by the small boy on the wall didn't match his silhouette. The shadow was massive. Broad-shouldered. Cape billowing.
The pressure in the room spiked. It wasn't Qi. It was Authority. The candles flickered. The Minister of Works felt his knees unlock against his will.
"I will approve the budget," Shen Yi said softly. "But if the lake was so poorly maintained that it needs such a vast sum to fix... then the man responsible should be stripped of his rank and investigated for incompetence."
Shen Yi looked at Prime Minister Wang. "Or... perhaps the lake doesn't need 400,000 taels? Perhaps it was a clerical error? Maybe it only needs... 4,000 taels for some fish food?"
Silence. Absolute, suffocating silence. The Prime Minister looked at the Minister of Works. The Minister of Works looked ready to faint. If they took the money, the Minister went to jail. If they didn't, they lost the embezzlement.
"A... a clerical error!" The Minister of Works squeaked, dropping to his knees. "Your Majesty is wise! It was a typo! 4,000 taels! Only 4,000!"
Shen Yi nodded. The pressure vanished. The massive shadow disappeared. He sat back down on his booster seat.
"Excellent. I love saving money. Proceed to the next item." He picked up his cup of warm goat milk and took a sip. "Disgusting. But the taste of victory is sweet."
The Ministers stared at the child on the throne. Prime Minister Wang wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead. The boy, Wang thought, his hands shaking slightly, isa demon.
"Next item," Shen Yi commanded, kicking his little feet. "And hurry up. I have Math class at seven."