Condemned at Birth

Great Zhou Calendar, eighth year of Jinghe, the second month of winter. The first snow.

A side room in a Side Courtyard of the Wei Residence in the Capital.

Wei Nisheng put down his brush, rubbed his fingers, red from the cold, and looked at the still-wet ink on the paper.

[Frost crowns the tiles of the Wei House's Pure Nobility; one mother bears two sons in separate rooms.

The elder clasped a jade-bound book and climbed the cloud-high hall; the younger drank the leftover broth and lay upon a bed of ice.]

If word got out that a ten-year-old had written something like this, people would probably call him "scheming" and "coldhearted."

But if he had not written it back then, if he had not given the gossip-loving servant women something to chatter about,

if he had not spread this little verse like a folk song, he probably would not even have been able to live in peace in this room.

That was right. Wei Nisheng was not from this world.

He had originally held a doctorate in Chinese language and writing in the modern world, and had been the youngest candidate for academician at the Academy of Social Sciences.

But for that academician's seat,

he had worked himself to death the day before the shortlist was announced.

When he opened his eyes again, he had become the "stillborn" one of the legitimate twin sons of the Wei family, a prestigious scholarly household in Great Zhou.

His elder brother had been born smoothly, while he had come out breech-feet first-and caused his mother to hemorrhage to death.

His grandfather, Wei Zheng, was already a member of the Grand Secretariat. On hearing that he had twin legitimate grandsons, he had been beside himself with joy.

Then he heard that his daughter-in-law had died, and that his younger legitimate grandson was stillborn.

Swung from overwhelming joy to overwhelming grief, he suffered a stroke on the spot and died the very day they carried him home.

Within a single day, both his mother and grandfather were gone.

Then he came back to life, instantly becoming a "calamity star who traded lives."

He had barely drawn breath when he heard his own father say,

"Born feet first, bringing death to your mother and kin.

Ni Sheng... Ni Sheng. Better never to have been born."

Condemned the moment he entered the world, and given the name Ni Sheng—born against the natural order!

And so his name was now exactly the same as in his previous life.

Fortunately, unlike other transmigrators who had ended up as sons of concubines, he was the second legitimate son.

Otherwise, the mere fact that his grandfather, a Grand Secretary, had died on the day he was born

would have guaranteed that he was dashed to death on the spot!

Of course, not being killed but being despised by the entire family was hardly much better.

So Wei Nisheng had begun saving himself as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush.

At least these catchy little verses

made the Wei family, so proud of its scholarly prestige and so concerned with propriety and appearances, rein itself in.

After all, mistreating a legitimate son of their own blood would sound bad if word spread.

So although his winter clothes were thin, at least they were clean.

Although his meals were meager, at least he would not starve.

But that was all.

"Thank goodness I transmigrated."

"If I were an ordinary child, given only a basic education and then dumped in this courtyard for ten years, they'd have ruined me long ago."

With that, Wei Nisheng tucked his hands into his sleeves and looked out the window.

The first snow of the year was light, its tiny flakes settling on the window lattice in a thin layer.

By rights, his room should have had the coal chips allotted to him every month.

But rules were rules, and when the servants carried them out, there was always a little "carelessness."

Ah, have they skimmed off my share again...?

With that thought, Wei Nisheng picked up his brush again and continued writing on the small sheet of paper with the half-cup of ink.

His ten-year-old hands still lacked strength, but his brushwork already showed promise.

Before long, a properly formed character for "Zhou" appeared in regular script.

From being unable to hold a brush steady to producing passable regular script,

Wei Nisheng had achieved it stroke by stroke, practicing for half an hour every day without fail, come thunder or lightning.

At three, his hands had been so small that even holding a brush was difficult, so he had drawn in the sand with a twig.

Only over the next four years had he obtained paper and brushes, though the paper was the cheapest rough bamboo paper.

The ink, too, was pale and watered down, but he did not care.

Because practicing calligraphy was essential.

Wei Nisheng had worked that out very early on.

Especially after learning from his first tutor that, in Great Zhou's imperial examinations, the appearance of the examination paper was the first gate of hell.

One or two wrong characters in an otherwise fine essay could mean a lower grade at best, outright rejection at worst.

If the handwriting was poor, the examiners would not even bother reading the content.

He was a transmigrator, accustomed to simplified characters. He had to learn brush calligraphy from scratch.

And "Zhou" was the name of the dynasty he now lived in.

As for the broad details, he had only learned them when he and his elder brother began their schooling together at four,

through the household tutor's lessons on the history of the reigning dynasty.

Great Zhou took its name from the idea of "the cycle beginning anew, opening a new heaven."

The imperial family bore the surname Jiang. More than a century had passed since the founding, and five generations had held the throne.

Though it was not one of the dynasties he knew from his previous life, Great Zhou's founding Emperor Taizu had certainly been a ruthless man.

