Flames shot into the sky and tore open the night. Eleanor Whitmore burst out of the blaze with a swaddled infant tied to her chest and another to her back, then ran like mad toward the rear mountain behind the estate.

"Fire! The back courtyard is on fire! Hurry, put it out!"

"This is bad! Third Miss is gone!"

"The two little masters are gone too!"

"She ran toward the back mountain—go after her!"

"..."

The whole estate had fallen into chaos. The ones rushing to fight the fire slammed into the ones rushing to hunt her down, and that mess bought Eleanor a hard-won chance to escape.

But all at once, her legs gave way. She dropped to one knee.

She was in terrible shape. Cold sweat kept pouring out of her, soaking her clothes through. Her face was white as paper, so drained she looked like she might die the very next breath.

Eleanor clenched her teeth and forced herself back up at once.

She had transmigrated into this place and inherited the original girl's memories, so she understood perfectly well—if she did not run now, what waited for her was certain death.

The original host's legitimate elder sister, Vivienne Whitmore, had been born unable to consummate a marriage or bear children. So she had joined hands with their legitimate mother and schemed against the original host, using her as a stand-in. The moment the child was born, they meant to silence her for good.

Eleanor's mind was already starting to blur. There was no time to think deeper. She steeled herself and bit through the tip of her tongue. The sharp taste of blood jolted her senses, driving her to stagger forward again.

"Stop right there! Third Miss, you can't get away!" The people chasing from the estate were getting closer and closer. "The Eldest Miss said only if you die can your younger brother live!"

A thin, undersized face flashed through Eleanor's mind from the original host's memories, but her steps only quickened.

She was not that timid fool from before. If she gave herself up now, then she and her brother truly would be finished. Both of them would die.

Only by staying alive would she have any chance to turn this around.

From somewhere ahead came a faint rolling thunder. The ground trembled lightly beneath her feet.

Eleanor's eyes lit up.

Great—an army was passing by.

"She's heading for the main road!" someone shouted behind her. "Quick, chase her! Stop her—"

Eleanor Whitmore ran straight for the official road without caring about anything else, and the sight before her made her breath catch.

A long river of torches wound on for miles. Moonlight flashed across iron armor. Hoofbeats, rolling wheels, and heavy marching steps crashed together like a dark tide.

Banners snapped in the night wind, and on them, faint but clear enough, was the character for “Gu.”

At once, a name surfaced from the original owner’s memories: Aldric Pemberton, Marquis of Loyal Valor.

These days, war kept breaking out along the northern border of Dasheng. This had to be the Emperor sending the Marquis north as reinforcements.

Eleanor paused for only a heartbeat before rushing toward the rear of the procession. A long merchant caravan followed behind the army, wagon after wagon loaded with grain and supplies.

“Who goes there? Stand aside at once! Do not interfere with the army’s march!” a soldier escorting the convoy barked.

Eleanor had already been running on the last of her strength. Her knees buckled and she fell hard to the ground. The two swaddled bundles on her body jolted, and soft little cries rose from them.

She scrambled up at once and shielded the babies with her body. When she lifted her face, tears were already smeared all over it—not an act, not entirely. This body was in so much pain she could barely hold herself together.

“Soldier, please... have mercy...” Her voice was hoarse, and she looked so miserable it tugged at the heart without trying. “My husband met with trouble in Yancheng. I only want to see him one last time. I beg you, let this humble woman follow the convoy...”

In the firelight, blood from the birthing room still stained her face. Her clothes were torn to rags. One swaddle was tied in front of her, one across her back. She looked pitiful beyond words.

The soldier frowned at her, but did not answer right away.

“Please, Soldier, just show a little kindness. Even if I can only follow for part of the road...” Eleanor swayed as if she might collapse at any second. “I truly do not dare travel alone with two children...”

Just then, the curtain of a wagon in the merchant caravan was lifted, and a woman around forty leaned out. “Headman Fletcher, this young lady looks downright wretched. Let her squeeze into my cart. We’re headed the same way anyway.”

At last the soldier relented. “Be quick! Don’t hold up the march!”

As the woman pulled Eleanor up into the wagon, Eleanor caught sight of the men chasing from the estate by the roadside. They were craning their necks, scanning the endless line of soldiers and carts.

They did not dare offend the army. And they likely believed the timid, cowardly Third Miss would never dare get close to a military procession in the first place. So after a moment, they turned and chased off in another direction.

The wagon curtain dropped.

