After Being Reborn, He Became an Undercover Agent by My Side - Chapter 1

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The ghost struck three times, and Jing Si’s soul returned to his body.

The metallic tang of the River of Forgetfulness still clung to his nostrils as he opened his eyes to a copper mirror.

The reflection revealed a new face. The face was coarse and ruthless, with hawk-like eyes and a sharp, aquiline nose. A furious ghostly fire flickered in his gaze, but he suppressed it in an instant.

In his hand, he clutched a foul-smelling waist token. One side bore the inscription “Embroidered Uniform Guard,” and the other displayed the man’s name: “Shi Zizhuo.”

The token was in his hand, the mirror was before him, and a man stood by his side.

“Take a good look at this face,” the man said. “You won’t see it again after today.”

“Hand over the token.” He reached out.

Jing Si silently passed it over. The man had narrow eyes, a long beard, and a mole at the corner of his lips. He vaguely remembered this man’s name—Huo Can, a commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. In his past life, they had met at the concubine-welcoming banquet at Marquis Huaijing’s Manor.

Jing Si calmly surveyed his surroundings. The dark chamber was devoid of light, save for two oil lamps that glared piercingly. They flanked an iron bed, its surface stained with dark, mottled patches—a torture rack.

Had he just escaped the Ghost Realm only to enter a mortal hell?

“Drink.” Huo Can held out a bowl, its contents emitting a pungent, medicinal stench. His eyes were dark and brooding, filled with calculation.

Jing Si lowered his gaze to the bowl of medicine, its contents a dark, murky brew. He had refused Meng Po’s Soup, and he had no desire to drink this concoction. He recognized its scent—Mafeisan, a powerful anesthetic.

“Must I drink it?” Jing Si asked, refusing to take the bowl.

Huo Can’s slender eyes narrowed. “Can you bear the agony of a face-changing procedure?”

“Whose face will I be taking?” Jing Si asked directly.

Under Huo Can’s suspicious gaze, he simply wore an expression of feigned amnesia.

“Prince Xian, Jing Si,” Huo Can replied.

So, it’s my own face.

This arrangement suited him perfectly.

Jing Si reached out, took the bowl, and closed his eyes as he swallowed the medicine. It tasted foul, and as it entered his stomach, a creeping numbness began to spread through his body.

He sat on the iron bed, its surface cold and hard, reminding him of the heavy snow that fell before his death in his past life.

Huo Can took a small knife, heated it over a flame, and gestured toward Jing Si’s nasal bone. “Lie down.”

The cold blade met the heat of the fire. Jing Si seized Huo Can’s wrist. “I’ll do it.”

“You?” Huo Can asked skeptically. “Have you seen Prince Xian? Can you bring yourself to cut your own face?”

“I’ve seen him from a distance,” Jing Si said concisely. “And yes, I can. I’ll do it.”

Huo Can let go. Jing Si gripped the knife, as if grasping the reins of his destiny in this new life. Huo Can held up a mirror, and Jing Si gazed calmly at the face reflected in it. The individual features were eighty percent identical to his own, but when combined, the overall resemblance was only thirty percent.

Jing Si had bought this face and body.

On a small boat on the River of Forgetfulness, overwhelming hatred had consumed him. He had been born in obscurity and died in confusion. On the first day of the twelfth lunar month, firecrackers roared through the sky. The royal night banquet featured dragon liver and phoenix marrow. As the Imperial Father’s younger brother and Prince Xian, Jing Si attended the feast, drank himself into a stupor, and was helped back to his manor to sleep. Jing Si hated the New Year; he envied others’ family reunions. The joyful laughter from the distant streets passed by his ears, and a chestful of sorrow and resentment built up within him. His head throbbed, and his sleep was far from sweet. In what seemed like a mere instant, he saw Ox-Head and Horse-Face.

The revolving lantern of twenty-six years spun rapidly.

“Bastard! My mother said it! He’s a bastard!”

“The little brat dared to bite me! I’ll have Imperial Father kill him!”

“What’s so great about writing poetry at three? Now he’s completely run out of talent!”

