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If the story recorded in Cangyuan was a history that had never happened, then the many events that had been glossed over or left inexplicable in his previous life had, in this life, become upheavals that decided the life and death of countless people.

But by now, Xu Yuan's position and the information available to him had already allowed him to tease apart the threads hidden beneath the surface of history.

The collapse of the Prime Minister's Estate in Cangyuan had not truly been abrupt. The seeds of disaster had been planted long, long ago. A thousand-mile dike could collapse from an ant hole; decades of rapid expansion, the Northern Border's defeat, Li Yaoxuan's death, the rupture between emperor and Prime Minister—each of these had accelerated the festering of that seed.

The Prime Minister's Mansion in Cangyuan had launched a war by force while dragging along a Great Yan court riddled with holes, beset by troubles without and within.

Thus, defeat had also been ordained by fate.

Xu Yuan often wondered whether that old man on that timeline had known all this, and whether he had known it was a journey destined to fail.

He probably had known.

But how could a path one had spent an entire lifetime walking be abandoned just because one said so?

In the end, there was still a lingering grievance that could not be laid to rest.

Therefore, Even knowing he would become a blade in the hands of those lurking in the shadows, Even knowing he would never see the dawn of victory, The Prime Minister of Great Yan had still chosen to press forward without turning back, toward the realm he desired.

The situation facing the Prime Minister's Mansion now was already far better than the internal and external troubles in Cangyuan,