The Forbidden City gleamed beneath a crisp autumn sun, its vermilion walls and golden roofs standing in defiance of time itself. Unlike European palaces built for comfort or aesthetic display, China's imperial residence represented cosmic order made manifest—its precise measurements, careful orientations, and deliberate color schemes reflecting harmony between heaven and earth.
Sam materialized in a secluded courtyard near the Hall of Literary Glory, his Chronosphere recalibrating to this timeline's specific quantum signature. The device had transported him to 1635—earlier than his previous incursions into Ming Dynasty China.
"Let's see if the Mandate of Heaven proves more responsive than divine right," he muttered, orienting himself within the massive imperial complex. His perfect recall of architectural layouts acquired across multiple timelines made navigation effortless despite the Forbidden City's deliberate complexity.
Unlike his previous experimental targets, Sam approached this one with uncharacteristic hesitation. Something about systematically dismantling his maternal ancestors' civilization felt different from eliminating European monarchies or Japanese imperial bloodlines.
"Sentimental nonsense," he chided himself, moving purposefully toward the Hall of Supreme Harmony where the Emperor would be holding morning court. "Genetic memory creating false emotional attachment. Nothing empirically significant."
Palace eunuchs scattered before him, their shaved heads bowing automatically at his approach despite his unauthorized presence. Sam's attire—simple but elegant hanfu in dark colors—and his confident bearing suggested high rank that none dared question directly.
"Halt!" commanded an imperial guard as Sam approached the main ceremonial complex. "Court is in session. None may enter without authorization."
Sam didn't bother responding. A casual telekinetic pulse stopped the guard's heart mid-beat, the man collapsing silently as Sam continued forward. More guards noticed the disturbance, weapons drawing as they moved to intercept.
Their resistance proved as futile as every other military force Sam had encountered across multiple timelines. Bodies fell in his wake, necks snapped by invisible force, internal organs telekinetically crushed without external marks. Sam proceeded methodically toward the heart of imperial power, cataloging architectural details that varied slightly from previous timelines he'd visited.
The massive doors to the Hall of Supreme Harmony stood three times human height, their red-lacquered surfaces decorated with golden studs arranged in precise rows of nine—the Emperor's number. Sam tore them from their hinges with telekinetic force, the ancient wood splintering as he entered the most sacred space in China.
Inside, the Chongzhen Emperor sat upon the Dragon Throne, surrounded by court officials arranged in precise hierarchical positions. The morning audience had just begun, hundreds of officials in formal court robes kneeling before their sovereign as matters of state were discussed.
"Who dares interrupt the imperial presence?" demanded the Grand Secretary, an elderly official named Wang Ruchun who had survived three emperors through careful political navigation.
Sam walked calmly down the central axis—the Dragon Path that only the Emperor himself was permitted to walk. His footsteps echoed through the suddenly silent hall as hundreds of officials stared in shock at this unprecedented violation of sacred protocol.
"I've come to test the Mandate of Heaven," Sam announced, approaching the throne with unhurried confidence. "To determine whether cosmic forces actually protect their supposed representative on earth."
The Chongzhen Emperor—born Zhu Youjian—stared at the intruder with more curiosity than fear. At twenty-four, he had already ruled for eight troubled years, inheriting an empire beset by corruption, natural disasters, and foreign pressure. Unlike European monarchs with their elaborate wigs and excessive ornamentation, the Emperor's appearance emphasized dignified simplicity—his dark court robes marked with subtle dragon emblems, a simple black hat with wing-like projections his only distinctive headgear.
"Seize this madman!" ordered Wang Ruchun, imperial guards rushing forward with halberds lowered.
Sam eliminated them with methodical efficiency, bodies falling in sprays of arterial blood as officials scrambled away from the approaching stranger. Within moments, dozens of China's elite imperial guards lay dead across the polished floor, their weapons twisted into useless shapes by telekinetic force.
"Fascinating architectural acoustics," Sam noted as screams echoed precisely through the carefully designed space. "The hall's dimensions create perfect harmonic resonance. Sound engineering far beyond contemporary European capabilities."
The Chongzhen Emperor remained seated, his expression revealing little despite the slaughter before him. Years of imperial training had taught him to maintain dignity regardless of circumstances.
