Chapter 1: Transmigration

“Is he still asleep?”

“Let him sleep. As long as he doesn’t make trouble, anything’s fine.”

“Poor thing, really…”

Faint voices drifted in from outside, but the person in the room showed no reaction.

It was a side chamber, sparsely furnished and worn. The single potted flower on the windowsill had long since withered, dead leaves littering the ledge. The teapot on the square table held yesterday’s tea; no one had come to replace it.

Looking deeper in, past layer upon layer of hanging bed curtains, one could just make out the quilt on the bed bulging—someone curled up inside, hiding.

Jiang Sheng had held that position for nearly a day.

At first he only cried. Then he cried until he was oxygen-starved and his head ached, until his tears ran dry and his throat hurt too much to cry anymore. When exhaustion from crying overtook him, he slept; now he’d been woken again.

He truly couldn’t figure it out.

How could something this absurd happen to him?

Jiang Sheng had transmigrated yesterday.

One slip in the bathroom, and he woke up as the unlucky young master of a Fifth-Rank Official’s family in the Great Gan dynasty.

Just like a movie.

The door creaked. A servant came in carrying a food box, saw the figure lying on the bed, and sneered. “Second Young Master, you should get up and eat something. Marrying into the Prince’s Manor while sickly like this will only be more unbearable.”

Jiang Sheng finally reacted. He shot up in bed, face and eyes red with anger, voice hoarse. “I am not marrying anyone!”

“That’s not for you to decide, is it?”

The servant dumped the food box carelessly on the table without even unpacking it, turned, and left.

Nowhere in the entire Jiang Manor did anyone take this Second Young Master seriously—least of all now that he was about to be sent to the North-Guarding Prince’s Manor, which made him as good as dead.

The door opened and shut, leaving Jiang Sheng alone again, wrapped in his quilt, hair a tangled mess, looking wretched and pitiful.

His lips trembling, fists clenched, he forced out through tears, “I am NOT marrying some North-Guarding Prince!”

He had a husband!

How could he marry anyone else!

Before transmigrating, Jiang Sheng’s first twenty-odd years had been smooth sailing. Loving parents and brother, a childhood sweetheart—he married right after graduating college. Utterly smooth.

Until the anniversary of their wedding, when his husband died in a car accident.

Overnight Jiang Sheng became a young widower, crying day and night, until one bath, dazed with grief, he slipped into the tub, went glub-glub, and bubbled off to the good life.

At the same time, the Second Young Master of the Jiang Manor, refusing to marry into the North-Guarding Prince’s Manor, threw himself into a lake.

The one who jumped in was the Second Young Master; the one pulled out was Jiang Sheng.

When Jiang Sheng came to, he was groggy. Before he could even get familiar with his surroundings, he learned he was to be sent off as his family’s pawn, married off to some North-Guarding Prince’s Manor—and that this North-Guarding Prince was supposedly a cruel, violent brute who liked lopping off heads for fun.

Jiang Sheng’s vision went dark. He almost wished he could go “enjoy the good life” again.

Hugging his knees, curled into a ball, eyes brimming with tears, he whimpered, “Waaah, Husband, I miss you.”

…

After another round of crying, Jiang Sheng still dragged himself up and stuffed the food down.

Tears mixed with rice—the more he ate, the more bitter it tasted.

He’d been here a day now. His head was a mess, but he’d roughly sorted things out.

The Jiang Sheng of Great Gan looked exactly like him. He had been the legitimate son of the Jiang Manor, but after his mother died and the concubine was elevated to wife, he’d vanished from his father’s notice.

This time, because of his birth characters, he’d been chosen by Commandery Prince Ying to be sent to the North-Guarding Prince’s Manor for a joyous marriage to ward off misfortune. The North-Guarding Prince’s reputation was infamous; anyone sent there probably wouldn’t survive three days. Terrified, and egged on by that cheap younger brother of his, this Jiang Sheng had jumped straight into the lake.

He fell into a bathtub; the Jiang Sheng here jumped into a lake—was it because both were water… that he transmigrated?

Then how was he supposed to go back? Jump into a lake again?

