Chapter One: A Game? Transmigration!

“The Emperor ascended the throne amid trouble and strife—rebels led by Li Zicheng sweeping through the south like wildfire, while in the north, the Later Jin eyed the Central Plains with predatory intent. With enemies pressing from both fronts, the Emperor yearned to destroy his foes, but was stretched beyond his limits. In history, the last emperors were often villains beyond redemption; only the Chongzhen Emperor, a ruler with the heart to govern, was simply born in the wrong era. Alas, what a pity!”

Reading this all-too-familiar passage once more, Zhu Hao heaved a long sigh. He was a descendant of the Zhu family, living in the twenty-first century.

More than three hundred and sixty years had passed since the fall of the Ming dynasty, but as a scion of the imperial Zhu line, his father had made him study Ming history from a young age, bidding him remember the glory of his ancestors. Though Zhu Hao had always dreamed of becoming a scientist, under his father’s relentless pressure, he could now recite the entire history of the Ming by heart.

Zhu Hao graduated from a prestigious university in China as a top student of the physics department. He had once had the chance to enter the Academy of Social Sciences, but that dream ended abruptly after he got into a heated argument about the legacy of the Chongzhen Emperor, Zhu Youjian. The other party had hurled insults at the emperor, and Zhu Hao, despite his education, could not hold back—he rolled up his sleeves and got into a brawl.

A minor skirmish between classmates would have been nothing, but the person he struck happened to be the child of a high-ranking official in the Academy. Thus, Zhu Hao’s ambition to join the Academy was crushed.

As a physics prodigy, he knew little of life beyond research. After graduation, he drifted at home for over a year, aimless and idle.

His days were filled with online games, web novels, and heated debates with internet pundits on forums. His father, though deeply dissatisfied with Zhu Hao’s state, could only sigh and walk away in silence. To his father, his son’s actions were justified—defending the family honor was no crime. If there was any fault, perhaps it lay with the world itself. Had it been three hundred sixty years ago in the Ming era, anyone daring to show disrespect to the Zhu family would have faced annihilation of nine generations.

Each time Zhu Hao saw his father’s forlorn figure passing by, he felt a pang of guilt. He had always prided himself on his strength, yet now he was nothing more than a layabout. He loathed himself more with each passing day, though the feeling would soon fade—he would be distracted by a new website ad for a game.

This particular game was developed jointly by China’s ten leading gaming companies, who had poured vast sums and over a decade of research into its creation. It was said that donning the gaming helmet would immerse the player fully, as if transported into another world. Zhu Hao had first heard about the game as a high schooler, but what had caught his attention was not its touted realism, but its setting: the turbulent last years of the Ming dynasty. The game, called “Who Will Rule the Ming’s End?” was a competitive online strategy game.

Seeing the closed beta announcement, Zhu Hao immediately checked his wallet. His father’s “subsistence fund” had only a little over two thousand yuan left—just enough for the gaming helmet. Without a second thought for how he would eat for the rest of the month, Zhu Hao bought the helmet online.

Though an avid netizen, Zhu Hao was never much of a gamer. The reason for his impulsive purchase was the game’s special significance to him. In his view, the question of who would rule at the end of the Ming was no question at all—the Zhu family alone had the legitimacy, not Li Zicheng the rebel, nor the nomads of Later Jin. He wanted to use the game to prove that, even after three hundred sixty years, the Ming’s legacy belonged to the House of Zhu.

After three days of eager waiting, the helmet finally arrived via city courier. Following the instructions, Zhu Hao connected the device to his computer, heart pounding with anticipation. He put on the helmet, pressed the power button, and waited for the startup chime.

But disaster struck—sudden, excruciating pain wracked his body, followed by violent convulsions, and then, darkness.

The next morning, every major newspaper in China ran the story: the fully immersive game “Who Will Rule the Ming’s End?” developed by the nation’s top ten gaming companies, had been struck by tragedy.

