After resting in bed for two consecutive days, Yun Xi’s body finally recovered a bit. But due to long-term malnutrition, she still looked extremely frail—thin as a reed, with a small, palm-sized face dominated by a pair of large, blinking eyes. Seeing her reflection in a bowl of water earlier almost made her want to cry. She had lived for decades, and now suddenly she was back in a child’s body—everything felt unnatural.
The worst part was mealtime. As someone who grew up in the modern world eating bread, meat, and balanced meals, she now had to eat rough bran porridge and wild vegetables—sometimes without even salt. Drinking water had become a luxury.
That morning, after waking and seeing the clear sunlight outside, Yun Xi decided to take a walk. She had been in this world for three days and hadn’t stepped outside yet—mostly because her body had been too weak even to lift her arms.
She slowly supported herself upright, put on her clothes—coarse, stiff fabric that scraped painfully against her skin—and swore silently that she would work hard to earn herself a life where she could eat her fill and stay warm.
A PhD in agronomy, a nationally recognized expert—and here she was, in ancient times, unable even to fill her stomach. It was truly laughable.
When she pushed open the door and stepped into the courtyard, she realized she lived in a small independent yard. The main house had three rooms; she stayed in the one on the west side. The east side was likely her parents’ room. There was also a shabby cooking shed made only of wooden poles and thick layers of straw—hardly even a structure. The yard was enclosed by a fence with a worn wooden gate that served as their entrance.
Yun Xi sat on a stone stool in the middle of the yard and peered through the gaps in the fence. Houses in this mountain village were close together. Through the fence, she could clearly see the neighboring yard, where a young boy—around ten years old—was chopping firewood.
Perhaps sensing her gaze, the boy turned, spotted her, and walked over to the fence.
“Yun Xi, you’re better now?”
Yun Xi didn’t know him, but she politely nodded.
“Yes, I’ve recovered.”
“You seem… different from before,” the boy said suspiciously.
“Oh, well… after I got sick, I woke up without remembering anything. So I don’t know who you are anymore, sorry.”
“What? You don’t remember anything? You don’t remember me?”
His voice shot up in surprise.
“Yes, that’s what the doctor said. He said the fever caused amnesia.”
Yun Xi repeated the doctor’s explanation—it sounded more believable.
“Oh… as long as your health is fine. I’m Yun Lu, three years older than you. You used to call me brother.”
“Alright, Brother Lu, I’ll remember that. If I have questions later, I’ll ask you. Oh—Brother Lu, have you been up the mountain before?”
Yun Xi felt incredibly awkward. Her mental age was around thirty, and now she had to call a ten-year-old “brother.” She nearly bit her tongue doing it.
“Of course I have. I often go up the mountain to chop wood. But…”
Yun Lu glanced around mysteriously and lowered his voice.
“You must never go to the back mountain. It’s forbidden. Our Yun Village has guarded this place for generations. No one goes there, and we’re not allowed to talk about it.”
“Forbidden land?”
Yun Xi’s interest was instantly piqued. She walked over to the fence, standing face-to-face with him.
“Why is it forbidden? Has no one ever gone?”
“No, no one from the village ever goes. We’re not allowed to talk about it either. I only heard because I overheard my father once.”
“Oh? Have any of the elders been there?”
“I heard that a long, long time ago, someone secretly went—and never returned. After that, no one dared try again.”
“I see… Where is the path to the back mountain?”
“Shh!!”
Yun Lu nearly jumped.
“Xier, you want to go? Don’t! You’ll lose your life.”
He looked anxiously around, terrified someone might overhear their conversation.