Jiang Sheng wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Back in his senior year of high school, he’d dragged Lu Yan into tutoring him until late at night, and his exam scores were still just so-so. Eventually Lu Yan couldn’t bear it and told him to stop studying—good score or bad, he’d support him either way.

Thinking of his dead husband, Jiang Sheng’s nose twitched and he wanted to cry again.

The beds here were so hard, the food was awful, and the people were mean—every last one of them snapping at him.

In all his life, the only hardship Jiang Sheng had ever known was iced Americanos. Back then, a mere scraped hand required a full day of Lu Yan’s coaxing. And now, suffering such a great grievance—if Lu Yan’s body were here, Jiang Sheng could cry him back to life.

BANG!

Someone kicked the door open, and a brazen voice rang out. “Well, well. So you’re not dead after all?”

Jiang Sheng looked up to see a figure in blue robes stride in, regarding him with a vicious expression. “I was wondering—when would my cowardly brother ever have the guts to actually kill himself?”

Jiang Sheng didn’t know him. In fact, since waking up he’d only seen a few servants. But from what this person just said, he could guess—this must be that cheap younger brother.

Seeing Jiang Sheng completely ignore him, as if punching cotton, Jiang Yan grew even more furious. “Honestly, dying early might count as a blessing. You’ve heard of the North-Guarding Prince, haven’t you? They say the lanterns in his manor are made of human skin. Who knows—when you go there, big brother, will you become a lantern too?”

It had been a long time since Jiang Sheng had met someone so cartoonishly evil.

Back home, when he curled up watching short dramas, Lu Yan would pinch his cheek and say he was going to make his already-dim brain even dimmer.

He really should let Lu Yan come see this now.

Art really does imitate life.

“What do you mean staring at me without saying anything? Is your brain broken?”

Jiang Sheng finally spoke, drawling, “Are we actually related by blood?”

Jiang Yan had always been bitter about his concubine-born status; at these words he jumped in rage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How come you’re so much uglier than me?” Jiang Sheng said, utterly sincere. “You must not wash your face properly.”

He even had blackheads.

“JIANG SHENG!!!!”

That night, the Jiang Manor descended into chaos.

The two young masters of the manor had actually come to blows.

Old Master Jiang stormed in from outside, and the moment he entered the main hall, Madam Jiang threw herself at him. “Master, you must seek justice for us, mother and son!”

She yanked Jiang Yan forward. “Look what he’s been beaten into—look at our A-Yan!”

A pig-headed swollen face presented itself, startling Old Master Jiang.

Jiang Sheng, kneeling to the side, gave a soft snort.

Bet you didn’t expect that!

He knew a bit of martial arts too.

He’d taken taekwondo as a kid. His record: able to defeat Lu Yan—though that was because Lu Yan handicapped himself by an entire Pacific Ocean. Who’d have thought that in ancient times, he’d count as a master?

Furious, Old Master Jiang strode forward to slap him—but Jiang Sheng wasn’t scared at all. He lifted his eyes and glared, voice crisp. “You dare!”

Old Master Jiang thought he’d misheard. “What did you say?”

Jiang Sheng tilted his chin up. “You dare hit me?! I belong to the North-Guarding Prince’s Manor now. If I carry injuries, how will you answer to the North-Guarding Prince?”

Madam Jiang laughed in anger. “You really think the North-Guarding Prince will tolerate you? Do you have any idea that once you’re there, you’ll just be—”

“Enough!” Old Master Jiang cut in sharply.

Sending one’s own son to his death was, after all, an ugly thing to have aired.

He looked coldly at Jiang Sheng. “Since I can’t hit you, then from today on, you needn’t eat anymore.”

He raised his voice and ordered, “Until you’re delivered to the manor the day after tomorrow, no more food for the Second Young Master. Water only.”

Jiang Sheng lowered his eyes and said nothing.

A two-day liquid fast.

Wouldn’t kill him.

He’d struck first today—half out of anger, half on purpose.

He’d seen it clearly now: even without the North-Guarding Prince’s Manor, he wouldn’t survive in this Jiang Family.

