When His Merits Threaten the Throne, the Empress Offers Herself in Marriage - Chapter 2:

Chapter 2: Shen Lang’s Way of Doing Things

“Plucked flowers south of the river, toasted spring breeze with red wax, such passion like mine, carefree and loving the world…”

As night fell and the lamps were being lit, Shen Lang stepped into a courtyard with a paper-wrapped bundle in one hand and a jug of baijiu in the other, humming a tune.

He kicked the door open with one foot, stepped inside, and casually shut it behind him. Tossing the paper bundle onto the table and spreading it open, he flicked his fingers—instantly, the candle on the table flared to life.

A delightful spread of braised delicacies filled the air with irresistible aroma: bean curd skin, beef slices, cucumber salad, a roast chicken, a plate of fried peanuts, and a small jar of low-proof baijiu.

“A pity there’s no sausage. What a shame—but no big deal.”

Shen Lang clapped his hands, unfastened his cloak, and flung it neatly onto a nearby coat rack.

He pulled the cork, poured a drink, tore off a chicken leg, and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Mmm…”

His face lit up with satisfaction.

He raised his cup and gently clinked it against the jug, letting out a clear ring of porcelain.

“To surviving yet another day in this strange world.”

He sipped his drink contentedly.

“Who says transmigrators have to stand out? Isn’t this good enough—fighting and killing only leads back to three meals a day anyway.”

Talking to himself, Shen Lang suddenly put down his chopsticks, stood up, opened the window, and leaned on the sill, sipping his wine while gazing at the moonlit sky.

His thoughts drifted back to the moment he arrived in this world.

In his previous life, Shen Lang had been a typical brick-hauling laborer, living a monotonous life.

One day, while playing games in a cyber café, he accidentally clicked an ad at the bottom of his screen labeled [What Are You Doing, Aiyo], and blacked out instantly.

When he woke up, he found himself in a place called the River of Time and Space, surrounded by entities calling themselves “systems,” all trying to bind with him.

Though it sounded like a good deal, Shen Lang followed the principle that “free things are the most expensive” and politely declined, claiming his Buddha-sized soul was too big for any system to handle.

The systems were stunned. Without a host, how would they collect fate points, devour hosts, and hijack a glorious life?

They tried all means of coercion and bribery to make Shen Lang agree.

Unfortunately for them, Shen Lang had long developed immunity to pipe dreams. He had no intention of enslaving himself to a 007-style workhorse life.

Thus began a seemingly endless standoff in the River of Time and Space.

No one knew how much time passed, but after countless rounds of mental and physical resistance, over 300 systems were finally moved by his stubborn resolve and gave up on him.

With a flash of light, Shen Lang got his wish and transmigrated into a fantasy world called the Great Martial Continent.

To his surprise, he soul-transmigrated into a five-year-old boy with the same name.

In classic xuanhuan web novel fashion, he became one of the many orphans without a father or mother.

But being a five-year-old orphan in a brutal, survival-of-the-fittest feudal world? That was a big problem.

Thankfully, he didn’t have long to ponder it—within two minutes of arriving, he was snatched up by two human traffickers and thrown onto a prisoner cart heading north.

Following the typical transmigration novel script, he expected to encounter a sect disciple squad mid-journey or a wealthy young lady who’d save him, impressed by his protagonist halo.

But no.

No sect rescue, no rich beauties or seductive masters—just the trafficker’s whip and the children’s cries around him.

A month later, Shen Lang was sold in Bingzhou for 5 taels of silver to the military.

Two days later, at the age of five, he was on the battlefield delivering supplies.

Bingzhou was on the northern border of the Great Chu Empire, the front line against the Yan army.

Years of war had drained Bingzhou’s forces. To compensate, they drafted child soldiers, making the human trafficking business thrive in the region.

Luckily, while Shen Lang’s body was five years old, his mind had been sharpened from years of battles with the systems. He wasn’t fazed in the slightest—military life? Whatever.

At five, he was a logistics soldier. At six, a spearman. At seven, a shield-bearer. At eight, he first stepped onto the battlefield. At ten, he became a squad leader. At twelve, he led a hundred-man team and defeated 20,000 Yan troops, earning a promotion to company commander. At thirteen, he became the youngest instructor in the border army.

Shen Lang’s life was legendary. His Storm Thunder Camp was like a dagger piercing straight into the enemy’s heart.

But at seventeen, in the 31st year of the Yuan Shou era, something major happened in the empire.

The Emperor of Great Chu, Jiang Yan, passed away. His sixteen-year-old daughter Jiang Mengxuan ascended the throne and renamed the era to Xuan Yuan.

In the first year of the Xuan Yuan era, the empire, weary of war, finally agreed to peace talks with the Yan Empire under unanimous decision by the court.

In the end, Great Chu ceded three northern territories and agreed to pay an annual tribute of 300,000 taels of silver and 100,000 bolts of cloth—securing a humiliating peace.

The endless war finally ended, and Shen Lang’s military career came to a close.

