Dylan Weedy slowly opened his eyes. His entire body felt weak. "I survived being struck by lightning?" Dylan was ecstatic. Pride practically radiated from his face. Throughout history, who could survive being struck by thirty-six bolts of lightning, each one as thick as a water barrel? Dylan Weedy could! Then he realized something was wrong. The room he occupied looked far too old-fashioned. A luohan daybed, a chaise longue, folding screens, a dressing table... At that moment, the door opened, and more than a dozen white-haired old men rushed inside. "The Young Master is awake! The Young Master is awake!" They hurriedly pried open his eyelids, checked his pulse, inserted needles, and kneaded every inch of his body. Dylan let the dozen old codgers poke and prod him without resistance. He felt so ashamed that he wanted to die. He really wanted to die. He had transmigrated into an ancient dynasty that had never appeared in the history books of earth. The dynasty was called the Sublime Dynasty. He had become the grandson of Benedict Weedy, the founding hero of the Sublime Dynasty, a Prince of Another Surname, and Duke of Weedy. His name was still Dylan Weedy. Dylan had been born the Young Master. He was useless at both literature and martial arts, but he had mastered every vice under the sun: eating, drinking, gambling, and womanizing. He was especially lustful. Whenever he took an interest in a woman, he threw money at her. If money failed, he relied on power and influence to force her into submission. At the village entrance, even the hens, ducks, geese, dogs, and cats would cover their backsides and run the moment they saw the man. Male or female, it made no difference. Dylan Weedy was known as the First Wastrel of the Sublime Dynasty. From nobles and aristocrats to peddlers and laborers, everyone in the capital knew the same saying: mosquito-spurned wretch. In other words, it cursed a man as less than human, hopelessly lustful, and so bloodsucking that even the mosquitoes that bit him were all female. Six months earlier, Benedict Weedy had taken his grandson to court, hoping to use his seniority to secure Dylan a comfortable, meaningless position. Instead, Dylan had secretly infiltrated the Palace of Merciful Peace. He had drugged a palace maid and had his way with her, only to discover afterward that she was no maid at all. She was the Princess of the Sublime Dynasty, the most beloved daughter of the Emperor of Southern Radiance, the City-Toppling Princess, Gardenia Negas. The Emperor had been furious and ordered Dylan to be executed by a thousand cuts. In the end, Benedict Weedy had carried the Golden Death-Exemption Plaque bestowed by the late emperor and entered the palace hall in full armor. In front of the Emperor of Southern Radiance, he had eaten an entire bushel of rice and five pounds of meat. "An old steed may be past its prime, but it still dreams of galloping a thousand miles." "Weedy is old, but can he still eat?" At the age of seventy, Benedict Weedy had taken command of the army once more and ridden out to guard the frontier. He had risked his life for military merit, all to atone for the capital crime Dylan had committed. Three days earlier, Dylan had visited the Brothel to listen to music and pick up women. He had discussed the meaning of life with them, exchanged insights, and broadened his horizons. In the end, he had vomited blood and collapsed on the stomach of the foremost courtesan. If the Emperor of Southern Radiance had not brought out the imperial thousand-year purple-gold ginseng to keep him alive and sent an Imperial Physician to treat him, Dylan would have already been dead. The part that made Dylan want to die most was that Body Snatching would have been the better outcome. At least then, he could claim that all those humiliating deeds had belonged to someone else. The truth, however, was that he had not transmigrated through Body Snatching. He had been reincarnated. Every one of those disgraceful acts had been his own doing. Crash! The door was suddenly kicked open. A towering, broad-shouldered old man with a full head of white hair charged inside. His armor was stained with blood. "Imperial Physician, is my Little Bastard alive or dead?" "Greetings, Weedy!" The Imperial Physician hurriedly knelt and bowed. "Thanks to the thousand-year purple-gold ginseng bestowed by His Majesty, the Young Master is no longer in danger." Dylan looked at his grandfather, Benedict Weedy, and felt warmth spread through his chest. Benedict looked dusty and travel-worn. He had clearly won a battle. After learning that his grandson had nearly died on top of a woman, he had not even stopped to bathe. He had raced back on horseback without pause. Remembering how indulgent Benedict had been toward him all these years, Dylan felt his nose sting. He rose and embraced the sturdy old General. "Grandpa, you've worked hard. Let me see if you're hurt..." As he spoke, he grabbed Benedict's wrist and checked his pulse. "Don't bother with that act. Every time you cause trouble, you put on this performance of filial love between grandfather and grandson. I've built up an immunity to it." Benedict shoved him away. He raised his riding crop, clearly intending to teach the Little Bastard a lesson, but he could not bring himself to strike. "Deputy General, send this Little Bastard to the confinement room for three days. Make him face the wall and reflect on his mistakes!" A general clad in armor and radiating murderous Astral Energy strode over. He lifted Dylan by the collar as easily as if he were picking up a chick. When they reached the door, Dylan could not resist turning back. "Grandpa, according to genetics, calling me your Little Bastard isn't good for you either..." "Get out! Lock this Little Bastard... this damn brat... lock Dylan Weedy up for seven days! Without my order, no one is allowed to let him out!" Benedict was so furious that his beard bristled and his eyes bulged. He turned to the butler standing nearby. "Help me out of my armor and prepare a bath. I'm going to the palace to pay my respects to His Majesty." Meanwhile, Dylan was taken to the confinement room. The so-called confinement room was actually the training chamber Benedict had once used for cultivation. However, he had grown old and frail and should have been enjoying his retirement, so he rarely