He had raised his army the year Zhu Wen usurped the Tang throne, gone south before turning north, destroyed Great Liang, pacified Jiangnan, and dealt with every regional military governor.

In the brutal war that founded his empire, he had shattered the eighty thousand Khitan cavalry of Liao Taizu, Yelü Abaoji, beating him so badly that he died during the retreat.

His successor, Liao Taizong, Yelü Deguang, had obediently submitted a declaration of surrender and withdrawn to the grasslands.

In the sixteenth year, he proclaimed himself emperor, adopted the era name Jianwu, established his capital at the Southern Capital, and founded Great Zhou.

As for just how vast the Great Zhou Dynasty was?

His tutor at the time had been too busy singing Emperor Taizu's praises.

And he himself had not left the Wei Residence in ten years. What the hell did he know?

As he was thinking, someone pushed open the door with a creak.

A gust of cold air swept in, and Wei Nisheng could not help shivering.

The man who entered was Wei An, a study attendant who had been granted the family surname by his grandfather.

He was in his forties, his back slightly stooped, his face as stiff as an old block of wood.

Wei An stood in the doorway. His gaze first swept over the gaps around the window and paused,

then fell on Wei Nisheng's visibly inadequate winter clothing, lingering for a moment,

before finally turning to the paper lying on the desk.

He did not read the poem. He merely stepped forward, grabbed the paper, crumpled it into his robe, and said,

"Second Young Master, the master wants you in the ancestral hall."

Wei Nisheng's heart lurched at those words.

"The ancestral hall? In this snow?"

While Wei Nisheng was still wondering, Wei An had already turned, taken a somewhat worn cloak from the rack, returned, shaken it out, and draped it over his shoulders.

Having done that, he stepped back and waited at the door.

Wei Nisheng asked no more questions. He gathered the cloak around himself and followed.

The moment he stepped outside, grains of snow struck his face, cold against his skin.

"It really is cold today! Isn't it, Uncle Wei?"

At Wei Nisheng's words, Wei An replied only,

"Second Young Master, when it's cold, don't push yourself so hard practicing your writing. Your hands are freezing."

Wei Nisheng smiled at that.

But as he watched Wei An's back ahead of him, an unexpected ache rose in his heart.

He did not remember the events of ten years ago very clearly.

After all, he had only just transmigrated then, and he had been an infant, so he had spent most of his time in a muddled haze.

Only later, by overhearing the private chatter of servants bound by lifelong contracts, had he slowly pieced together what happened.

It turned out that his father had loathed him back then, but could not openly lay hands on him.

So he had passed the word in private, and no one had dared feed him.

In the end, it had been Wei An.

This study attendant had served his grandfather for most of his life, and had long since been granted a surname and his freedom.

All alone, he had carried his grandfather's spirit tablet into the main hall, knelt before his father, and raised the tablet high.

"While the old master lived, he rejoiced because the birth of his younger legitimate grandson meant that the eldest young master, who died too soon, would have an heir! Then he grieved because he mistakenly believed the child was stillborn! That was what killed him!"

"And now, with the old master scarcely gone, you mean to starve his legitimate grandson to death-the legitimate heir who carries on the eldest young master's line?!"

"If you dare stand by today and let your own legitimate son starve, tomorrow the whole Capital will hear of it.

The Wei family's new head cannot tolerate his dead elder brother's orphan! A man devoid of virtue and decency!

The old master's name for Pure Nobility, upheld all his life, will be destroyed in the hands of an unfilial son like you, who honors neither father nor brother!"

For a moment, his words split stone and shook the heavens.

Apparently, his father had turned livid, held over the flames of "Pure Nobility" and "filial and fraternal duty."

But Wei An was the only trusted servant whose contract his grandfather had released, whom he had granted a surname and treated almost as family. His father could not touch him.

In the end, he could only sweep his sleeves and leave.

That was how Wei Nisheng's life had been saved.

But because of it, Wei An had thoroughly offended his father.

Before long, he had been sent from the main courtyard to this Side Courtyard, ostensibly to "look after the second young master," but in truth to share his exile.

Throughout all the years Wei Nisheng had grown up, Wei An had never said much.

Yet every winter, someone quietly stuffed old strips of cloth into the gaps around the window.

His winter clothes were thin, but every year they were an inch longer than the year before.

Wei An said nothing.

But Wei Nisheng knew it all.

In this vast Wei Residence, there was only one person who truly treated him well.

"Second Young Master."

Wei An suddenly stopped and turned to look at him.

The sky was gray, and snow settled on his graying temples without melting.

"It's cold. Walk faster."

Wei Nisheng paused, then nodded, pulled his cloak a little tighter, and quickened his steps.

He did not understand why his father had suddenly summoned him to the ancestral hall in this snow.

But it certainly would not be anything good.