A father who couldn’t care less whether he lived or died, and a stepmother-and-son pair who saw him as a thorn in their flesh.

With over a hundred short dramas’ worth of viewing experience, Jiang Sheng quickly found his only way out.

Tiger’s den ahead, wolf’s lair behind.

Then run!

But he wouldn’t even get an audience with his dear father unless he beat Jiang Yan to a pulp and made a scene big enough.

Just as Old Master Jiang assumed this son had been cowed and turned to leave, Jiang Sheng suddenly spoke. “I could bite off my tongue and die. I could bash my head against the wall. If I want to die, there’s always a way.”

Old Master Jiang’s steps halted. He stared at Jiang Sheng in disbelief.

Jiang Sheng pivoted. “But I could also obediently marry into the North-Guarding Prince’s Manor, work for you, work for the Jiang Family.”

The room fell abruptly silent.

Old Master Jiang stared at him, as if seeing this timid son for the first time.

A long while passed before he asked, “What do you want?”

Jiang Sheng drew a deep breath. “Money. Dignity.”

He stood and looked Old Master Jiang in the eye. “Simple enough.”

His face was expressionless, but the hands hanging at his sides were trembling faintly.

With Lu Yan gone,

he was learning to hold himself up.

The Jiang Manor seemed about to change hands.

Oddly, though the Second Young Master had beaten the Third Young Master, he was the one who moved into the main courtyard, and the Master even opened the storeroom for him to pick at will.

Jiang Sheng didn’t take much. He looked around once, chose small, exquisite things—easy to carry, easy to sell.

Watching the servants carry things back and forth, Jiang Yan was consumed with hate, wailing, “Mother, why?!”

Madam Jiang patted him. “Let it go. He hasn’t got many days left. Once he enters the North-Guarding Prince’s Manor, there’s only one road—death. Don’t go adding to your father’s irritation now.”

Having moved house in the middle of the night, Jiang Sheng felt no sleepiness at all. Candles lit, he hunched over the desk, scribbling away.

Not used to a brush, he scrawled messily, ink all over his hands.

Deep in the night, he quietly slipped out.

Everyone was asleep by now. Alone, he huddled in a corner of the back courtyard and lit a small fire.

So much had happened in one day.

Even now it felt like a dream.

He muttered at the little fire, “Husband, are you doing okay down there?”

“I wonder how Mom and Dad are doing.”

But with his brother looking after them, they should be fine.

“Why won’t you visit my dreams?” Jiang Sheng said quietly. “You haven’t fallen for some other ghost down there, have you? That won’t do. Even as a ghost I won’t let you off.”

“Husband, if you’re free, come up and check on me.”

“These are the people who bullied me these past two days. You have to come back as a ghost and get revenge for me.”

Jiang Sheng burned the stack of papers.

Including but not limited to: Old Master Jiang, Jiang Yan, the servant with the mole on his left cheek…

What a grudge-holding Sheng.

He took a deep breath and bowed three times to the fire.

Husband, bless me to escape smoothly tomorrow.

I absolutely, absolutely will NOT marry the North-Guarding Prince!

He dreamed of Jiang Sheng again.

Lu Yan jolted awake. The soft warmth in his arms seemed to linger; he reached out to gather it in—and touched nothing.

It seemed that in the dream, Shengsheng had been crying.

Lu Yan’s head began to ache again, like countless insects gnawing at it. His face went slightly pale; he panted hard a couple of breaths, fingers clawing into the edge of the bed until his knuckles went white.

Only a few small lamps burned in the hall, their weak flames flickering across the man’s face. His jade crown removed, black hair fell loose, lending him an added, chilling coldness.

Just then, someone knocked softly outside.

Lu Yan took a moment to recover before speaking in a cold, impatient voice, “Get in here.”

Great. The migraine was acting up again.

Cheng Yu pulled a long face. Why was he so unlucky?

Still, he didn’t dare dawdle. He pushed the door open, bowed, and reported, “Your Highness, word from the Bureau of Palace Attendants: next month is the Empress Dowager’s birthday. She means to have Minister Yang lead the officials at the palace banquet in petitioning His Majesty to assume personal rule, forcing you to give up your power.”

