Chapter One: The Restless Prince

Northern Song Dynasty, the early years of the Xuanhe reign, Eastern Capital Bianliang.

The city of Bianliang was famed as the "Sleepless City of the East." When night fell, dazzling lanterns illuminated the metropolis until it shone as bright as day, making one feel as if they had stepped into a fairy-tale world.

Yet, no matter how prosperous or lively a city, there were always its dark corners...

Zhao Yu, clad in a short-sleeved black archer’s jacket and holding an iron ruler, stood with piercing eyes on the steps of a dim alleyway, accompanied by two sturdy guards.

Before him, a throng of youths about his age crowded the alley, clutching wooden sticks, iron rulers, and other assorted weapons, their faces eager and restless, awaiting action.

Tonight, Zhao Yu had gathered his men here for a showdown with another gang of roughs from the city’s southern district. The victor would become the unrivaled boss of the southern quarter.

The permanent population of Eastern Capital Bianliang had long since surpassed a million. In such a vast city, turf wars and gang fights erupted daily in various corners. As long as no one was killed, the constables of Kaifeng Prefecture generally turned a blind eye, for there were simply too many incidents to handle.

Zhao Yu, nicknamed "Little Yu," was the leading figure of the rising faction in the south. Frank and loyal, he was well respected by his peers, who willingly followed his command.

But no one knew that this "Little Yu" possessed another illustrious identity—he was the eighth son of Emperor Huizong himself, the illustrious Prince Yi.

A high-born prince, mingling with street gangs and brawling in alleys—was that not astonishing enough? Yet, the most extraordinary fact was that the soul inhabiting Prince Yi was that of an old spirit from the twenty-first century, who had taken possession of this body.

Thus, the current Prince Yi was, in fact, a bona fide transmigrator.

Having crossed into the body of a royal prince in ancient times, what fool would forsake a life of luxury for the perilous streets, risking exposure and impeachment? Had this fellow been kicked in the head by a donkey?

Zhao Yu had not, of course, suffered any such mishap. Rather, as a transmigrator, he was well aware of the calamities that would befall the Northern Song in years to come.

The Jingkang Incident—Emperor Huizong and Emperor Qinzong, two catastrophic failures, would squander their ancestral legacy, implicate countless innocent people, and even see their wives, children, and extended families all swept away by the Jurchens. Such a scene defies the word "tragic."

If Zhao Yu, now part of the royal family in this era, did nothing, his fate was foreseeable. Yet, as a mere idle prince, he had neither troops nor authority—how could he possibly change anything?

Moreover, the governmental structure of the late Northern Song left little room for altering history through legitimate means. The only chance lay in forging another path.

Zhao Yu’s predecessor, the former Eighth Prince, had been an unusual character—unlike other royal scions, he cared little for power or the idle, decadent pursuits of his peers. He shunned scholarship, harboring only the desire to reign as a street king.

This peculiarity gave Zhao Yu an inkling: if he could find a way to leave the capital, perhaps he could leverage his princely status to accomplish something meaningful.

In the Song Dynasty, princes were not like those of the Ming, who were sent off to their fiefs to wreak havoc. In the Song, unless the emperor commanded otherwise, a prince remained obediently in the capital. And even when sent to a domain, he wielded no true power.

Yet being powerless did not mean one could do nothing. There was one thing, however, that was indispensable: silver.

The Song was never short of silver, and a prince’s stipend was generous. But such funds were sufficient only for debauchery, far from enough to fulfill Zhao Yu’s ambitions.

And in any era, the true money-makers were the powerful underworld gangs. Zhao Yu had set his sights on this path—he would become not just a street boss of the past, but a fully licensed one.

Zhao Yu’s birth mother had been Consort Liu, who died young from illness. Before her death, she entrusted the young Zhao Yu to Empress Zheng, her close confidante.

Empress Zheng had once borne a son, but the child died young. Thereafter, she had only two daughters and no more sons, so she poured all her maternal affection into her friend’s boy.

Otherwise, how could an illustrious prince like Prince Yi cause such mischief without a whisper reaching the emperor’s ears? Without Empress Zheng quietly covering for him, Zhao Yu’s escapades would long since have been reported to his father, Emperor Huizong.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed in the darkness. A youth squeezed through the crowd and addressed Zhao Yu in a low voice, “Brother Yu, something’s off. Bucktooth Chun has found another twenty or thirty hangers-on somewhere. I’m afraid our numbers aren’t enough.”

Zhao Yu frowned. “Did you see what kind of people they are?”

“Looks like they’re servants from a wealthy household, and they brought a fat man. He seems to be someone of status. Bucktooth Chun was fawning on him like a dog.”

Upon hearing this, Zhao Yu’s eyes flashed with a strange light. He said harshly, “It doesn’t matter. Success or failure is decided here tonight. Take down Bucktooth Chun and the southern city is ours. Even if Bucktooth Chun brings the emperor himself, this fight must go on.”

These brash youths, emboldened by Little Yu’s leadership, had gained ever more influence in the south and had rarely suffered setbacks. They scarcely knew what fear was.

“Brother Yu, just give the order! Numbers don’t matter—our weapons aren’t for show!”

“That’s right, Brother Yu. If a frontal assault won’t do, we’ll use trickery. We’ll throw lime in their faces first—they won’t know what hit them!”

Street roughs cared nothing for honor, and Zhao Yu was equally results-driven.

He raised his hand to silence the clamor and began assigning tasks.

“Fat Tiger, take ten brothers to the rooftops on the left. Song Zhong, take ten and lie in ambush on the right wall. The rest, come with me. Once I lure them into the trap, hit them with lime first. Then we attack from three sides at once—this must all be settled before the city patrol arrives.”

These ignorant youths had no idea that the new faces beside Bucktooth Chun were actually brought in by Zhao Yu himself. Taking down Bucktooth Chun was important, but the real target was the fat man, none other than the infamous Young Marshal Gao, son of Grand Marshal Gao.

No further introduction was needed for Young Marshal Gao—his misdeeds were too numerous to list.

Zhao Yu bore him no personal grudge; to put it nicely, he was ridding the people of a scourge. In truth, he was seeking to make his name.

Gambling halls and brothels filled Bianliang. To amass great wealth, bringing these establishments under his control was the swiftest way. Officialdom only managed the surface, while true power lay in the hands of the legendary underworld bosses.

To achieve this goal, Zhao Yu needed to accomplish something that would shake the entire city's criminal underworld. Only then could he command the respect of Bianliang’s other figures.

And so, tonight, Young Marshal Gao’s role was to help Zhao Yu make a name for himself...