“Oh dear, these two little ones...” The woman looked at the twin swaddles on Eleanor and then at her with open pity. “Sister, you’ve only just given birth, and you’re already heading out on a long journey?”

Eleanor nodded weakly, and tears welled up again—this time half for show, and half because she was truly in agony.

Wave after wave of pain clenched her womb so hard she nearly blacked out. She could feel warm blood sliding down her legs.

"Don't be scared, don't be scared," the woman said, quickly digging a clean cloth out of her bundle. "Put this under you first. My surname is Zhou. My husband's people trade cloth up to the northern frontier. I heard you say just now that the children's father ran into trouble in Yancheng?"

Yancheng was the nearest county to the northern frontier. Life there was harsh, true, but furs and medicinal herbs were cheap. Haul them back to the capital or down to Jiangnan, and the profit would be more than decent.

"Yes." Eleanor Whitmore lifted a hand and wiped her face, but the tears kept spilling anyway. "I don't even know whether I'll make it in time to see him one last time."

Mrs. Avery patted her hand gently. "If word was able to reach you, that means it can't be the very worst yet. Try not to frighten yourself too much."

Eleanor Whitmore's head was swimming, her vision blurred and flickering. Hearing that, she gave a vague, unsteady nod.

The carriage rolled forward at a slow pace with the army. Eleanor Whitmore leaned against the wall of the carriage and shut her eyes.

At the same time, in the bedchamber of the manor's main courtyard, Vivienne Whitmore smashed her third teacup.

"Useless trash!" Her face, always mild and graceful before others, was twisted into something almost frightening. "One woman who just gave birth, and she's dragging along two infants besides, and still all of you let her slip away right under your noses?"

Steward Wang knelt on the floor, shaking so hard his voice nearly broke. "Young Miss, calm your anger... Third Miss was like a different person. She moved fast, very fast, and even set a fire to stir up chaos... And she ran toward the main road. Just then the army of Marquis Zhongyong happened to be passing by, so that's how we lost her..."

"The army?" Vivienne Whitmore spun around sharply. "The reinforcements His Majesty sent to the northern frontier?"

"Yes..."

Vivienne Whitmore fell silent. Candlelight flickered over her face. After a long while, she suddenly laughed, the sound cold and sharp as a blade.

"My dear little sister doesn't have that kind of nerve, and she certainly couldn't slip into the army ranks." She walked to the window and looked into the distance. "She must still be somewhere nearby. Keep searching for me!"

Steward Wang scrambled to his feet at once. "I will go right away!"

Her personal nursemaid lowered her voice and tried to soothe her. "Young Miss, please calm yourself. Third Miss has children with her. She cannot have gone far."

"If I had not been unable to bear a child, why would I ever have let her climb into Caspian Vane's bed?" Vivienne Whitmore turned back around. Her face had gone calm again, but her eyes were iced through. "She will not ruin my plan."

She sat down and tapped the tabletop with her fingertips.

"Nurse, this matter must be buried completely. Everyone on this estate is a bonded household servant with a death contract. They are all utterly loyal to Mother. Now Shen Lian must be found at once. She must die!"

Vivienne Whitmore rose to her feet. "Pass down my order. If she isn't found tonight, then keep searching in secret. And when she is found, kill those two little bastards with her. Leave none of them alive!"

"What about the two children..." Mrs. Anderson hesitated, her voice low. "The Eldest Young Lady still needs them if she wants a firm footing in the Duke's household. If the children are gone, then I'm afraid..."

Vivienne Whitmore let out a cold little scoff. "The Heir was leaving this morning, and before he went, he saw them with his own eyes. That alone is enough to secure my place in the Duke's residence. Once they're dead, all the better. I can use that as an excuse to keep the Heir from coming near me again."

...

Three days later, Eleanor Whitmore was already two hundred li away from the capital.

Dusk was settling in. The sky over the river was dimming, and the caravan had just stopped to make camp by the bank when Mrs. Avery's son suddenly clutched his stomach and rolled on the ground.

"It hurts... Mother, it hurts so bad..."

The young man's face had gone white as paper. Cold sweat kept pouring down his brow, and there were streaks of blood in what he vomited.

"Bao'er! Bao'er, what's happened to you?" Mrs. Avery's mind went blank with panic. "Fletcher Drummond! Quick—quick, find a physician!"

But in this wild stretch of empty land, where was a physician supposed to come from?

When Eleanor Whitmore climbed down from the carriage, her legs were so weak she nearly collapsed on the spot.

She caught herself against the shaft of the cart, her voice hoarse as she said, "Let me take a look."