Lu Yan leaned against the couch, eyes half-closed, pressing his temple, voice languid. “Minister Yang is getting old. Accidents do happen.”

“Understood, subordinate.”

Cheng Yu paused, then raised another matter. “The Jiang Family of West Ward Street, having just latched onto Commandery Prince Ying, will be sending their man over in a couple of days.”

The whole affair was almost funny.

Last month the Empress Dowager had summoned Lu Yan to the palace, saying the State Preceptor had cast a hexagram: the moon encroaching on Taiwei—if there were a joyous event in the palace, it might counteract the ill omen. But with the Emperor still young, after much thought, only the North-Guarding Prince remained unmarried.

The Empress Dowager was barely halfway through when Lu Yan cut her off rudely. “This subject already has a spouse.”

The Empress Dowager’s smile froze on her face.

Lu Yan had risen from the ranks, clawing his way up through military merit—the first Prince of a Different Surname since Great Gan’s founding, his power towering. Countless noble families in the Capital had sought marriage ties with him, and every one had been politely turned away.

He said that back in his obscure days, he had already been betrothed; war had scattered them, and his wife had been missing for years. But his devotion to her was stronger than gold—he would never take a second.

That same ridiculous excuse again.

The Empress Dowager ground her teeth in hatred. Never mind that his wife had been missing for years, dead or alive unknown. Even if he found her one day, how could she compare to the noble daughters of the Capital?

But she couldn’t afford to offend Lu Yan.

She forced a smile. “Then have her brought into the manor, simply as someone to wait on you. Yesterday Commandery Prince Ying submitted a name card—a young master of the Jiang Family whose birth characters suit yours perfectly. I shall decide this matter. Helping love along!”

Lu Yan’s patience had run out.

A marriage bestowed by the Empress Dowager—openly clashing would be unseemly. Besides, it was just a thing; no need to care. Once he entered the manor, he could simply have him killed.

He gave a perfunctory reply and forgot the whole thing the moment he left the palace.

He hadn’t expected them to be so impatient, sending the person over so quickly.

Lu Yan snapped, “Must I teach you even this? The moment they step through the gate, find a rope and strangle them.”

Cheng Yu smiled bitterly. “Your Highness, that wouldn’t be appropriate. We should at least keep him for a month, and after the Empress Dowager’s birthday, bring him out to be presented, then deal with him.”

Lu Yan tilted his head, lifting his eyelids to regard Cheng Yu expressionlessly.

“You like him? Take him.”

Cheng Yu’s heart nearly leapt out of his throat at that look; his legs buckled and he almost knelt. “This subordinate wouldn’t dare.”

Lu Yan closed his eyes again and waved a hand. “Handle it as you see fit.”

He had no interest anyway.

Leaving the main hall, Cheng Yu wiped his brow.

“Serves you right. You should’ve checked what day it was before barging in.” Cheng Jing, standing guard outside, sneered.

The two were brothers, both Lu Yan’s personal guards, tempered alongside him on the battlefield.

Every year when the winter month came, the Prince’s migraines grew more frequent. It was said this was because the Prince’s wife’s birthday fell in the winter month—the Prince missed his wife, and so his head would ache.

Cheng Yu scratched his head, glum. “Next time you deliver the reports.”

Cheng Jing shrugged. “Better you go. Your hide’s thicker.”

He turned to go. Cheng Yu hurried after him. “The Prince said I should handle it—so what do we do with the Jiang Family’s person?”

Kill him outright, and it would be hard to explain to the Empress Dowager; leave him alive, and he was a liability in the manor.

Cheng Jing called him an idiot.

“Dump him in the back courtyard and loosen the guards there. It’s near the secret chamber. If he happens to wander over and witnesses something bloody—well, a pampered young master from a great house like that would probably be scared out of his wits, fall gravely ill, and die on his own. Then it’s got nothing to do with us.”

Cheng Yu chuckled. “Little brother, you’re the clever one.”

However it went, the pawn the Jiang Family sent was destined for a bad end.