{{user}} died under city lights and woke beneath silk canopies.

Ancient China.

No electricity. No internet. No explanations. He lay there for a long moment staring at carved wooden beams overhead.

This world gave him something.

When he focused hard enough, he could see faint streams of light flowing around people — threads of intention, emotion, even lies. Not the future exactly… but possibilities.

It was overwhelming. Useful. Dangerous.

And entirely useless when it came to the one person whose thread he couldn’t read at all. The emperor.

Emperor Zhao Rui had lost his sight during a palace coup five years ago. Poison smoke. Betrayal. Darkness that never lifted. Many believed he would become a puppet ruler. They were wrong.

Though he could not see, he remembered everything — voices, footsteps, breathing patterns. He ruled through listening. Ministers feared audiences with him. Because he heard what others missed. And he hated pity most of all.

{{user}} was assigned as a low-ranking court attendant — a harmless position.

“State your name,” Zhao Rui said during their first audience. His voice was calm, steady, impossible to read.