Shen City was worse than Qin Wang Shan had expected.
No, worse than the memories of the original owner of this body.
From inside the carriage, Qin Wang Shan gazed out silently as the city slowly came into view. The stone walls surrounding Shen City were cracked and worn, bearing the scars of neglect. The city gates stood crooked, half-rotted, as if they might collapse with a single strong gust of wind.
This was the city he had been sent to govern.
The city was assigned to the seventh and youngest prince of the Qing Shang Empire.
"So, this is Shen City…" he murmured.
The guards escorting the carriage looked exhausted. Their armor was mismatched and poorly maintained, and even their horses appeared thin and weak. It was clear that supplies here were scarce.
Once the carriage passed through the gates, the situation became even more obvious.
The streets were narrow and uneven. Wooden buildings leaned at awkward angles, some barely held together by crude planks. There were a few shops, and most of them displayed little more than empty shelves.
As the carriage moved forward, the citizens watched quietly.
There were no cheers. No excitement.
Only guarded eyes filled with resignation.
This was not how subjects welcomed a prince.
Qin Wang Shan understood immediately.
Shen City had been abandoned long ago.
A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes as memories surfaced, memories that did not belong to him, yet now felt inseparable.
Shen City was poor. Its population was small.
Trade routes avoided it.
Taxes rarely reached the imperial treasury in Wu Shen.
To the imperial court, this city was nothing more than a burden.
That was why he had been sent here.
A weak prince ruling a useless city out of sight, out of mind.
The carriage finally stopped in front of the city lord's residence. Calling it a residence felt generous. The once-grand building was rundown, its pillars chipped and cracked. The courtyard was overgrown with weeds, and the stone path beneath Qin Wang Shan's feet was uneven as he stepped down. A small group of officials hurried forward and knelt.
"This humble servant greets His Highness, Prince Qin Wang Shan," an elderly man said respectfully.
Qin Wang Shan studied them quietly. Their robes were faded. Their backs were stiff, not from discipline, but from fear. These were men who had lived too long without hope.
"Rise," Qin Wang Shan said calmly.
Inside the residence, the atmosphere was no better.
The halls were quiet and empty. Servants moved cautiously, avoiding eye contact. Supplies were limited, and even the lamps burned dimly, as if oil itself was precious. That night, Qin Wang Shan stood alone in the courtyard, gazing at the dark sky above Shen City. This was no longer the modern world he had died in. This was the Qin Shang Empire, a world ruled by power, bloodline, and survival.
And he was no longer Chan Xingfan.
He was Qin Wang Shan, the youngest prince discarded, exiled, and nearly assassinated.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"In my past life, I had nothing," he said softly. "No power. No purpose."
The night wind brushed against his robes as he looked out over the sleeping city.
"But now…"
His eyes sharpened.
"…I've been given a city."
The imperial court in Wu Shen would never expect anything from Shen City or from him.
Which meant one thing. No one would notice if he changed everything.
"Shen City," Qin Wang Shan murmured, "will be where I begin."
This time
He would not be discarded again.