EHW Ch3

This was the third time Gu Fangzhi had used the save-load system to rewind.

Once you’ve done it once, the second time comes easier.
That strange motion-sickness from rewinding time faded much faster now.

Last time, he hadn’t even managed to speak before Pei Xin ordered his death.
This time, he decided to strike first.

Gu Fangzhi lifted his gaze and met Pei Xin’s.

That look was wary, probing, testing.

Before the emperor could sentence him again, Gu Fangzhi spoke quickly:

“Your Majesty, though this humble subject is of little worth, I happen to know certain secrets unknown to others. I am willing to devote myself wholly to Your Majesty’s service, to sweep the land clean of threats and secure the empire.”

Since moral remonstrance didn’t work, he would have to take another route, show Pei Xin his value.

After all, while playing the game, he’d indeed gathered plenty of information through the intel system, from the borders and garrisons of neighboring states though he remembered none of them to trivial gossip, like which minister in which country secretly kept a male lover.

He was about to give an example when, from the dais, Pei Xin lifted a finger, halting him.

“If that’s so,” said Pei Xin coolly, “then I suppose I should address you as ‘Sir.’”

Even counting all the resets, Gu Fangzhi had spent less than half an hour facing Pei Xin,
but he’d already learned one thing, the emperor’s way of speaking was impossible to read.

By reason, that line should have been sarcasm, mocking Gu Fangzhi’s presumptuousness.
Yet Pei Xin seemed to mean it literally: he even waved the guards away.

Gu Fangzhi blinked in confusion, then quickly bowed.

“My thanks, Your Majesty.”

Pei Xin made a neutral sound, neither pleased nor angry.

After confirming, trembling, that he really wasn’t going to die this time, Gu Fangzhi immediately saved.

When the message Save Successful appeared before his eyes, he exhaled deeply.

But a new problem arose,

His own life was spared, yet the other ministers still had their necks on the chopping block.

They were honest men, loyal and outspoken. Gu Fangzhi couldn’t just stand by and watch them die.

So how could he keep them alive too?

When playing games with save features, Gu Fangzhi had a habit: whenever he reached a decision point, he’d keep reloading, listening to the same lines of dialogue again and again.

It gave him a smug sense of control, like a diligent student who’d finished all his homework
watching others still panic before class.

Now he did the same, loading save 1 repeatedly.

That save point was fixed right at Pei Xin’s command:

“Drag them out and behead them.”

“Drag them out and behead…”

“Drag them out…”

“Drag…”

“Drag drag drag drag drag…”

Just as he switched again to save 2, Pei Xin’s low voice echoed across the hall:

“…Enough.”

Enough?

Gu Fangzhi froze, glancing up along with everyone else.

Beneath the curtain of jade beads, the emperor’s already pale face looked drained of blood.
His long fingers rubbed at his temple in small, unconscious motions, clearly vexed.

Without further explanation, Pei Xin said,

“Court is dismissed.”

He rose and walked off without waiting for anyone to respond.

The attending eunuchs hurried to follow.

The chief eunuch bowed low and asked carefully,

“Your Majesty… shall we still carry out the executions?”

Pei Xin’s thin lips twitched, and a cold laugh slipped out.

Execute?

Execute, my ass.

Every time he tried, that sorcerer Gu Fangzhi trapped him in some cursed loop.
Utterly infuriating.

Pei Xin said nothing, but the eunuch read his mood from his expression and quickly gestured for the guards to stand down.

The ministers all let out breaths of relief.

No one dared linger; under the rites officer’s lead, they hastily bowed toward Pei Xin’s departing back and rushed out of the hall.

Gu Fangzhi remained kneeling a moment, pressing a hand to his chest with a long sigh.

He didn’t know why Pei Xin had suddenly changed his mind, but at least the morning court had ended perfectly, with no casualties.

That meant Pei Xin was now one step further from becoming a tyrant who slaughtered the innocent.

He was still thinking this when a pair of blue official boots stopped before him.

“Master Gu, are you unwell? Shall I help you up?”

The voice was bright and young. Gu Fangzhi recognized it, it belonged to the man who’d tugged his robe earlier, whispering for him to keep his head down and not anger the emperor.

Gu Fangzhi rose and got a good look at him.

The youth was dressed as a civil official like himself, eighteen or nineteen at most, his face still a little boyish, though his brows carried a lively spark.

Seeing a new character appear, Gu Fangzhi’s first instinct was, to save.

He overwrote save 1, then asked the boy,

“And you are…?”

“Huh?” The youth laughed. “Don’t joke, Master Gu.”

“I hit my head this morning,” Gu Fangzhi said calmly. “I’m dizzy and truly can’t remember.”

“Are you all right? Should I fetch a physician?”

“No need. I just can’t recall people very well right now,” Gu Fangzhi said. “Would you mind introducing yourself?”

Though not yet a full-fledged teacher, as a trainee from a normal university, Gu Fangzhi had done plenty of practice lectures, and his tone now was pure homeroom teacher.

And no one can ever refuse a homeroom teacher.

The young man blinked, still looking worried, but obediently introduced himself:

“My surname is Song, name Jingzhou. I serve with you in the Ministry of Rites.
My home is in Yangzhou, my father’s a small merchant there…”

Song Jingzhou.

