"Ah! Zhu Er, let go of me!"

In the small courtyard at the northwest corner of the Marquis of Anguo's estate, Ruan Shi, the night-soil collector, was cleaning the chamber pots delivered by the servant Zhu Er.

Though past forty, Ruan Shi still possessed delicate skin and a slender figure.

Zhu Er watched her diligent movements with hungry eyes, swallowing hard.

"Madam Ruan," he leered, "working so hard all day—why not let your big brother comfort you, eh?"

"Let go, Zhu Er! I'm still the Marquis's woman, after all!"

Ruan Shi struggled fiercely, but couldn't match a man's strength. Zhu Er only tightened his grip.

"The Marquis's woman?" Zhu Er sneered. "The old man's probably forgotten you exist! Better let your Zhu-gege show you some real affection!"

Just as Zhu Er was about to have his way, a loud announcement pierced the air: "The Lady of Anguo has returned to the estate—"

The proclamation struck like a death knell. Zhu Er immediately withdrew his groping hands, tightened his belt, and fled without a backward glance.

The Lady of Anguo was none other than the estate's most favored Sixth Miss, whose word was law within these walls. After her ennoblement as a commandery princess, the primary wife Lady Shen had decreed that all servants must line the paths and kneel upon her return—disobedience meant execution by beating.

Only Ruan Shi and her daughter were exempt.

Because—

They reeked too badly.

Now Ruan Shi remained collapsed on the ground, still trembling with shock. Suddenly, she scrambled up and dashed toward the small shack in the corner of the yard.

The medicine for her daughter still simmered on the small stove in the room—what if the water boiled dry?

Ruan Shi carefully tended to the pot of medicine while stealing anxious glances at her unconscious daughter lying on the bed. Her worry was etched plainly across her face.

Yemei felt as though her entire body was swollen with pain, her head throbbing as if it might burst. A sharp, relentless ache jolted her consciousness. She struggled to open her eyes, but all she saw was a hazy white void.

A woman’s quiet sobs reached her ears.

The heavy scent of medicinal herbs filled the air.

Yemei’s mind raced, sifting through the memories of what had happened before she blacked out.

She was the only granddaughter of Ye Santye, a notorious underworld boss, wielding immense influence in both legal and illegal circles, as well as in business and politics.

Ye Santye had intended for Yemei to take over his syndicate operations, but she had grown weary of three decades of underworld strife. All she wanted was to marry a stable, dependable man, settle down, and live a peaceful life raising a family.

Thus began her long, tedious journey of arranged meetings.

Yemei was well aware of her precarious position. Ever since she had stepped into the underworld alongside her father, countless enemies had been waiting for the chance to take her head.

She had always been cautious—extremely cautious. Yet somehow, this time, she had still fallen into a trap.

She twitched her fingers slightly, feeling the texture of the bedsheet beneath them. She shifted her feet, relieved to sense the pressure of one foot brushing against the other.

Good. All her limbs were still intact.

She wanted to open her eyes. She wanted to ask for water. But her eyelids and lips felt glued shut—no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pry them apart.

A flood of unfamiliar memories suddenly surged through Yemei's mind, implanting themselves like seeds forcibly taking root in her consciousness.

To her astonishment, these fragmented recollections felt as vivid as if she had lived them herself—every joy, sorrow, and pang of emotion resonating within her as though she were the protagonist of those forgotten moments.

After what felt like an eternity, a surge of energy erupted from within Yemei, tearing through her meridians. A cry escaped her lips before she could stop it—"Mother!"

"Yes, my child!"

Ruan Shi rushed to the bedside, her eyes brimming with tears as she gathered Yemei into her arms, relief washing over her. "Oh, my dear girl, you're finally awake!"

Yemei scanned the room with wary confusion.

A rickety square table, two broken-legged stools, a peeling wooden chest, a small stove simmering with medicinal herbs, and the simple plank bed she now lay on—these were the only furnishings in the cramped space.

Her gaze shifted to Ruan Shi. The woman's hair was neatly coiled into a bun at the nape of her neck, her patched but clean short jacket and long skirt unmistakably archaic in style.

From the fragmented memories, Yemei recognized this woman as her "mother"—the one person she had once relied upon.

A sharp pain throbbed in her temples. What was happening?

She should have been blown to pieces... yet here she was, unharmed, in this strange place.

Was this what they called... *transmigration*?

Before she could make sense of it, the door of the hut burst open with a violent crash...