Outside was so noisy it made one’s temples ache.
Crying, shouting, the sharp crash of porcelain shattering on the floor—everything mixed together into a chaotic mess.
Shen Qingzhu’s eyelids twitched.
She had been awakened by the noise.
The first thing she saw was the canopy of a step-bed above her head—antique and elegant, carved with intricate auspicious cloud patterns. A faint trace of sandalwood incense lingered in the air.
Something wasn’t right.
Shouldn’t she be in the VIP ward of a hospital, waiting for cancer cells to gnaw away the last bit of her life?
Where was this place?
The thought had just formed when her head exploded with a buzzing boom. It was as if someone had forced a crowbar into her skull and jammed a USB drive inside. Countless fragments of unfamiliar memories poured in like a flood.
The Great Sheng Dynasty.
Shen Jiru, Director of the Imperial Medical Academy.
His “young son,” Shen Qingzhu—actually a girl disguised as a boy.
Prince An’s rebellion.
Execution of the entire family.
Well, damn.
Shen Qingzhu let out a silent scoff in her heart.
She must have accumulated immense virtue in her previous life.
To jump straight from a death sentence with reprieve to immediate execution.
Such overwhelming “good fortune”—whoever wants it can have it.
She pushed herself up and looked around.
Purple sandalwood tables and chairs, famous calligraphy and paintings hanging on the walls, and a display shelf filled with all kinds of porcelain antiques. The furnishings of a wealthy household.
What a pity.
It wouldn’t belong to them much longer.
Before long, everything here would belong to the government.
Just then, the arguing outside suddenly grew louder, and a woman’s scream pierced through the chaos.
“Old Madam! Wake up! The Master is gone—our Shen family is counting on you!”
“Madam! Madam has fainted too! Quick! Pinch her philtrum!”
The place erupted in wailing and panic.
Shen Qingzhu threw off the blanket. The moment her toes touched the floor, her legs went weak. This body was even frailer than her own had been before dying in her previous life.
She grabbed the bedpost and barely managed to steady herself.
Before she could catch her breath, a faint voice, trembling with sobs, suddenly echoed directly in her mind.
“Please…”
Shen Qingzhu jolted and nearly collapsed back onto the bed.
Who?
Who was speaking?
She spun around sharply.
The room was empty—there wasn’t even a ghost in sight.
“Please… save my grandmother… save my mother… and my sisters…”
The voice sounded again, drifting and hollow, filled with bone-deep despair, as though it came from another world.
Shen Qingzhu’s gaze fixed on the center of the room.
The air there twisted slightly, and a half-transparent figure of a young girl slowly appeared.
The girl wore the same clothes as she did, about fifteen or sixteen years old, with features seventy or eighty percent similar. But her face was covered in tear tracks, her eyes hollow and full of terror.
Well then.
Not only had she transmigrated—she even got a ghost as a bonus.
Buy one, get one free. The shopkeeper was really thoughtful.
Shen Qingzhu complained inwardly, her face expressionless. She hadn’t feared death—why would she fear a ghost?
“You’re… the original Shen Qingzhu?” she asked tentatively.
The phantom trembled violently, like a candle flame in the wind, ready to extinguish at any moment.
“I… I was scared to death…” the girl’s ghost stammered. “When the officials came to report the mourning news, they said Father… Father… I got scared, and then… then I didn’t know anything anymore…”
Shen Qingzhu understood.
So she had picked up a leftover opportunity.
The original owner had been too timid and was frightened to death by the catastrophic news. Her wandering soul from another world had naturally taken over the body.
“So you’re begging me?” Shen Qingzhu raised an eyebrow, her tone neutral.
“Please!”
The ghost girl dropped to her knees with a thud. Her translucent knees passed through the floor, making the sight rather eerie.
“I know you’re not me! You’re amazing—much more capable than I am!”
“You must have a way, right?”
Her eyes burned with the desperate madness of a drowning person clutching a piece of driftwood.
Shen Qingzhu said nothing.
She really did have a way.
Deep in her consciousness lay the greatest secret of her previous life—a storage space so vast it was unimaginable.
In her past life, she had been a student of traditional Chinese medicine. But deep down, she was an avid believer in apocalyptic theories. To survive the coming chaos she believed inevitable, she had ruthlessly trained herself—learning self-defense and spending countless hours at an underground shooting range until she developed exceptional marksmanship.
Inside the space were supplies ranging from compressed biscuits to premium steaks, as well as enough firearms to arm a small team and the precision machinery needed to manufacture them.
Everything she could possibly need.
She had prepared for the apocalypse in every way.
But the apocalypse never came.
Cancer came first.
With those supplies, she could easily escape to the ends of the earth and live like a carefree immortal.
But that was alone.
“Why should I save them?” Shen Qingzhu asked quietly, her voice cold. “They’re your grandmother, your mother, and your sisters—not mine. To me, they’re complete strangers.”
Even she felt the chill of her own words.
But it was the truth.
She had no ties of blood or affection with the Shen family. Why should she raise the difficulty of her escape from “easy mode” to “hell mode” for a few strangers?
With women both young and old in tow, how could she run?
Take a carriage? The target would be too obvious. They wouldn’t get a hundred li before pursuing soldiers caught up and hauled them away.
The girl cried, seemingly wanting to say something, but no words came out.
In utter despair, she suddenly lunged toward Shen Qingzhu.
“I’ll give you… everything!”
The phantom turned into a streak of light and shot straight into Shen Qingzhu’s forehead.
“Boom—!”
A torrent of memories far greater than before instantly overwhelmed Shen Qingzhu’s mind.
No longer cold fragments, but fifteen full years of life filled with warmth and emotion.
[Scene One: A winter night. She burned with a relentless fever. The usually stern old grandmother scolded her for being “delicate,” yet repeatedly stroked her forehead with rough hands, muttering, “My good granddaughter, grow up quickly…” That hand was so warm it almost burned.]
[Scene Two: Afternoon, the Buddhist hall. Her gentle mother knelt for hours, praying only that the Bodhisattva would keep her “son” safe all her life. She didn’t dare pray for wealth or glory. That humble plea stabbed into the heart like a needle.]
[Scene Three: Her mother carefully placed a fine jeweled hairpin into a box and said, “Zhu’er, this is the dowry Mother is saving for you… when the time comes…”]
Dowry…
That woman was truly… foolish in a way that made one’s chest ache.
These memories were no longer cold.
They carried warmth, emotion, and all the attachment and reluctance a young girl had felt over fifteen years.
They came alive.
Taking root in Shen Qingzhu’s soul.
With her eyes closed, a drop of burning liquid slipped uncontrollably from the corner of Shen Qingzhu’s eye.
In her previous life, she had never shed tears for anyone.
Not even when she died.
“Damn it…”
She cursed under her breath, her voice tinged with a trace of choking emotion she didn’t even notice.
Well, that settled it.
She had been completely roped in.
There was no way to deny it now.
Those feelings had already become hers.
Just as she finished merging the memories and opened her eyes again—
Bang!
The door was kicked open from the outside.
A young man in a servant’s uniform stumbled in, practically rolling across the floor.
“Y-Young Master! Something terrible has happened!”