“The bastard has grown so big, and only his face is passable. When I ascend the throne, I’ll build you a brothel and make you the top courtesan, alright? Hahahahaha!”

“I heard the Third Prince’s origins are murky. He’s a useless lump of mud who can’t even be helped up. He idles all day, his head full of straw, and he can’t even draw a bow!”

“Kneel properly! Imperial Father is gravely ill. If you don’t kneel in the courtyard for three days and three nights, you’re unfilial!”

“The Third Prince is gentle and filial. By imperial decree, he shall be buried with the Emperor—”

“Do not fear, Third Brother. I have slain all who dared to humiliate you. From now on, you may live in peace as Prince Xian.”

“Your Highness Prince Xian, the palace gates are locked at noon. If you truly have a grievance, you must go to the magistrate’s office first.”

“A-Si, are you content? Your sister is not.”

“A-Si, Mother regrets… Mother should never have told you to endure…”

Heaven had treated him cruelly; his world was forever blanketed in snow. He had concealed his sharpness and endured for years, waiting for the clouds to part and the moon to shine, yet who would deny him even a moment’s respite? Who would drive him to the brink, relentlessly hunting him down until they finally killed him?!

He hated them so.

He hated them so much!

But… where were his enemies? To whom should he direct his boundless hatred and fury?

Jing Si slammed a stack of spirit money down before the Ghost Messenger. He would slaughter his way back to the mortal realm, making his enemies pay their blood debts in full! He would make the dead restless in their graves and tear the living into ten thousand pieces!

He also wanted to ensure his own peace, so he could sleep deeply and soundly.

The Ghost Messenger accepted the money and spun lightly on his heel, pointing the way across the mist-shrouded river. “Are you sure you won’t regret this?”

“Don’t you regret it,” Huo Can said to him.

Jing Si raised the knife and brought it down. The first cut sliced into the bridge of his nose, the blade’s edge tearing through flesh and grating against bone with a sound that set one’s teeth on edge.

Fresh blood flowed into Jing Si’s parting lips. He swallowed all his resentment and hatred. “I do not regret it.”

“I have crafted this new skin specifically for you,” the Ghost Messenger said. “No one else has ever worn it.”

“Your identity has been completely erased,” Huo Can added. “From now on, you will answer only to me.”

The thirteenth cut sliced into the corner of his eye, and a red mist descended upon Jing Si’s vision.

“You are no longer yourself, yet you are still yourself.”

“You are no longer a xiaqi of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, but a mole within Prince Xian’s Manor.”

The sixty-fifth cut fell upon his lips, leaving Jing Si’s face drenched in blood.

“When you reach the other shore, you will find your past impossible to forget, yet you must think twice before you act.”

“Once you arrive at the Manor, you will monitor Jing Si’s every move and report everything to me.”

The one hundred and eighth cut sliced into his earlobe, carving away the auspicious fullness of his ear.

“Jing Si, we shall meet again.”

“Shi Zizhuo, wake up.”

A basin of cold water was dumped over his head, washing away the blood from Jing Si’s face. He had truly become Shi Zizhuo.

Only then did Shi Zizhuo realize that during the final few cuts, he had nearly lost consciousness.

The effects of the Mafeisan gradually wore off, and a surge of excruciating pain flooded his senses. Shi Zizhuo struggled to wipe his face, only to come away with a handful of blood.

Huo Can placed a jar of ointment beside him. “A scarless salve from the Imperial Academy of Medicine. Consider yourself lucky.”

Shi Zizhuo didn’t move.

It hurt.

It hurt too much.

His face felt alien, as if it no longer belonged to him. Even his toes seemed to have gone numb. It was as if the flayed ghosts of the Netherworld, their skin torn away in living agony, were shrieking in his ear.

In his delirium, Shi Zizhuo seemed to see a headless ghost from the underworld. The ghost was laughing at him. Though it had no face, Shi Zizhuo knew it was laughing.

Laughing at his stubborn refusal to let go, at his return to the world of the living. Laughing at his arrogance, his futile attempt at revenge.

So, Shi Zizhuo laughed too. The sound was stifled in his chest, forced out of his hoarse throat, and echoed through the cramped, dark chamber.

