It Is Said That I Have Been Crushed By Dimensionality Reduction (Quick Travel) - Chapter 22

Word of the immortal’s arrival didn’t just stir excitement in the capital. Nearby towns and cities were buzzing too.

Belief in immortals and demons was still debated—some were convinced after witnessing wonders firsthand, while others remained skeptical. But when rumors spread that the immortal was headed to the imperial city, anxiety quickly grew.

Many wondered: Should we stay or flee?

On one hand, the immortal was said to be merciful and powerful—surely he’d protect innocent people. On the other hand, no one knew when exactly he would arrive, and what if demons struck in the meantime? They might not get another chance to escape.

As civilians weighed their options, court officials were having secret discussions of their own.

For a long time, dissatisfaction had been brewing over the regent’s behavior. The emperor—known affectionately as the Holy One—had always ruled with integrity and compassion, respected by the people and the court alike. But his health had been deteriorating for years.

Half a year ago, during a national crisis caused by drought and locust plagues, the emperor, devastated by the people’s suffering, collapsed before the court. That day, he coughed up bl00d and fell unconscious.

From that moment on, the regent seized power.

Though technically only the emperor’s uncle, the regent now controlled the military and bent the court to his will. Some officials resisted but were quickly dealt with—through prison, torture, or death.

Others, seeing no choice, chose to bide their time.

As long as the emperor remained alive, however feeble, there was still hope. The regent dared not kill him outright. He knew that doing so would only fuel rebellion across the empire and worsen unrest.

Even so, many suspected the emperor had been slowly poisoned.

When word of miracles in Zhaojia Village reached the capital—the healing river, the miraculous rice—officials sent envoys to investigate. By the time they arrived, the river had reverted to normal, but villagers still had some of the mystical rice.

At great cost, officials obtained some and brewed it into porridge for the emperor. For two months they fed him quietly, and though he hadn’t awakened, his complexion improved significantly.

But when the regent caught wind of this, he ordered tighter security around the palace. No more porridge could be delivered.

Now, the officials feared the worst: If the immortal truly arrived, would the regent, desperate and paranoid, finish what he started and eliminate the emperor before help arrived?

They weren’t the only ones making moves.

The regent, too, sensed trouble brewing. Based on the immortal’s recent actions—punishing the corrupt, protecting the innocent—it was clear that his arrival in the capital would not bode well for those with bl00d on their hands.

The regent’s ambition had always been singular: the throne.

And the rebels? Oddly enough, they quieted down. They no longer shouted slogans about “cleansing the court” or “restoring justice.” Instead, they observed in silence, watching how the situation would unfold.

At this exact moment, the one drawing the attention of all factions—Bai Yuan—had already entered the capital.

Disguised by a subtle use of energy, he wandered through the bustling streets unnoticed, despite his snowy hair and pale eyes.

He didn’t want to attract attention just yet.

Zhao Ping’an, Lin Cuiniang, and the others explored the city alongside him, taking in the sights. They were slowly letting go of their past. The city felt like a new beginning.

Zhao Xiaomei even changed her name to Liu Yuzhu, symbolizing resilience—like bamboo breaking through rocky soil. Her mother, now going by Liu Si, hoped to stop repeating the mistakes of her past life.

Bai Yuan had encouraged Zhao Ping’an and his wife to learn to read, believing literacy would open their minds and free them from the narrow thinking that once bound them.

Even Bai Yuan himself—though already sharp—immersed in books about this ancient world. He quickly mastered calligraphy, though composing poetry remained a weak spot.

As his thoughts wandered, Bai Yuan leapt over the palace wall and entered the regent’s quarters.

Inside, the regent was discussing with advisors how to officially seize the throne.

Over the past two months, Bai Yuan had heard enough about the regent’s cruelty to know he wasn’t someone he’d ever like.

But was this man… the chosen one of fate?

Just then, the system’s voice chimed in:

“Host, I can now use a small amount of energy points to access the fate path of the world’s child of fortune. Transmitting the data now.”

Bai Yuan reviewed the information carefully.

It was confirmed: the regent was this world’s son of destiny.

Back when the emperor and his brother were still children, fate had clearly favored the current emperor—he was born the crown prince and groomed for the throne from a young age. The regent, despite his talents in warfare, had always been second.

That second-place status festered into resentment.

Though the regent excelled in battle and possessed an uncanny ability to survive and strategize under pressure—gifts of destiny, no doubt—he was overshadowed by his brother’s popularity and moral authority.

When the emperor inherited the throne, beloved by citizens and ministers alike, the regent’s envy turned to malice.

He quietly poisoned the emperor, weakening him over time without arousing suspicion. Eventually, he succeeded—leaving the emperor in a coma.

In the original timeline—if Bai Yuan never intervened—the regent would have successfully seized the throne. Fate would then bring him a group of exceptional aides, and despite his lack of governing talent, he would maintain stability and control.

The Holy One, in that version of history, would become a tragic legend—someone mourned by all, whose untimely death left the world wondering: what if?

Bai Yuan’s expression turned ice-cold.

If the regent hadn’t harbored that hunger for power… if the emperor had remained alive and well… the people wouldn’t have suffered so greatly. No rebellions, no famine, no chaos.

Everything—every wound this land bore—traced back to one man.

And yet… this was the so-called son of destiny?

Bai Yuan clenched his fist.

“System, why does someone like that get chosen?”

The system replied solemnly:

“Children of destiny are not fixed. Anyone who harms them risks severe backlash unless their destiny is weakened—either through mass rejection, a shift in fortune, or the rise of a new fated heir. This is why the world eventually deteriorated in the original timeline.”

To test this, Bai Yuan summoned a small energy mass and launched it toward the regent.

The result was instant—his energy vanished, consumed by an invisible force. An intangible pressure weighed down from all sides, emotionless yet overwhelming.

Startled, Bai Yuan realized: this wasn’t divine punishment or anger—it was the world’s instinctual defense, like how a body reacts automatically to pain.

He told the system what he felt. The system hesitated, then explained:

“That was likely the world’s emerging rules at work. The world hasn’t yet formed full self-awareness, but the core mechanics are developing. Even immortals must abide by these rules, or they’d destroy the world unchecked.”

That made sense.

If the world’s natural order was still forming… then maybe—just maybe—he could change its course.

A new son of destiny could be born.

Bai Yuan’s gaze turned toward the palace’s depths, where the real emperor lay sleeping. A good man, a wise ruler, reduced to cannon fodder. But what if… cannon fodder could rise again?

What if he made him the new son of fortune?

With one last glance at the regent, Bai Yuan vanished.

Moments later, he appeared beside the comatose emperor.

Gently, he released a stream of healing energy. A slight twitch—fingers curled. Life stirred.

Bai Yuan placed a stabilizing energy mass into the emperor’s body and let him continue sleeping.

A new chapter was about to begin.

The stage was set.