The first thing Lián Xù registered was the smell.
Not the stale coffee and old books of his apartment, but a cloying mix of burnt incense, dusty wool, and something damp hiding beneath it all.
He opened his eyes to a ceiling lost in shadow, supported by dark beams carved with unfriendly, coiled creatures.
Sunlight forced its way through a high, narrow window, cutting a blade of white across the room. It illuminated a galaxy of swirling dust motes and landed on a tapestry hanging on the opposite wall.
The scene depicted a triumphant battle, but the threads were faded, and a long, brownish water stain cut across the charging horses like a scar.
A voice, raw and furious, shattered the silence, vibrating up through the stone floor.
"WHERE IS THE EMPEROR? DOES HE STILL SLEEP WHILE THE KINGDOM BLEEDS?"
Lián Xù pushed himself up on his elbows. The muscles in his arms and back pulled in unfamiliar ways. He looked down at the hands braced against the mattress. They were long-fingered, pale, and soft, utterly devoid of the callus from years of holding a pen.
He turned them over, staring at the clean, unblemished palms.
Huh? These aren't mine.
The door flew inward, crashing against the wall.
A boy—couldn't have been more than thirteen—tripped over his own feet in his rush to enter.
His livery, a garish mix of crimson and gold, was too large, the sleeves swallowing his hands.
"Your Majesty!"
The boy's voice was a terrified squeak.
"The court—they're gathering! The Chancellor is in the hall, saying you're avoiding morning court again. The nobles are arguing!"
Lián Xù's mind scrambled.
Majesty? Chancellor?
His mouth felt dry.
He just needed a moment.
Just a second to think.
Lián Xù raised his right hand, palm out, a gentle, universal sign for stop, wait, give me a minute to process.
The page didn't wait.
He flinched as if the raised hand were a whip, his eyes widening from fear into something like reverence.
He dropped into a bow so deep his forehead nearly touched the floor.
"Y-you wish for silence, Your Majesty? A wise and subtle tactic!"
The boy bowed deeply, backing away with newfound reverence.
"I shall convey your majestic composure!"
He scrambled backward, never turning his back, and pulled the door shut with a soft, definitive click.
Lián Xù stared at the space where the boy had been, his own hand still hanging in the air.
He hadn't said a word.
Okay, he thought, lowering his arm slowly.
So a raised palm here doesn't mean 'wait.'
It means 'I am deploying a silent tactic.'
The cultural translation error was already catastrophic.
He let out a long, measured breath—a sound immediately swallowed by the distant, unmistakable chaos from the hall beyond: shouts, the clatter of dropped items, a symphony of panic.
The turmoil outside wasn't just panic; it was the sound of a sinking ship.
He waited for his own panic to rise, but it didn't. Instead, a hyper-clarity took hold.
His mind felt like a cold, still lake, reflecting the insane facts: Foreign body. Grand, dusty room. He was still cataloging it.
It was then, as he was still grappling with the sheer, absurd scale of the misunderstanding, that a new presence etched itself into the heart of his consciousness.
[Heavenly Misjudgement System Initializing.]
Lián Xù went perfectly still. His eyebrows twitched. He tilted his head, unsure if it was the system or a new hallucination. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, subtly adjusting the sleeve of his inner robe.
[Host Located: Lián Xù.
Designation: Sovereign of Azure Rivers Kingdom
Continent: Broken Rivers Continent.
Realm: Heaven Soaring Realm.
Continent Rank: 23/23.]
Not a voice from outside. This was inside his skull. System? The term surfaced from a deep well of fragmented, other-life memories.
[Welcome, Host, to the Heaven Soaring Realm. You currently reside within one of its twenty-three constituent continents: the Broken Rivers Continent.
Your current designated role: Azure River Emperor.
Status: Newly crowned]
A flood of information, clean and clinical, followed. It wasn't a story; it was a grim briefing. He adjusted the inner robe at his shoulders, shifted his feet again, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
The Heaven Soaring Realm.
A place of immortal cultivators and warring factions.
The Broken Rivers Continent was the weakest of the twenty-three—a resource-barren, spiritually withered backwater. Its lands were starved of vital energy, its rivers running thin with diluted essence. And here, in this exhausted continent, lay his Azure River Kingdom.
So… I transmigrated? And I have a System?
Of course—the Goldfinger of all transmigrators.
And then—a surge of strange, private excitement hit him.
Wait. This… this is real.
Lián Xù had read enough Xianxia novels to recognize the signs. Warring factions, immortal cultivators, mystical techniques, spiritual energy rippling in the air—he had transmigrated into a world straight out of his favorite stories.
Finally. Real cultivation. Real power. Real adventure!
He could almost feel the energy of the world brushing against him, the latent potential calling his name. He closed his eyes, grinning inwardly.
He would be a prodigy, a genius, a legendary cultivator, blazing a path through history like every protagonist he'd admired.
Then he opened his eyes again and… froze.
Zero cultivation. Nothing.
The system spat out a summary in his mind:
[Sovereign Profile: Null Cultivation. Depleted Treasury. Negative Prestige.]
Lián Xù frowned, tilting his head as he tried to process just how absurd his new reality had become.
Lian Xu, as the newly crowned emperor, was a legend of incompetence: a wastrel without cultivation, an empty treasury, and a throne still steaming with the memory of a father who had perished a few days earlier, felled by… let's say, excessive extracurricular activities with one of the imperial court's newest consorts.
Null cultivation? He blinked.
The thrill drained like water from a leaking vessel. Not just low. Not just weak. Absolute zero. Every dream of breaking through sects, mastering divine arts, soaring in the skies—gone.
Lián Xù let out a long, incredulous sigh, forehead resting on the cool bedpost.
So… I transmigrated into a world of cultivators, but I'm the weakest possible emperor?
Uwaaa....Gods! Why are you doing this to me?!