The Unrivaled Playboy of Great Krythoria

"You... what are you doing?" The moment August opened his eyes, a greasy face loomed over him, clutching a long, thick acupuncture needle. His brows furrowed instinctively, and his hand flew out in a slap before he could stop himself. "Ow!" A crimson handprint appeared on the man's cheek, but instead of crying out, his eyes widened with relief. "My Prince! You're awake?" August finally took in the figure before him—a eunuch in traditional robes gripping a horsetail whisk, his round body like a small mountain, pudgy face creased with worry. Fuck, did I just transmigrate? The thought sent sharp pain lancing through his skull. Suddenly, a flood of unfamiliar memories overwhelmed him. This body's original owner shared his name—August—third prince of Krythoria, an alternate-reality version of Tang Dynasty China. An infamous wastrel with no talent for governance, he'd earned the court's hatred through arrogance and cruelty. Yet thanks to his late mother being the emperor's favorite, the ruler always looked the other way at his misdeeds. Now the crown prince position stood empty. The aging emperor, past sixty and ailing, grew desperate to name an heir. Days earlier, unprecedented flooding had struck Bountia. Stricken with rage and anxiety, the emperor collapsed. Upon waking, he decreed: whichever prince solved the crisis would become crown prince. An imperial test—brutal and deliberate—for all royal sons. Bountia's annual floods left fields barren, bodies littering the roads, plagues raging. Though the court poured silver and grain into relief efforts, it was like bailing out a sinking ship with a teaspoon—futile against the root cause. The old emperor had four sons, but only two were hungry for the throne—the second prince, Samuel, and the sixth prince, Andy. The seventh prince was still too young to pose any threat. August, the third prince, was an infamous layabout with no real influence or interest in the crown. Yet somehow, he'd become a target anyway. While out drinking, he'd been ambushed, thrown into a lake, and left unconscious for half a month. Holy s**t—he'd just taken a nap and woken up in this godforsaken world! And not just any world—one where assassins came with the welcome package. Just my luck. No doubt those two power-hungry brothers were behind this. They saw him as nothing but a thorn in their side. Well, payback was coming. His best move? Cash in on the emperor's doting, line his pockets, and build his own power base. Solving the floods in Bountia? Child's play. As a man from the future, he had engineering solutions galore. Once he pulled it off, Samuel and Andy would be like lambs to the slaughter—utterly at his mercy. As for the throne? It mattered little to him. Why bother with politics when he could spend his days touring scenic lands and lounging in the arms of beauties? Now that was the life! "Your Highness, are you alright?" The young eunuch scrambled up from the floor, still clutching that ridiculously long needle. "Begone!" *thud* August lashed out with a kick. "Your Highness, you're finally awake! Praise the gods!" The eunuch didn't even flinch, taking the blow squarely. Tears welled in his reddened eyes as he dropped to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. This was Theodore, the eunuch who'd grown up alongside the original prince—one of his few trusted allies. "Enough! I'm not dead yet, so stop bawling like a funeral dirge," August snapped. "Now go find out which bastard tried to kill me. When I get my hands on them, I'll flay the flesh from their bones!" Fuming, he slumped back onto the bed, muttering curses under his breath—until furtive muttering drifted in through the window. "His Highness has been out cold for half a month—he's probably a goner this time." "The way he bullies everyone in Yuxiur, even the heavens must be sick of it." "Shh! Keep it down! Remember that poor bastard last month who misspoke? The prince had him flogged within an inch of his life." "You think the heavens are smiting him for being such a brute?" "Could be. August's pissed off pretty much everybody." "They say Prince Samuel's decent—never lays a hand on servants. Do well and you'll get bonus silver too. If His Highness kicks the bucket... maybe we could land jobs in the second prince's mansion." "..." August felt a vein pulse dangerously at his temple. These backstabbers were already job-hunting while he was still breathing. Was the original host really this hated? Mental images of whippings and broken bones flashed through his mind—so brutal he shook his head with a sigh. "Such disrespect! I'll deal with them immediately, Your Highness!" Theodore's expression turned stormy as he rolled up his sleeves, ready to teach the gossiping servants a lesson. "Let it be." August waved dismissively, leaning back against the headboard. Just servants shooting their mouths off. They might come in handy later. Loyalty was scarce in this mansion—except for Theodore. The eunuch had always been his willing accomplice: ready with the cane whenever punishment was due, summoning feasts at the slightest hunger pang. Theodore gaped at him, bewildered. Since when did the prince tolerate backtalk? Before, so much as a sideways glance earned you twenty lashes. Had that dunk in the lake scrambled his brains? "Your Highness... did the fall damage your wits? If so, this servant could give you some healing needles. Don't fret—it won't hurt! Have you right as rain in a jiffy!" "You'd been unconscious for half a month, and even the imperial physicians were at their wits' end. Then I remembered an old remedy from my hometown—acupuncture. I tried it on you, and who would've thought... you actually woke up!" Yet his words were met only with August's furious roar. "Get lost!" "At once, Your Highness!" Theodore clasped his hands and bowed, retreating hastily. Once outside, he jabbed a finger at the cluster of murmuring eunuchs and maids nearby, his voice laced with threat. "If I hear so much as a whisper about His Highness again, you'll regret—" He dragged a thumb across his throat for emphasis before striding off. --- Aurelia Palace Prince Samuel lounged on a chaise, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure as he nibbled daintily on a pastry fed to him by a blushing maid. His tongue flicked teasingly against her slender fingers, drawing a breathy gasp. "Oh! How wicked of you, Your Highness!" With a low chuckle, Samuel tweaked her nose and leaned in for a lingering kiss—when frantic footsteps shattered the moment. "Your Highness! Disaster strikes!" A silver-armored guardsman stormed in, his sword clattering against his armor. "Do you dare interrupt me? Out!" Samuel snapped, shooting the man a venomous glare. "But... the matter is dire." The guard stood his ground. "Speak and be gone!" Shoving the maid aside, Samuel straightened his robes with an exasperated sigh. "Well?" "Your Highness... Prince August... he lives again."