Gu Tang, a court official whose power shook the imperial government, encountered something bizarre after her death.
She had died, but upon opening her eyes, she was alive once more, reborn as a fifteen-year-old maiden named Luo Tang.
This timeline existed one hundred years before her own era. Her soul had traveled back a century, taking up residence within Luo Tang, a girl whose parents had both passed away and who was now forced to live under the roof of her maternal uncle’s family.
At noon that day, a torrential downpour struck as though launched in a sudden raid. It began in stealth before breaking out with unbridled fury, showing no mercy for the lives of pedestrians.
A restless Gu Tang had sneaked out of her uncle’s manor, only to run into this ruthless, unforgiving weather. Damn it all, she cursed the heavens, berating the skies inside and out for the span of a tea break, until a streak of lightning suddenly cracked down.
It hit just ten steps in front of her. Startled, she leaped back, immediately whispering frantic amends to the heavens: The heavens are merciful, it was my fault, you did nothing wrong! Oh, please, have pity on all living creatures and don’t hold a grudge against a fifteen-year-old child.
Just as she finished quietly appeasing the deities for the length of two tea breaks, the door of a tavern behind her creaked open. Oh? The place where she had sought shelter from the rain turned out to be a tavern after all.
As she looked over in puzzlement, a figure stepped out from within. Walking against the glare, the hem of a moon-white skirt swayed gracefully.
It was a woman.
Fifteen-year-old Luo Tang merely glanced at the skirt, intending to look away, when her gaze inadvertently swept across the woman’s face. Her skin was like congealed lard, her brows arched like distant misty mountains, and an inherent air of authority radiated from her.
The most fatal detail was the moisture swimming in her eyes, making her look mildly intoxicated.
People who got drunk generally fell into two categories. The first type flushed all the way up to their face, their smooth skin blooming with a rosy tint like morning clouds as the alcohol dissipated through their pores.
Then there was the second type, just like the woman before her. She didn’t flush from drinking; her complexion remained fair and unblemished. Rumor had it that people with this constitution kept the alcoholic fumes trapped deep within their chest, unable to disperse them, making them appear capable of drinking a thousand cups without getting drunk.
Taking a quick glance away, Luo Tang could not help being dazzled.
The woman bypassed her. Someone from the tavern handed over an umbrella, casting a quiet, lingering look at her before smilingly seeing her off.
Just from the tavern keeper’s single expression, Luo Tang picked up on something fishy. Having climbed all the way to the position of Prime Minister in her past life, she had plumbed the depths of countless human hearts; one look at the keeper was enough to sense malicious intent.
Without pausing to think or perhaps simply because they were both women and ought to lend a hand, Luo Tang instinctively stepped forward, flashing a smile at the woman. “Elder Sister, you’re finally out. I’ve been waiting for you for ages.”
Luo Tang’s smile was innocent, her brows curved into crescents. The woman cast a glance at her; overpowered by the alcohol, feeling slightly dizzy, she hesitated.
Luo Tang reached out her hand, took the umbrella, and said, “Did Big Sister forget about me? I am Luo Tang. The Grand Commandant’s Xiao family is my maternal uncle’s household, and I reside with them.”
Hesitant, the woman looked down at the young maiden. The corners of her eyes tilted slightly upward, her demeanor steeped in drunken grace. She reached out and handed the umbrella over.
Suddenly, the tavern keeper intercepted them, barking, “Prefect Zhe, you’re drunk. Don’t fall for a swindler’s trap.”
Prefect Zhe?
Luo Tang frowned inwardly. Which Zhe family?
She had studied historical texts. A century ago, the Zhe family had produced a prominent figure.
Zhe Qing.
Before her death, Gu Tang had been locked away in the celestial prison, discovering a tattered, yellowed journal inside a small crevice in the corner of her cell.
The prison was dark and devoid of daylight. When she opened her eyes and gazed up at the high barred window, catching a faint sliver of sunlight, her heart slowly sank. It was right then that she spotted the journal.
The dynasty of her lifetime was known as the Ming, but preceding the Ming was another dynasty known to posterity as the “Qi.”
The Qi Dynasty was unique for setting a precedent by allowing women to serve as officials. Women entered the imperial court in a blossoming display of talent, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with men under the sun and moon.