"What manner of demon approaches our presence?" he asked, his voice steady despite obvious tension.
Sam stopped at the base of the raised dais, looking up at China's sovereign with scientific curiosity. "No demon. Merely a descendant conducting an experiment regarding supposedly divine protection."
Court officials who hadn't fled prostrated themselves, foreheads touching the blood-slicked floor as they babbled prayers and supplications. The Emperor's personal guards formed a final defensive line before the throne, their weapons trembling but positions maintained with admirable discipline.
"You claim to test heaven's mandate," the Emperor observed with surprising calm. "Yet heaven's will manifests through natural order, not direct intervention. A true scholar would understand this distinction."
Sam raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by this philosophical response. Unlike European monarchs who had immediately invoked divine protection, the Emperor offered theoretical context.
"An interesting distinction," Sam acknowledged. "You suggest heaven's mandate operates through systemic patterns rather than immediate causality."
"The classics teach that heaven's displeasure manifests through natural disasters, popular unrest, and dynastic decline," the Emperor elaborated. "Not through supernatural intervention in individual events."
"A more sophisticated theological framework than divine right," Sam conceded. "Though equally unfalsifiable through empirical testing."
He gestured casually, telekinetically eliminating the remaining guards protecting the throne. Their bodies crumpled with sickening finality, leaving nothing between Sam and the Dragon Throne.
The Chongzhen Emperor maintained remarkable composure as Sam ascended the steps that no subject was permitted to climb. Only when the intruder stood directly before him did a flash of fear finally cross his features.
"Heaven's mandate is demonstrated through a dynasty's rise and fall over generations," the Emperor stated, voice only slightly unsteady. "Not through individual protection of its representative."
"A convenient rationalization," Sam noted, reaching for the Emperor's ceremonial jade seal—symbol of imperial authority. "Though it does demonstrate greater philosophical sophistication than European equivalents."
As his fingers closed around the ancient jade, something unexpected happened. A small figure darted from behind the throne, placing herself between Sam and the Emperor.
"Stop!" commanded a child's voice with surprising authority.
Sam paused, genuinely startled by this development. Before him stood a girl no older than six, dressed in miniature imperial robes. Despite her obvious terror—visible in trembling hands and tear-filled eyes—she held her ground with remarkable determination.
"You can't hurt my father," she declared, tiny arms spread protectively. "I won't let you."
Sam stared at the child, momentarily disconcerted. His perfect recall instantly identified her from imperial records he'd studied across multiple timelines: Princess Zhu Youzhen, third daughter of the Chongzhen Emperor.
His maternal ancestor.
Something unexpected twisted inside Sam as he looked at the child version of the woman whose descendants would eventually produce Zhu Lihua—his mother. Genetic memory fragments surfaced unbidden: this girl growing to womanhood, meeting a strange silver-eyed foreigner, conceiving a child who would begin the bloodline culminating in his birth.
"How interesting," Sam murmured, studying the trembling child. "You would defend your father despite obvious futility."
"A princess protects the Emperor," Zhu Youzhen replied with childish simplicity, though tears streamed down her face as she surveyed the carnage surrounding them.
For the first time in countless experimental iterations across multiple timelines, Sam hesitated. This child—terrified yet determined—represented his own heritage more directly than any subject he'd previously encountered. Through her would eventually come his mother, whose suffering had shaped his existence more profoundly than any other factor.
The Chongzhen Emperor seized this momentary hesitation, pulling his daughter protectively behind him. "Whatever power you possess," he declared with newfound courage, "my child is innocent of any offense against you."
Sam observed this parental protection with scientific detachment that couldn't quite suppress an unexpected emotional response. No one had ever protected him. From his first conscious moments, he had been treated as object rather than person—experimental subject rather than child.
"Your daughter saves you today," Sam found himself saying, the words emerging before conscious decision. "Treat her accordingly—like the jewel she is."
Relief visibly washed across the Emperor's face, though wariness remained in his eyes. "Heaven's will works in unexpected ways," he ventured cautiously.
"Nothing to do with heaven," Sam corrected sharply. "Everything to do with her courage. Remember that distinction."
