"Big Sister Pear, do I really have to drink this bowl of white fungus and lotus seed soup?"

Vivienne Ashford stared at the little girl in front of her.

She looked no more than twelve or thirteen, dressed in a worn, half-old set of ancient-style clothes. Her hair was dry and yellowish, her face sallow, her skin pale. She was so thin she was almost all bones. Only those eyes were still striking. Her tiny face had no flesh on it at all, which made those eyes look even bigger, and the look inside them was far too heavy, far too sharp for someone her age.

Vivienne’s mind went blank.

What... was going on?

She looked the girl over again, then quickly swept her gaze around the room.

It was an old-fashioned chamber, plain and faded, nothing like the gorgeous sets she had seen on television. If anything, the whole place looked dull and dusty. Even the two shabby window frames were leaking cold air.

Then she looked at herself.

She was holding a bowl of soup in her hands, halfway through offering it to the little girl lying on the bed. And that same little girl was staring at her with a gaze so eerie it made Vivienne’s fingers twitch. She jerked her hand back on instinct.

What kind of situation was this?

Was she dreaming?

She raised a hand and pinched her thigh hard.

"Ow—"

That hurt like hell.

So... not a dream?

She clearly remembered being at work pulling overtime. And while working late, she had hidden in the restroom to sneak a few chapters of a novel.

So how had she ended up here?

Had she worked herself to death?

Had she transmigrated?

She lowered her head again and saw that she was dressed in ancient clothing too. Her heart skipped.

Could it be real?

If she had really transmigrated, then... shouldn't the original host's memories be coming in by now?

She waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

There was no dramatic stab of pain in her head, no sudden flood of memories like in the novels.

Vivienne cursed in her heart.

Damn it. What now? This isn't how books write it at all. Don't panic, don't panic. Think. Let me think this through. How did I get here?

What was I doing just before this?

I think... I was in the restroom. Yeah, I was using my bathroom break to read a novel...

Wait.

I—was—in—the—toilet.

Now I've transmigrated.

Did I pull my pants up or not?

“Doesn’t seem like it…!”

“Oh my god—ahhh…!”

Vivienne Ashford set the bowl on the ground. Her face twisted into the kind of look people made when they were badly constipated, and she grabbed her head with both hands, yanking at her hair.

What a disaster.

This was beyond humiliating.

She could already picture it—her death trending all over short-video apps and headline feeds: some woman dies in the privy for unknown reasons, phone still in hand, and she hadn’t even wiped her backside yet. Dear lord, what kind of cursed ending was that?

Arabella Mercer watched the maid standing before her—the same maid who, in her previous life, had forced a bowl of poisoned soup down her throat, leaving her bedridden and half-dead for ten long years. She could not understand at all why the girl had suddenly lost her mind.

In Arabella’s hand was a long hairpin. She had meant to wait until the maid came closer, then drive it straight into her chest without mercy. But this time, things had turned out differently from her last life.

Back then, Cordelia Mercer had pushed her into the pond. After she was dragged out, she burned with fever for three full days. The moment she woke, Cordelia had sent someone over with a bowl of tremella and lotus seed soup, all smiles and fake concern.

It was called an apology, but in truth it was meant to kill her.

For some reason, whether because of her body or sheer bad luck, she had not died. Instead, she ended up paralyzed. Perhaps once they saw she was no longer a threat, they simply tossed her aside and let her rot away in this desolate little courtyard.

Every day, all she got was a thin bowl of plain gruel from the servants, just enough to keep her breathing.

Living like that, day after day, she had wanted more than once to end it all.

She just never had the courage.

Until one day, Cordelia Mercer came into her room, stood there looking at her for a long while… and then suddenly burst into loud laughter.

Arabella looked at the woman before her. Cordelia was dressed in flowing immortal robes, jade ornaments chiming softly at her waist, radiant and lofty, as though she belonged to a world completely different from this broken room—and from her.

Arabella did not understand why Cordelia had come to see her.

Not until Cordelia revealed that earth-shattering secret.

So it turned out… she was never the daughter of the Mercer family at all.

She still remembered how smug Cordelia had looked then, chin lifted high as she said, “Arabella Mercer, do you know? You were never a daughter of the Mercer family. You are the daughter of the Sect Master of Zhengtian Sect. But now… the Sect Master’s daughter is me. Me. Hahaha…”

Arabella’s body had already been worn down beyond repair. After years of hunger and neglect, she had no strength left at all. Even her throat, ruined from not speaking for so long, could only force out a rough, hoarse sound.

“What… do you mean by that?”

Cordelia clutched her stomach and laughed even harder. “What do I mean? I mean you’re a complete fool. And you really thought you were Father and Mother’s daughter? Let me tell you the truth. Back then, your mother entered our Mercer family while pregnant with you. She died right after giving birth. Originally, raising some orphan girl like you wouldn’t have mattered either way. But who would’ve thought you had a supreme thunder spirit root, while I had no spirit root at all? So my father dug your spirit root out and transplanted it into me. Oh, right—and this too. The black jade pendant your mother left for you. Here. This one.”

Cordelia raised her delicate hand, her fingers curling into an affected orchid pose, then pulled a jade pendant from inside her collar, where it hung from a fine golden cord.

The pendant was not large. It was a black jade piece carved with dragon-and-phoenix auspicious motifs, and under the light, it gave off a faint, shadowy gleam.

Arabella had never known she possessed such a pendant.

Only through Cordelia’s mocking words did she learn that it had been left behind by her mother.

And that this pendant… was the token for recognizing her true kin.

Only then did she realize how stupid she had truly been.

If Cordelia had not come swaggering over to boast to her in person, she never would have known that even that bowl of tremella and lotus seed soup had been sent on Cordelia’s orders—

sent to poison her.

All this time, she had been kept completely in the dark.

Who could have guessed her life would be so stubborn? She had failed to die.

And instead, she had ended up paralyzed.