The first snow of the Jiajing era arrived earlier than usual.
When Lin Zhao awoke, the first sensation he felt was not cold, but rather a strange warmth—the final hallucination of a dying man, the false comfort manufactured by endorphins released by the brain under extreme hypothermia. His consciousness floated in some transcendent state, interweaving his Harvard Kennedy School lectures on "institutional transplantation" with the blurred snowy landscape before his eyes.
"Path dependence..." he murmured to himself, his lips already purple from frostbite, "the irreversibility of... institutional change..."
As a Ph.D. in political science from Harvard Kennedy School, Lin Zhao's final scene before his transmigration had been researching literature on "new institutionalism" in the library. He held an almost religious faith in the American constitutional system, firmly believing it to be "the end of human history," the ultimate form of all civilizational development. The title of his doctoral dissertation was "A Study on the Feasibility of Institutional Transplantation: Taking the Democratization Process of Developing Countries as an Example." Its core argument was: as long as institutions were properly designed, any country could complete constitutional transformation within a single generation.
And now, lying in the snow on the outskirts of Anlu Prefecture, Huguang Province, in the Great Ming of 1521, he was about to become the first—and possibly last—experimental subject of this theory.
"Your Highness, there's a frozen man here!"
The voice came from very far away, as if separated by a thick layer of cotton. Lin Zhao struggled to open his eyes and saw several figures in Ming Dynasty attire swaying in the wind and snow. His brain was still processing everything before him in modern academic language: the style of dress... should be the late Zhengde era... the ceremonial procession of a local prince... the Prince of Xing's residence?
"Is he still alive?" a young voice asked, carrying an arrogance that Lin Zhao would later come to know all too well.
"Replying to Your Highness, he still has breath."
Lin Zhao felt someone help him up, and a bowl of warm ginger soup poured down his throat. His consciousness gradually cleared, and what came into view was a young, handsome face—about fifteen or sixteen years old, with an innate nobility between his brows and eyes. But the light flashing in those eyes made Lin Zhao feel a trace of unease. That was not the gaze of an ordinary youth, but rather... how should one put it... the gaze of a "winner."
"Who are you? Why have you frozen to death here?" the young prince asked.
Lin Zhao's brain raced. He knew this was 1521, that the Zhengde Emperor Zhu Houzhao had just died, and that the Great Ming was on the eve of a succession crisis. And the person before him... if his guess was correct, was Zhu Houcong, the future Jiajing Emperor, the heir apparent of the Prince of Xing.
This was a historic moment. Lin Zhao felt a burst of ecstasy—not the joy of survival, but rather the near-perfect experimental opportunity for a political science researcher. He could put his theory into practice in this time and space, "transplant" the American constitutional system to the Great Ming, and create an unprecedented "American Great Ming."
"This commoner... is Lin Zhao..." he spoke with difficulty, "from... a distant... New World..."
"New World?" The prince raised an eyebrow. "What place is that?"
"A place... with advanced institutions..." Lin Zhao said weakly, "where... power is constrained... and the people enjoy freedom..."
The prince's eyes lit up. Lin Zhao would later learn that this light meant he had found a tool to be used—a strange person who understood "advanced institutions," just what he needed to deal with those annoying civil officials.
"Take him back," the prince commanded. "This prince will personally interrogate this... person from the New World."
Lin Zhao was carried onto a carriage and wrapped in thick cotton quilts. In the jolting rhythm of the carriage, his consciousness blurred once more, but the corners of his mouth held a faint smile. He knew that his "institutional transplantation" experiment was about to begin.