He turned to the child who still peered fearfully from behind her father's robes. "Stop filling your head with poetry and courtly nonsense, princess. This is the reality of power," he gestured to the blood-soaked hall around them. "Power that even your father fears enough to wet his pants."
The Emperor flushed with embarrassment, the dark stain on his lower robes confirming Sam's crude observation.
"I shall stay awhile," Sam announced abruptly. "In the Eastern Palace compound. With access to your imperial concubines."
"I... that is..." the Emperor stammered, clearly struggling between outrage and terror.
"Was that unclear?" Sam interrupted coldly. "Or would you prefer I continue my original experiment regarding heaven's mandate?"
"The Eastern Palace will be prepared immediately," the Emperor conceded, diplomatic training overriding personal dignity. "And arrangements regarding... companionship... will be made according to your wishes."
Sam smiled without warmth. "Good decision. Far more rational than your European counterparts."
He descended the throne dais unhurriedly, stepping over fallen guards as stunned court officials pressed themselves against walls to avoid his passage. At the great hall's entrance, he paused, looking back at the Emperor still clutching his daughter protectively.
"Remember who saved you today," Sam called. "Not heaven. Not cosmic harmony. A little girl with more courage than your entire imperial guard."
With that parting observation, he departed for the Eastern Palace complex, leaving the imperial court to deal with the bloody aftermath of his arrival.
---
For the next decade, Sam became an institution within the Forbidden City—a mysterious power behind the Dragon Throne whose origins remained deliberately obscure. Court officials learned quickly to avoid his presence, scurrying away when the silver-eyed foreigner appeared in imperial walkways or gardens.
The Eastern Palace became his personal domain, transformed according to his specific requirements. The traditional Chinese furnishings remained, their elegant simplicity appealing to Sam's aesthetic sense, but technological modifications invisible to contemporary observers enhanced his living space beyond seventeenth-century limitations.
True to his demand, an ever-changing rotation of imperial concubines attended his quarters, selected from the Emperor's own household. These women—chosen for beauty, artistic accomplishments, and family connections—found themselves serving an incomprehensible master whose appetites seemed limitless yet oddly specific.
"More wine," Sam commanded, holding out his empty cup to a trembling servant. The young woman quickly complied, carefully filling the jade vessel with finest huangjiu from Shaoxing, its amber color catching afternoon light streaming through paper windows.
"The new girl arrives this evening, Master Zhu," informed Lady Lin, the senior concubine who had somehow survived three years in Sam's household. Her once-renowned beauty had faded under constant stress, though she maintained elegant composure that had preserved her position when dozens of other women had been discarded.
Sam nodded absently, his enhanced mind simultaneously processing multiple information streams while appearing to focus on immediate surroundings. Part of his consciousness monitored political developments throughout the empire—rebellions brewing in peripheral provinces, corruption spreading through civil service, Manchu forces gathering beyond the Great Wall. Another segment analyzed technological optimizations for his chronosphere, calculating potential improvements to temporal targeting precision.
"What special talents does this one claim?" he asked, moderately curious about the latest addition to his household.
"She is said to play the guqin with exceptional skill," Lady Lin replied carefully. "And her calligraphy has won praise from court scholars."
Sam smiled thinly. "As if I care about such useless accomplishments. Can she fuck better than the last three disappointments?"
Lady Lin maintained perfect composure despite the crudeness. "Her... physical attributes are said to be exceptional, Master Zhu. The imperial selection officials were most impressed."
"We'll see," Sam murmured, draining his wine cup in a single swallow. The alcohol produced momentary warmth before his nanites neutralized its effects, rendering intoxication frustratingly brief.
For ten years, he had indulged every physical pleasure the seventeenth century could provide—exquisite cuisine prepared by imperial chefs, finest wines and spirits from throughout the empire, beautiful women trained specifically for male gratification. Yet satisfaction remained elusive, pleasure fleeting at best.
Nothing could dull his perfect recall of trauma embedded in genetic memory. Nothing could provide sustained distraction from existential questions regarding his purpose. Brief physical release through sex offered momentary focus, but even this had become increasingly routine despite continuous variation in partners.
"Prepare her properly," he instructed Lady Lin. "I want no hysterical tears or pathetic begging like the last one."