It was the grin of a vengeful spirit. Huo Can suspected he had gone mad from the pain, but he couldn’t help a shudder of dread as he pushed the door open and left.

It took a long while for Shi Zizhuo to recover enough to apply the ointment. For the next dozen or so days, perhaps it was more. He nursed his wounds in the dark room. Its walls were thick, muffling all sounds from outside.

Now, all he could do was wait. Wait for the day he would see the light again.

The day Huo Can returned, Shi Zizhuo knew he could finally leave.

For the first time in days, he looked into a mirror. The reflection showed a man with sword-like brows, phoenix eyes, and finely sculpted, thin lips. In other years, he would have worn a constant smile, but now his gaze was heavy and dark—familiar, yet strange.

Shi Zizhuo reached out to touch the face in the mirror, his mind in a haze.

Huo Can looked on with satisfaction. “Remember your identity. When Prince Xian asks, you will say you are an orphan who begged all the way to the Capital, where you happened to meet Young Master Ji. Young Master Ji will then escort you to Prince Xian’s Manor.”

Young Master Ji?

A name surfaced in Shi Zizhuo’s mind, but he found it hard to believe.

With a turmoil of emotions, Shi Zizhuo followed Huo Can’s gaze. Sure enough, a man stood at the doorway, his sleeve covering his nose and mouth as if he couldn’t bear the lingering stench of blood in the room.

Ji Shugui.

Jing Si’s closest friend. Once.

The moment Shi Zizhuo saw him, a bone-chilling cold surged from his ankles to the back of his head.

He wanted to burst into uncontrollable laughter—So that’s how it is! So that’s how it is! No wonder the Ghost Messenger said, “The bystander sees most clearly!”

In the flickering candlelight of the dark chamber, Shi Zizhuo suddenly saw a vast net woven around Ji Shugui, all designed to hunt Jing Si.

His suppressed fury suddenly broke free. For a fleeting moment, Shi Zizhuo wanted to kill Ji Shugui without a second thought, but he knew the true culprit was still lurking in the shadows. He couldn’t afford to be so impulsive.

Shi Zizhuo clenched his fists and gave Ji Shugui a cold nod. “Young Master Ji.”

Only then did Ji Shugui turn around. He seemed startled, blurting out, “You look exactly like him!”

Shi Zizhuo walked out with a tense expression, passing the cages in the outer chamber where prisoners wailed incessantly, and headed toward the only place where light broke through. He had finally realized where he was, the dreaded Imperial Prison.

Sunlight, laced with wind and snow, streamed in through the gaps in the door. Shi Zizhuo stopped just before it.

The faint, scattered sound of firecrackers echoed in the distance. Shi Zizhuo asked Huo Can, “What’s the date today?”

“The twelfth month, the thirtieth day, in the twelfth year of Xuan’an.”

So it really is the twelfth year of Xuan’an.

A year later, on the first day of the twelfth month, Jing Si would be beheaded in his sleep. The Ghost Messenger had promised to send him back to the year before it all began.

The heavy gates of the Imperial Prison swung open, and the blinding sunlight made Shi Zizhuo squint. For a moment, he felt dazed, as if all of this had happened in a past life.

Indeed, it all had happened in a past life.

Ji Shugui spoke to him in the carriage. “Jing Si is simple-minded. He’s unlikely to suspect a thing. We’ll communicate in secret from now on. Don’t let him find out.”

The “simple-minded” Shi Zizhuo agreed.

As they disembarked, Shi Zizhuo discreetly kicked out, sending a pebble flying straight into the back of Ji Shugui’s knee.

“Ouch!” Ji Shugui cried out, collapsing to the ground. His cheek and nose bruised instantly as he clutched his leg, howling in pain.

Shi Zizhuo stood by, arms crossed. “Are you alright, Young Master Ji?”

He made no move to help him up.

The carriage driver helped Ji Shugui to his feet. Wincing in pain, he grunted, “Help me inside.”

Prince Xian’s Manor was a place of elegant flora. The winter plums were in bloom, their branches dusted with unmelted snow. Every plant and tree in the courtyard felt so familiar, yet the sight seemed to belong to another lifetime.