Because of his… unique conduct in the army, he caught the attention of the Empress’s uncle, Jiang Shangxian, and was brought into the newly formed Imperial Guard.

To Shen Lang, as long as the pay was good, who cared what the job was?

After all the bizarre scenes he’d seen in the River of Time and Space, he came to one conclusion: even if you’re above ten thousand people, you still have to eat, drink, shit, and sleep.

Since the end is the same, why kill yourself chasing illusions? Better to eat well and coast comfortably.

Why can’t a man live with a little more ease?

So Shen Lang gladly accepted Jiang Shangxian’s invitation and joined the Imperial Guard, living a leisurely life.

Not because he loved the empire. In truth, he felt no attachment to Great Chu.

It was purely for the money, which was far better than in the military.

Now, Shen Lang earned a monthly salary of 25 taels of silver. With the end-of-year bonus, he pulled in 400 taels a year.

400 taels—a high-income bracket in Jinling, where most civilians earned 20 taels annually—but still nothing compared to centuries-old noble families.

Still, it was enough for his needs. With plenty of free time, he took side gigs when he needed extra cash—judging underground fights, doing debt collections, and more.

But no matter what side hustles he took, his main job couldn’t be changed.

The Imperial Guard answered only to the royal family, above all local authorities. Ranks from lowest to highest were: Junior Banner, Squad Officer, Head Banner, Hundred-Man Commander, Vice-Thousand-Man Commander, Thousand-Man Commander, Vice-Commander, and Commander.

Every member had to show absolute loyalty to the royal family, possess strong cultivation, and get things done.

Each one was carefully chosen from military units across the empire—warriors without noble or sect backgrounds.

(The cultivation levels on Great Martial Continent: Tempering Body, Qi Guiding, Postnatal, Transformation, Meridian Opening, Innate, Undying, Limit-Breaking, Unity, and Divine Martial; each realm has five stages—early, mid, late, peak, and perfection. From Innate onward, lifespan increases by at least 300 years without external interference.)

Officially, the Imperial Guard maintained order in the capital.

In reality, they handled bloody and covert missions for the royal family—assassinations, intel gathering, etc.

In the one year since the Guard’s founding, Shen Lang had been the “laziest” yet most reliable operative.

He averaged five missions a month, with a 100% success rate. A true ace among elites.

Even Commander Jiang Shangxian wanted to promote him directly to Thousand-Man Commander.

But Shen Lang refused, citing his desire to lay low and eat his fill.

No matter how Jiang tried to persuade him, he only accepted the Hundred-Man Commander role and made it clear: no check-ins, no attendance. Come to him only for missions, otherwise stay out of his way.

In the end, skill wins over everything. Faced with such bold demands, Jiang agreed without complaint.

Thus, Shen Lang became a ghost among the Imperial Guard—few had seen him, only knowing that some legendary “senior” existed.

Even Empress Jiang Mengxuan had never seen his face—just glimpsed his file once.

A ruler naturally had no time for idle meetings.

Back in the moment, Shen Lang yawned and returned to his table, continuing his feast.

“Living again should be this comfortable.”

With another sip of wine, he tossed down his chopsticks.

Then he started fiddling with models on another table: cannons, Gatling guns, rifles, battleships, ocean cruisers, mortars, grenade launchers, Maxim guns…

These were technologies he secretly learned from a Military System during his standoff in the River of Time and Space.

But he didn’t use them to advance this world’s military or to chase imperial conquest.

Why?

First, too troublesome. Second, no interest. Third, no money. Fourth, no powerful backers. Even if he succeeded, others would just seize the credit.

Creating a modern army in this era would be as hard as building a heavy-armored mixed brigade in his previous life’s Dragon Nation.

(P.S. One such brigade could crush 90% of Earth’s countries. Dragon Nation had 29 of them. Only Dragon and Eagle Nations had the ability to sustain such forces. In a past joint exercise, one Dragon heavy-armored battalion wiped out five times the number of mechanized troops from Bear Nation in 48 minutes—and that was just a battalion.)

So, he made models for fun. No need to overthink it.

One hour later, Shen Lang got bored, yawned, washed up, and went to bed.

A self-disciplined man—utterly charming.

“If there’s no mission tomorrow, I’m finally gonna take down that Chun Tao from the Pleasure House. Damn it, I transmigrated and still have to rely on handwork? That’s a disgrace to all transmigrators.”

Half-asleep, Shen Lang dozed off.

He had planned to spend this life loafing to the very end.

But in a xuanhuan world, no protagonist’s fate ever goes as planned.

Even in “lay-low” stories, endless cowardice eventually grows tiresome.

And Shen Lang? He wasn’t as indifferent as he appeared—he was just waiting for the right moment.

That night, Shen Lang slept soundly. But in the imperial palace of Great Chu, the ruler of the empire could not.

In the imperial study of Weiyang Palace, Empress Jiang Mengxuan stared at a freshly delivered secret report, her expression heavy with concern.