"Of course, Master Zhu," Lady Lin bowed deeply. "I will personally oversee her preparation."
Sam waved dismissively, turning his attention to a carved jade puzzle box—a mathematical challenge he'd solved within seconds of receiving it, yet still manipulated occasionally for tactile stimulation. His fingers moved with inhuman precision, reconfiguring the intricate mechanism through patterns that would have taken ordinary scholars months to decipher.
The Emperor—once called the Son of Heaven—now actively avoided Sam's presence, scheduling court activities to minimize potential encounters with the mysterious foreigner who had transformed from immediate threat to chronic menace. Their interactions had become increasingly strained as years passed, the initial terror evolving into persistent anxiety occasionally punctuated by diplomatic overtures that Sam largely ignored.
Court officials had constructed elaborate explanations for his presence, whispered theories ranging from foreign ambassador with supernatural powers to immortal advisor from China's mythic past. None dared question him directly, his occasional appearances in official contexts treated with extreme deference bordering on religious reverence.
Sam found their theories amusing but irrelevant. His continued presence in this timeline represented an unexpected deviation from experimental protocols—an indulgence without clear purpose beyond momentary curiosity about this particular branch of reality.
"Master Zhu," called a servant from the doorway, bowing deeply. "A messenger from the imperial household requests your attention."
Sam sighed with visible boredom. "What trivial crisis requires my involvement now?"
"The Emperor has passed into the Yellow Springs, Master," the servant reported, using the traditional euphemism for death. "His mortal existence concluded two hours ago."
Sam raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by this development. "Interesting. My historical records indicated he would survive another eight years in this timeline variation."
The servant looked confused by this incomprehensible response but continued delivering his message. "The imperial household is in mourning. Court activities are suspended pending succession arrangements."
"Did he jump from Coal Hill again?" Sam asked, recalling the Emperor's suicide in other timelines as rebel forces breached Beijing's defenses.
"No, Master," the servant replied, clearly bewildered. "Imperial physicians report his heart simply stopped. They suggest prolonged anxiety weakened his vital essence."
Sam laughed without humor. "Meaning my presence literally scared him to death over a decade? How pathetically fragile you humans are."
The servant prostrated himself, clearly terrified by this reaction. "The imperial household seeks your guidance regarding succession arrangements," he added, voice muffled against the floor.
"I couldn't care less who sits on that gaudy chair," Sam replied dismissively. "Let the court eunuchs and bureaucrats fight it out as they always do."
The servant remained prostrated, apparently waiting for more definitive instruction. Sam sighed, realizing the imperial household had become pathologically dependent on his perceived authority despite his deliberate non-involvement in governance.
"Fine. Tell them to follow traditional primogeniture unless there's compelling reason otherwise. Now get out."
The servant retreated backward, maintaining his bowed position until passing through the doorway. As silence returned to Sam's quarters, he considered implications of the Emperor's unexpected death.
"Fascinating timeline variation," he mused aloud. "My mere presence accelerated his mortality by approximately eight years compared to historical baseline."
He poured himself more wine, considering potential entertainment value in the coming succession crisis. Court factions would inevitably clash over competing candidates, their desperation for his endorsement creating opportunities for manipulative amusement.
The entire situation struck him as increasingly pointless. After ten years observing this particular timeline variation, he'd confirmed his experimental hypothesis regarding divine intervention: the Mandate of Heaven proved just as nonexistent as divine right when subjected to empirical testing.
"Perhaps it's time to move on," he considered, activating his chronosphere briefly to verify its functionality. The device hummed with potential energy, ready to transport him to another timeline whenever he chose.
Yet something held him in this particular branch of reality—an uncharacteristic reluctance to abandon the existence he'd established within the Forbidden City. Unlike previous experimental iterations where he'd simply destroyed power structures and moved on, this timeline had become something approaching a home base.
"Sentimentality," he diagnosed clinically. "Emotional attachment to familiar surroundings despite intellectual recognition of their insignificance."
A soft knock interrupted his introspection. Lady Lin entered, bowing deeply before announcing: "The new concubine awaits your pleasure, Master Zhu."
Sam gestured indifferently. "Send her in. Let's see if she's any more interesting than the last dozen disappointments."