The moment Gu Fangzhi heard that name, he knew exactly who the boy was.

He was a rather popular character from Founding Emperor.

In a time when the civil examination’s passing rate had dropped to a mere ten percent, he had managed to earn his degree and enter government service, a true prodigy, young and already accomplished.

Song Jingzhou devoted himself wholly to helping the common people and serving the realm.

Unfortunately, fate had dealt him the worst possible hand, his emperor was the late sovereign, and then Pei Xin.

His ambitions came to nothing; his brilliance was buried beneath the dust.

As Pei Xin grew ever more cruel and paranoid, Song’s colleagues and friends were imprisoned, executed, or ruined.

In the end, Song Jingzhou defected to the protagonist’s side, serving as the strategist who guided the rebellion to victory.

But he had always been a scholar, not a soldier.

The endless campaigns on the battlefield wore his frail body down, and illness came again and again until he grew too weak to recover.

He died the night before the protagonist conquered Great Qi, inside a shabby carriage, his eyes closing as if drifting into sleep, never to witness the peace he had fought for.

Founding Emperor hadn’t been a high-budget game.

At first, every character’s portrait was just a free stock sprite from the web.

Only after the game went viral did the devs begin to commission custom designs.

But even those portraits were nothing compared to seeing a real, living person.

Now, the sickly strategist who coughed blood in the game and the bright-eyed youth before him seemed to overlap, the same face, the same soul.

Song Jingzhou waved a hand in front of him.

“Master Gu? Master Gu? Are you unwell? Should I fetch a doctor.”

Gu Fangzhi didn’t reply.

He opened his interface and loaded a save.

Time rewound to the moment before he’d asked Song Jingzhou to introduce himself.

Smiling familiarly, Gu Fangzhi said,

“Brother Song, I’m fine.”

Song Jingzhou, unsuspecting, nodded.

The two left the Hall of Supreme Harmony together.
A few officials stood waiting outside; the moment they saw Gu Fangzhi emerge, they smiled broadly and hurried over, as if they had been waiting just for him.

“Master Gu, congratulations, congratulations!”

“Congratulations?” Gu Fangzhi blinked, absentmindedly saving again as he asked, “For what?”

“You’re too modest.”

A middle-aged official with a goatee stroked his beard, smiling. “Your remonstrance today, every word was earnest and powerful! Even His Majesty called you Teacher Gu.”

The man lowered his voice, eyes gleaming.

“That makes you the Emperor’s Mentor.”

The Emperor’s Mentor?

What an enormous hat to wear, one even higher than Pei Xin’s crown!

If the emperor decided he didn’t like it, heads would roll again!

Just the thought of Pei Xin’s moody, unpredictable gaze made Gu Fangzhi feel a chill down his spine.

“I merely did my duty as a court official,” Gu Fangzhi said quickly. “Anyone here would have done the same.”

It was a reasonable thing to say, but coming from this Gu Fangzhi, the man known for greed and cowardice, it sounded more like a self-serving act than humility.

Although he looked a little clearer and calmer than usual, none of them truly believed he’d changed.

They only chuckled and said,

“When you rise higher, Master Gu, don’t forget your old colleagues.”

When they finally left, Gu Fangzhi saved again and turned to Song Jingzhou.

“Who were those officials again?”

Song Jingzhou blinked, puzzled.

“…Huh?”

Gu Fangzhi smoothly improvised,

“You’re new to the bureaucracy. You must memorize every official’s name and post. I’m testing you.”

“Ah!” Song brightened. “The one leading was our Minister of Rites, Lord He Rang. The man with the goatee was Vice Minister Wang…”

Gu Fangzhi quietly noted down each name, then loaded the save back to before he asked.

He could’ve asked for all the names in one go, then reloaded to skip the conversation.
But honestly, chatting with bureaucrats once was more than enough, doing it again would be torture.

Besides, all AVG players shared one habit: Save every three steps, save again every five.
Frequent saving was in his blood.

And so, through this roundabout method, Gu Fangzhi gradually learned the names of half the officials at court.

When his carriage awaited him outside the palace walls, he turned to Song Jingzhou before parting and said sincerely,

“Thank you.”

Song Jingzhou blinked, not realizing how many times Gu Fangzhi had “tested” him under that pretense.

He smiled innocently, like someone sold off but still counting the money for his seller, delighted by how valuable he’d turned out to be.

“Thank me? For what?”

Hall of Mental Cultivation.

Pei Xin stood motionless before a table.

The eunuch attendant, Yang Luhai, watched from the side, heart pounding.

Aside from being sharper-featured, Pei Xin was the spitting image of the late emperor,
mercurial, unreadable, and terrifying.

You could never tell when he might have you dragged out and beheaded.

Right now, that cold expression was fixed upon a teacup, as if he were furious with it.

Yang Luhai swallowed nervously and ventured,

“Your Majesty… does this tea set displease you?”

Pei Xin turned his head slowly.

His voice was cold as if soaked in ice water.

“Sixteen times.”

“S-sixteen… what?”

Sixteen times.

He had only wanted to take a sip of tea.

But from the doorway of his chamber to this table, he had walked back and forth, again and again, sixteen times.

That damned Gu Fangzhi.