According to reports, a player had suffered an electric shock and lost consciousness after putting on the helmet. Despite hours of emergency treatment, the hospital declared him dead.

The news was a cold shower for the eager gaming community, and brought public embarrassment to the ten companies involved.

Yet, these companies were powerful and wealthy. Their strongest PR teams sprang into action, spinning the story and offering Zhu Hao’s family a large sum of hush money, hoping to stifle any trouble. Though Zhu Hao’s father was unwilling to let the matter rest, he knew he was powerless to fight such giants and had no choice but to accept the generous compensation and give Zhu Hao a dignified funeral.

The companies issued a statement, calling the fatal accident a freak occurrence. To ensure player safety, they halted distribution of the helmets, replacing them with more advanced and secure gaming pods—though each pod cost dozens of times more than a helmet.

Still, the promise of full immersion drew countless players. As for Zhu Hao, the unfortunate soul at the heart of it all, he was soon forgotten.

But was Zhu Hao truly dead?

Strictly speaking, he had vanished from this world, but that did not mean he had ceased to exist. Perhaps, in another realm, he would be born anew.

When Zhu Hao opened his eyes again, he saw a noble and beautiful woman, her face etched with worry, holding him tightly and murmuring, “Youjian, you frightened your mother so! If anything happened to you, I couldn’t go on living!” As she spoke, the woman clung to him, weeping softly, then continued in a chiding tone, “Didn’t I tell you not to run about? Now look—you’ve bumped your head on the rockery! See how swollen it is. Let’s see if you still dare to run wild next time!”

Zhu Hao had just regained consciousness. The last thing he remembered was the electric shock from the helmet, but the scene before him was baffling. Had he entered the game world? Was this beautiful woman an NPC?

Although not a hardcore gamer, Zhu Hao had played his share of online games and knew that all NPCs had quests to give. He never imagined he’d be so lucky as to land a quest the moment he arrived.

Since the woman claimed to be his mother, Zhu Hao played along, saying, “Mother, I’m fine—don’t cry. Do you have a quest for me? Please tell me quickly; my time is very valuable!”

“What?” The woman started, quickly releasing her hold and shouting, “Shuangxi! Shuangxi! Fetch the imperial physician at once! The Fifth Prince must have injured his head—he’s speaking nonsense!”

Just as she finished, a dainty girl of about fifteen or sixteen responded and dashed out.

The woman bent down again, gently caressing Zhu Hao’s head. “Youjian, what’s wrong with you? Don’t scare your mother. You are all I have in this world.” With that, tears welled in her eyes and fell, one by one.

At first, Zhu Hao thought this was all part of the game’s plot. But after a moment, he sensed something was off—why did the woman have to stoop to caress his head? She didn’t seem taller than him. He looked at his own hand, and the sight nearly made him faint: his hands were small, delicate, and flawless—clearly a child’s!

What was going on? How could these be his hands? Had he become a child? For the first time, Zhu Hao doubted that he was in a game. No game would shrink a player into a child upon entry; even full immersion games mapped your real-life appearance one-to-one. This was something else entirely.

Thoughts raced through his mind. Just then, the girl called Shuangxi returned with a middle-aged man carrying a medicine chest. He was in such a hurry that beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

Led by Shuangxi, the man hurried forward, knelt, and said, “Imperial Physician Sun Hong, at your service, Consort Liu.”

The woman quickly replied, “No need for formalities, Doctor. The Fifth Prince was playing outside and accidentally hit his head. Now his words are confused. Please examine him—if his head is injured, I must report to the Emperor at once. Otherwise, neither you nor I can bear the consequences.”

The physician’s face grew grave at her words—this was a matter of utmost importance. He opened his medicine chest, took out a pulse pillow, and gently placed his three fingers on Zhu Hao’s slender wrist.

He nodded, then shook his head, which only increased the woman’s distress. With tears in her eyes, she pressed him, “Doctor, how is the Fifth Prince’s condition?”