Lady Lin retreated, returning moments later leading a young woman of exceptional beauty. The new concubine—barely eighteen by appearance—walked with practiced grace, her elaborate silk robes rustling softly with each measured step. Her features combined classical Chinese ideals—luminous skin, almond eyes, delicate bone structure—into a harmonious whole that even Sam's jaded perception recognized as remarkable.
"This worthless one offers herself for your pleasure, Master Zhu," she murmured in perfect court pronunciation, executing a flawless formal bow.
"At least you've been properly trained in etiquette," Sam observed, examining her with clinical detachment. "Though I care little for empty formalities."
He gestured dismissively toward Lady Lin. "Leave us. I'll summon you if she proves inadequate."
When they were alone, Sam approached the new concubine, circling her with predatory assessment. "What shall I call you?"
"This unworthy one is named Pearl Blossom," she replied, eyes downcast according to proper protocol.
"Ridiculous," Sam snorted. "Another poetic nonsense name for another disposable amusement. Very well, 'Pearl Blossom,' let's see what talents you actually possess beyond empty courtesies."
He gestured toward his sleeping platform with its fine silk bedding. "Disrobe and position yourself appropriately. I have little patience for prolonged ceremony."
Pearl Blossom complied with practiced efficiency, removing elaborate layers of silk to reveal a body clearly selected for male appreciation. She arranged herself on Sam's bed in klassical seductive pose, expression carefully calibrated to project willing submission.
Sam observed this choreographed performance with cynical amusement. "You all follow identical patterns regardless of individual differences," he noted, removing his own clothing with telekinetic assistance. "Cultural programming overriding natural variation."
Pearl Blossom's eyes widened slightly at this casual display of supernatural ability, though her training prevented direct comment on her master's strangeness.
"This worthless one exists only for your pleasure," she recited, clearly falling back on prepared phrases when confronted with the unprecedented.
"Spare me the ritualized self-degradation," Sam replied, approaching the bed naked. His enhanced physique—muscular frame marked by faint silver lines where nanite concentrations mapped his circulatory system—clearly startled her despite attempted composure.
For ten years, Sam had cycled through dozens of imperial concubines, finding temporary distraction in their various physical attributes while remaining fundamentally unsatisfied. The experience had become mechanical despite continued variation in partners—physical release without meaningful engagement.
He positioned himself above Pearl Blossom, entering her with practiced efficiency. Her body responded appropriately—wetness suggesting arousal, though Sam's enhanced perception detected the physiological signs of anxiety beneath performance.
"At least make some effort at genuine response," he instructed, establishing a measured rhythm. "These rehearsed moans fool no one with functioning auditory processing."
Pearl Blossom adjusted immediately, her performance becoming more naturalistic though equally calculated. Sam sighed with boredom even as his body responded automatically to skilled stimulation.
"You're all so tediously predictable," he complained, increasing pace to hasten conclusion of this increasingly routine interaction. "Ten years in this timeline, and not one of you has shown genuine originality."
As he approached climax, Sam activated passive psionic abilities that had become standard procedure during sexual encounters. The enhancement transmitted waves of amplified sensation through his partner's nervous system, triggering responses beyond normal physiological parameters.
Pearl Blossom's rehearsed performance shattered instantly, her body convulsing in genuine surprise as unexpected pleasure overwhelmed trained restraint. Her carefully modulated vocalizations transformed into authentic cries of shocked enjoyment as Sam's psionic enhancement triggered cascading neural responses.
"That's marginally more interesting," Sam acknowledged, continuing methodical movement through her involuntary climax. "At least your surprise appears genuine."
He finished with clinical efficiency, his enhanced physiology delivering release precisely when commanded. Unlike ordinary males, Sam maintained complete control over reproductive functions—his nanites had long since optimized these systems for maximum efficiency.
Pearl Blossom lay gasping beneath him, her composure thoroughly disrupted by unexpected physiological responses. "This... this unworthy one has never..." she stammered, clearly struggling to reintegrate training with unprecedented experience.
"Save the formulaic gratitude," Sam interrupted, withdrawing and rising from the bed. "Your performance was adequate if unexceptional."