Shi Zizhuo didn’t linger. He followed the covered walkway into the main hall. A fire crackled inside, its warmth seeping through his skin and into his very bones.

A chaise longue was placed in the hall. Shi Zizhuo still remembered the feeling of reclining upon it. How it was the perfect spot for reading a book or sipping tea.

But now, the one lounging on the couch was not him. Or rather, it was also him.

Shi Zizhuo looked up, his gaze meeting Jing Si’s. For a moment, he felt as if they were separated by two lifetimes. He was momentarily lost in thought.

“Oh? How is it this man looks exactly like Ben Wang?” Jing Si, still lounging on the couch, chuckled.

Ji Shugui winced in pain, his breath coming in sharp gasps. “I found him by the roadside, Your Highness. I thought it would be useful for you to keep him in your manor. If an urgent matter ever arises, you’ll have someone to send in your stead, won’t you? So, I brought him to you.”

Though his words were veiled, every sentence was a subtle nudge for Jing Si to keep Shi Zizhuo, so he could be sent to his death in his place later.

Jing Si’s gaze remained fixed on Shi Zizhuo’s face, seemingly oblivious to Ji Shugui’s words. “Confucius and Yang Huo, Li Kui and Li Gui… how truly strange.”

Since when was I always so… so sharp-tongued?

Neither Yang Huo nor Li Gui was known as a good man. Shi Zizhuo knew Jing Si wasn’t calling himself a counterfeit or a villain.

Shi Zizhuo retorted impassively, “Confucius and Yang Huo looked alike but were enemies. The same goes for Li Kui and Li Gui. Does Your Highness wish to use me, or to cultivate an enemy?”

“So sharp-tongued,” Jing Si said, his smile never wavering. He beckoned Shi Zizhuo with a hand gesture, as if coaxing a cat. “Come here.”

Shi Zizhuo rolled his eyes inwardly but remained motionless.

Only then did Jing Si seem to remember Ji Shugui standing beside him. He turned to look at him. “Ah, Tongmeng, how did your face get injured like this?”

“Tongmeng” was Ji Shugui’s courtesy name. Just as Ji Shugui was about to reply, Jing Si called out to an attendant. “Quickly, take Young Master Ji to apply some medicine. Don’t delay.”

Ji Shugui could only say, “Shugui will excuse himself.”

Only Shi Zizhuo and Jing Si remained in the hall. Jing Si spoke again, “Come closer. Let me see.”

Shi Zizhuo felt a surge of annoyance. But he knew his limits and decided not to defy Jing Si this time. He walked to the chaise longue and leaned down slightly.

The smoke from the nearby incense burner drifted toward him, making Jing Si’s face appear and disappear.

This is me.

Only now did Shi Zizhuo truly register the reality of the situation. It was… surreal.

Jing Si reached out to touch his face, but just before his hand made contact, he withdrew it and picked up a wet cloth from the table to wipe his fingers.

Only after wiping his hands clean did Jing Si touch Shi Zizhuo’s skin again. A faint fruity scent lingered on his fingers. Shi Zizhuo lifted his eyelids and glanced up at him, seeing the remains of some pomegranate on the table. Jing Si had always preferred to peel and eat the fruit himself; it must have been these that had stained his fingertips.

Jing Si’s finger traced Shi Zizhuo’s brow before descending to touch his slightly trembling eyelashes. A wave of ticklishness surged from his lashes to his heart. Shi Zizhuo wanted to seize the disruptive hand but forced himself to endure.

“Your eyes… they are not like mine,” Jing Si said, his other hand pressing against the back of Shi Zizhuo’s neck, pulling him closer. Their eyelashes brushed against each other.

“How are they not like yours?” Shi Zizhuo asked.

“You are holding something back.” Jing Si’s gaze shifted slightly, looking at the corner of Shi Zizhuo’s eye. He asked abruptly, “Does it hurt?”

“…What?” Shi Zizhuo was taken aback.

“This face of yours… it wasn’t always like this, was it?” Jing Si’s warm breath brushed against Shi Zizhuo’s face. “A thousand cuts, ten thousand slices—”

“Does it hurt?”

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