Occasionally, Shen Ruyi even thought that if she could just keep going like this, being a lowly maid in the Marquis’s mansion for life wouldn’t be so bad.
But fate had other plans. Just as Shen Ruyi was chastising herself for being a time-traveling girl with no backbone or ambition, on the 23rd day of the first lunar month, one of the twelve young maids born under the Tiger—Doukou—turned sixteen.
Without any warning, the Old Madam suddenly betrothed her to an unremarkable young servant in the mansion.
The only noteworthy thing about this servant? He was a house-born son—a child of the family rather than a servant’s child.
Shen Ruyi, along with ten other Tiger-born maids, went to see Doukou.
Doukou showed no trace of joy; Shen Ruyi deliberately lingered until the end.
“Did you figure it out? Everyone says you’re dull and foolish, but it turns out you’re the cleverest,” Doukou said, her gaze empty, as if staring through nothing.
“You… don’t like that servant?” Shen Ruyi asked cautiously.
“Like? Perhaps the better question is whether I even know him.”
Doukou’s voice was light, like willow fluff floating in bitter water—fragile and dispersing, leaving only an air thick with lingering bitterness.
“Then why…?” Shen Ruyi didn’t fully understand, but she suspected she did.
She recalled what Master Liaokong had said years ago.
“You can ask why, which means you’ve already guessed.
Liaokong said that we Tiger-born girls must spend our entire lives in the mansion, to ensure the Old Madam’s long life and the family’s continued glory.
Isn’t it ridiculous?
When did the honor of a noble household come to depend on girls so lowly they could be sold or betrothed at any moment?”
Doukou smiled faintly, but her words carried unrelenting despair, as if struggling to contain the urge to break down.
Her words shook Shen Ruyi deeply.
Perhaps she should have realized it earlier, but she had clung to that one-in-a-million hope.
Today, that hope was cruelly shattered.
The room was silent, the two of them making barely a sound, even breathing shallowly.
It was the first lunar month; Shen Ruyi, born in May, still had four months to go—fifty steps versus a hundred.
She didn’t even remember how she had left Doukou and returned to her dorm, silently, without speaking to anyone.
But her aloof persona made it believable, and no one found her behavior odd.
Shen Ruyi also checked the young servant betrothed to Doukou—it was hopeless.
Average-looking, short, and addicted to gambling.
Other than being house-born and of marriageable age, he was worthless.
This showed that the Old Madam only cared that these girls remained in the mansion; whether they lived well or not was irrelevant.
The realization pressed on Shen Ruyi like a boulder, often making it hard to breathe at night, yet she was powerless to change anything.
She didn’t even know which master physically held her contract. No master would sit around checking a maid’s contract daily, after all.
Moreover, after Guo Ping and Guo An mysteriously vanished from her room two years ago, Shen Ruyi no longer dared to use the space’s teleportation freely in the mansion.
Wu’an Marquis Mansion was a family built on military achievements.
A family with several generations of influence surely had secrets in every corner—who knew if a hidden guard might be watching?
Better safe than sorry; stealing her contract was unrealistic.
Soon, the Tiger-born maids for the second and third months were also betrothed.
Not just Shen Ruyi, but the remaining unbetrothed Tiger-born maids realized something was wrong.
No matter how well they played the game over the years, no matter whose favor they earned, they were still just maids. Helpless.
Time passed relentlessly, until one night on the first day of the fourth lunar month, a sudden bell rang through the quiet night sky.
Shen Ruyi, who had been sleeping poorly for months, bolted upright.
The bell kept ringing. Her mind, already burdened, began counting unconsciously:
“…forty-one, forty-two, forty-three.”
The bell stopped.
“Forty-three? What does forty-three strikes mean?
No… it’s forty-five, ninety-five… forty-five. This bell must be from the palace—did the old emperor pass away?”
Shen Ruyi’s eyes widened. Confusion vanished. She was fully alert.
“A few days ago, I heard a servant say the Marquis had entered the palace and hadn’t returned for days. Could it be that the old emperor was already ill then?”
Soon, the mansion erupted in commotion, confirming her suspicion— the old emperor, Emperor Yue Jing, had indeed passed away!
The masters, servants, and maids quickly changed all bright decorations; the red lanterns outside were replaced with white.
Orders trickled down to wear only mourning clothes—no reds or greens.
After a busy night, Shen Ruyi finally rested, the mansion under strict watch.
Even the flowers were removed; she suddenly found herself free, perfect for catching up on sleep.
Big events outside the mansion didn’t concern a lowly maid like her, unfamiliar with even the capital streets.
The mansion remained on high alert for a full day. Servants and maids were uneasy.
Shen Ruyi knew that when the old gives way to the new, there is always blood and chaos.
As one of the most powerful households in the capital, Wu’an Marquis Mansion could hardly remain uninvolved.
Would the mansion stay neutral or choose a side? Choosing a side carried risk.
Pick the right side, and the mansion continued in prosperity; she’d remain a maid, betrothed next month to some unmarried house-born son, living as a servant for generations.
Pick the wrong side, and she could be executed, exiled, or sold to another master along with her household.
Either way, the result for her wasn’t ideal.
With that in mind, Shen Ruyi could only adopt a “let it be” attitude—living day by day, making the most of it.