As he cleaned himself with a silk cloth, a commotion in the outer courtyard caught his attention. Raised voices argued in urgent tones, their specific words muffled by architectural barriers but their agitation clearly audible to Sam's enhanced hearing.
"Remain here," he instructed, dressing himself with telekinetic assistance. "I'll return if further distraction seems worthwhile."
Pearl Blossom bowed from her reclined position, still visibly affected by the intensity of her unexpected climax. "This worthless one awaits your pleasure, Master Zhu."
Sam ignored the ritualized response, exiting his private chambers to investigate the disturbance. In the central courtyard of his compound, he found imperial officials arguing with his household staff—their formal mourning attire indicating connection to succession matters.
"What tedious crisis interrupts my afternoon?" he demanded, approaching with obvious irritation.
The officials immediately prostrated themselves, foreheads touching the stone pavement. "Forgive this intrusion, Master Zhu," began the senior official, an elderly eunuch named Liu Gonglian who had somehow survived three decades of court politics. "An unexpected development requires your guidance."
"Get to the point," Sam replied impatiently. "I have more interesting activities awaiting my attention."
Liu rose to kneeling position, maintaining careful deference. "The imperial succession faces unprecedented complication. Court factions support competing candidates, threatening stability during this delicate transition."
"Predictable and tedious," Sam observed. "Follow traditional protocols and be done with it."
"The situation is more complex," Liu continued carefully. "The Crown Prince demonstrates... concerning tendencies that many officials consider incompatible with effective rule."
Sam sighed with exaggerated boredom. "Your petty political maneuvering doesn't interest me. Install whoever you wish and leave me to my diversions."
"There is another matter," Liu ventured, clearly uncomfortable. "Princess Zhu Youzhen requests an audience with your exalted presence."
This unexpected development actually caught Sam's attention. During his ten years in the Forbidden City, he had deliberately avoided contact with the young princess—his maternal ancestor whose chance encounter with Robert Kestrel would eventually lead to his own creation.
"The princess wishes to see me?" he repeated, genuinely surprised. "Why?"
"She did not share her purpose," Liu replied carefully. "Only that the matter concerns imperial succession and cannot wait."
Sam considered this development with uncharacteristic uncertainty. His experimental protocols had never anticipated extended interaction with his own ancestral lineage. Yet curiosity—that troublesome cognitive function that had driven so much of his existence—demanded satisfaction.
"Very well," he decided. "She may attend me this evening. Alone."
Liu looked alarmed at this stipulation. "Master Zhu, protocol requires royal princesses maintain proper escort at all times, particularly during mourning—"
"Did I request a lecture on court etiquette?" Sam interrupted coldly. "She comes alone or not at all."
"As you command," Liu conceded, bowing deeply. "I shall convey your instructions immediately."
As the officials departed, Sam returned to his chambers, finding Pearl Blossom exactly as he'd left her—naked on his bed in carefully arranged seductive pose.
"Dress yourself and leave," he instructed, suddenly uninterested in further physical distraction. "Lady Lin will show you to appropriate quarters."
Pearl Blossom looked momentarily confused by this abrupt dismissal but quickly recovered, gathering her scattered garments with practiced efficiency.
"Has this worthless one displeased you, Master Zhu?" she asked carefully, struggling to understand her apparent failure.
"You performed adequately within your limitations," Sam replied disinterestedly. "I simply have more significant matters requiring attention."
When she had gone, Sam paced his chambers with uncharacteristic restlessness. The prospect of meeting Princess Zhu Youzhen—now approximately seventeen years old in this timeline—triggered unexpected cognitive dissonance.
This girl represented his maternal lineage more directly than any subject he'd previously encountered. Through her would eventually come his mother, whose suffering had shaped his existence more profoundly than any other factor. Yet in this timeline variation, she existed as an independent entity with no awareness of her significance to his existence.
"A meaningless coincidence of genetic sequencing," he reminded himself. "This version of Zhu Youzhen is not my actual ancestor—merely a timeline variant sharing identical DNA."
Yet something about the impending meeting disturbed his usual clinical detachment. After systematically eliminating supposed divine representatives across multiple religions and cultures, why did this particular interaction provoke uncharacteristic uncertainty?