came there to practice with blade or spear anymore. The moment Dylan entered the training chamber, the wastrel air vanished from his face. He sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion in the posture of Five Hearts Turned Skyward and carefully examined his body. His Sinews and Meridians were clogged. He suffered from osteoporosis, and despite being not yet twenty years old, his internal organs already showed signs of failure. There was no need to guess what had caused it. Years of wine, women, gambling, and endless nights had hollowed out this body. "What have I been doing all these years...?" Dylan was so miserable he could have cried. Fortunately, his clogged Sinews and Meridians could be repaired through the Sinew-Changing Classic and Marrow Cleansing. The decline of his limbs, bones, and internal organs could also be reversed with nourishing medicine. He had awakened his memories early enough. Otherwise, in a few more years, this body would have been completely ruined. Even a celestial immortal would have been unable to save it. At the same time, he discovered a wisp of undispersed poison hidden inside his body. It was incredibly subtle. If this had not been Dylan's own body, even a medical sage would have struggled to detect it. "Immortal Water of Blissful Union?" Dylan frowned slightly. The poison was vicious. It fused with the victim's Kidney Water and showed no outward signs during ordinary days. The moment the victim engaged in intercourse, however, the poison erupted and killed them. From the outside, it looked exactly like sudden death from overexertion. Dylan had offended far too many people during his years as a wastrel. There were at least eight thousand people who wanted him dead, if not ten thousand. He had no way to determine who had poisoned him. With his awakened memories, Dylan was no longer the same man who had known nothing but eating, drinking, gambling, and womanizing. He carefully considered his current situation. Over the past five years, his uncles and cousins had fallen in battle one after another. A year earlier, his father and two older brothers had perished alongside the one hundred thousand soldiers of the Weedy Family Army while fighting the Hun Empire along the border of the Secluded Province. The once-prosperous Weedy family had been reduced to two people: one old man and one useless wreck. At last, their enemy had made a move against that useless wreck. Or perhaps the enemy had made its move long ago. Dylan had never drugged the Princess. He was a wastrel, not an idiot. How could he have dared drug someone inside the Imperial Palace? Originally, someone had guided Dylan's curiosity and urged him to sneak a look at the First Beauty of the Sublime Dynasty, the City-Toppling Princess, Gardenia Negas. But the moment he reached the Palace of Merciful Peace, a breathtaking woman in half-disarrayed clothing had thrown her arms around him. Her pretty face had been flushed as she begged him to take her. Any man would have found it impossible to resist such a scene. "It seems someone wants the Weedy family line to end," Dylan murmured. "I just don't know who they are. Until I find out, I'll have to keep playing the part of a womanizing wastrel." He thought of his father, his two older brothers, and his uncles, all of whom had once protected him with their lives. Killing intent surged around Dylan. His eyes narrowed. "No matter who you are or what faction you belong to, I will cut you into a thousand pieces!" Knock, knock! While Dylan was lost in thought, someone rapped on the door. The door opened, and Felix Flinter, one of Dylan's two personal lackeys, poked his head inside. A seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl stood beside him. "Young Master, the First Young Master was worried you'd be lonely during your seven days of confinement, so he sent you a beauty. She's untouched, too." The First Young Master Felix mentioned was Silas Zerba. His father had once been a general under Benedict Weedy. After the man died in battle, Benedict had brought his wife and son into Weedy Manor. He took the wife as an adopted daughter and the boy as his god-grandson. Dylan's brows drew together when he thought of Silas Zerba. Silas was ten years older than him and had possessed a calculating nature since childhood. Dylan's father, brothers, grandfather, and uncles had indulged him, but they had still kept a tight rein on his crimes. Every time Dylan got into trouble with gambling or women, it was Silas who secretly egged him on. Six months earlier, Silas had been the one to tell Dylan that the City-Toppling Princess was the First Beauty of the Sublime Dynasty, a woman of such beauty that fish sank and birds fell from the sky. He had deliberately inflamed Dylan's curiosity. Most damning of all, a year earlier, Silas had marched to war with Dylan's father and brothers and the hundred thousand soldiers of the Weedy Family Army. Dylan's father and brothers had all died. Silas alone had returned alive. Dylan had originally intended to have Felix take the girl away. However, he needed to maintain the image of a womanizing wastrel, so he kept her. "I won't disturb the Young Master's pleasure." Felix gave him a sly grin, shoved the girl inside, and hurried away. The girl entered the room and immediately tore off her clothes. She stood naked before Dylan. Dylan turned his head away and waved dismissively. "Put your clothes back on. I won't touch you. Find a room in the training chamber and stay there for seven days. After that, you can leave..." Before Dylan could finish, a powerful wave of killing intent swept over him. He spun around. The girl had slipped a hand beneath herself and was slowly drawing out a dagger smeared with blood and feces. "What the hell? You're taking this too far! Miss, doesn't that hurt? Even if you wanted to cut out a hemorrhoid, you shouldn't try to do it yourself!" There was no trace of shyness on the girl's face. Her eyes held nothing but cold, murderous intent. Dylan had seen that look before, in deathsworn who had surrendered their wills completely. He had offended far too many people by bullying men and women alike. Whenever he sought out a woman, he had his people search her first to make sure she carried no hidden weapons. He had never imagined that this woman would pull the old backdoor-dagger trick!