Chapter 1: Waking Up in Silk

The soft caress of silk against his skin was the first thing Zhihao noticed. It was luxurious, smooth, and completely out of place. Aaron, who had been groggily blinking himself awake in confusion, suddenly shot up.

"Where the hell am I?"

The extravagant room, draped in ornate tapestries and filled with golden accents, was unlike anything he had seen outside of historical dramas. The ceiling stretched high above, with wooden beams carved in intricate patterns. His hand instinctively reached for his forehead, feeling for the dampness of sweat. The last thing he remembered was—well, actually, what was the last thing?

His hand froze.

His body didn't feel the same. It was... softer, smaller, more delicate. His breathing quickened, and he bolted to a nearby mirror, tripping over the rich fabric of the floor-length robes.

A young man stared back at him from the mirror, his features regal and refined, with sharp cheekbones, porcelain skin, and eyes that glimmered with an innocence Aaron certainly didn't possess. The man in the mirror was undeniably beautiful, but this wasn't his face.

"What..."

He didn't finish the sentence, as memories—not his own—flooded his mind. It was like being dunked in ice water. Faces, names, power, and war. The original owner of this body—Zhihao, the newly crowned king of the Xingli Kingdom—had died under "mysterious" circumstances. The court had been abuzz with rumors, scheming officials looking to seize control, and a looming threat of invasion from the Xu Kingdom. As these memories collided with his own, Aaron clutched his head and sat back on the floor.

"Okay, okay, let's just... breathe," he muttered, more to the gorgeous stranger in the mirror than to himself.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a servant dressed in muted tones entered. The servant bowed deeply, not daring to raise his eyes. "Your Majesty, the court awaits your presence. Minister Feng is asking for an audience."

Minister Feng?

The memories clicked into place. Feng, the scheming, manipulative head of the court, practically ran the kingdom behind the scenes while Zhihao's father had been king. And now, with the younger Zhihao sitting on the throne, Feng was eager to tighten his grip. Aaron—no, Zhihao—sighed.

Great. He had just woken up in a new body, as the king of a fragile kingdom, and was expected to rule a bunch of power-hungry ministers? Could this get any worse?

For a moment, Aaron—Zhihao—wondered if this was some elaborate revenge plan. Had one of his past lovers back in Seoul gone crazy and... what? Magically kidnapped him? The thought was almost funny, but the panic bubbling beneath his skin reminded him that he didn't have the luxury of laughing.

"This has to be a joke," he whispered under his breath. But the room, the silks, and the servant's deferential stance were all too real.

Zhihao had always been quick on his feet, though. Growing up in modern Seoul, he'd learned early on how to play people like chess pieces—always smiling, always the innocent, charming one who could manipulate without anyone realizing it. If charm had worked in modern life, then it would work here too.

Right?

He slipped into the elaborate robe laid out for him, feeling the weight of it pull at his shoulders. It was rich, embroidered with golden phoenixes that screamed "authority." Zhihao bit his lip. Time to figure out how to survive in a world of court intrigue, manipulation, and, oh yeah, impending war.