The term “female official” produced many predecessors who commanded deep respect.
There were exemplary officials whose reputations echoed through the ages, alongside notorious villains whose infamy lasted a millennium. Zhe Qing was the latter.
Gu Tang had first encountered Zhe Qing through historical records: Zhe Qing had abused her power, manipulating and throwing the imperial court into chaos.
She deserved to die.
Luo Tang hadn’t cared much for her at the time, but the journal she read in her final days completely overturned her impression of Zhe Qing.
She remembered Zhe Qing. Her family ruined, she had sought shelter in her mentor’s estate and followed her mentor from a young age. This journal chronicled her very first day entering her mentor’s household, recording the trivial daily occurrences from that moment on living under someone else’s roof, harboring deep gratitude toward her mentor, inheriting her grandmother’s dying wish to purge the court of corrupt practices, being praised by the public, and finally, being reviled by all.
In the end, she died.
The final page of the journal read: “The abilities of our generation are inept; we struggle to ever see the light of day.”
To her very last breath, she had never given up.
Recalling Zhe Qing, Luo Tang figured the person before her must have some connection to her, perhaps Zhe Qing’s mother, her aunt, or perhaps a woman of the same generation.
In time, everything would become clear. She might even cross paths with Zhe Qing herself.
With this thought, she smiled at the woman.
Lowering her gaze, the woman seemed too intoxicated, her senses dulled, offering no response.
Luo Tang let go of her, freed a hand to retrieve her money pouch, and booked a top-tier guest room. Being a clean freak, she naturally wanted the finest accommodations available.
Money was meant to be earned; scrimping only tortured oneself. Suffer first and enjoy sweetness later? No, suffering only comes after sweetness, why not enjoy it first before talking about the rest?
Guided by this philosophy, she secured a luxurious suite consisting of two connected rooms a bedchamber on the inside and a parlor with tables and chairs on the outside. The daily amenities were quite decent.
Luo Tang helped the woman inside, guiding her to the edge of the couch, and glanced at her garments. “Are you cold or hot?”
If she had been drugged, she would be burning up.
If she were simply drunk from alcohol, she would feel cold.
The woman cast a look at Luo Tang, droplets of water clinging to her dark temples, lending a shattered fragility to her opulent air. Then, she stubbornly began to strip off her clothes.
She still retained a shred of sanity, managing to shed her soaked outer garments on her own.
Looking away, Luo Tang turned toward the other side of the room, listening to the soft, rustling sound of clothing being removed.
Seeming terribly drunk, the woman struggled with her garments for a long while. Growing impatient, Luo Tang asked, “Shall I help you?”
The woman paused, raising her head to look at the maiden. Her gaze was hazy yet carried a cool, piercing detachment an instant that felt like an eternity.
Her silence seemed to serve as tacit consent.
Luo Tang smiled at her, reached out toward her waistline, and uttered, “Don’t be afraid.”
In my past life, I was a wicked person. In this lifetime, I want to be a good one.
Clasping the woman’s hand and feeling its abnormal, scorching temperature, Luo Tang asked no questions. She untied the sash, removed the outer robe, and kept her eyes fixed straight ahead.
She placed the soaked garments at the foot of the bed, bent down into a squat, and removed the other woman’s shoes.
Finally, she tucked the woman into bed and pulled down the bed curtains to shield everything inside from view.
Everyone had moments of vulnerability; there was no need to take it to heart.
The spring rainstorms were exceptionally chilly. The innkeeper had lit a charcoal brazier, and Luo Tang stripped off her own soaked outer garments to dry them by the fire.
From start to finish, the woman had spoken only a single sentence, lapsing into silence thereafter.
Clad in her inner garments, Luo Tang rested her chin in her hand and stared at her clothes.
The charcoal crackled softly.
After a long while, Luo Tang picked up the dried clothes, walked into the inner chamber, and stood by the couch, speaking to the figure through the bed curtains: “Prefect Zhe, your clothes are dry. Would you like a bowl of hangover soup? Shall I have someone prepare one for you?”
No one answered.
Luo Tang sighed, clueless about the woman’s condition.
Enduring as much as she could, she reached out and parted the bed curtains, only for a hand to instantly close around her wrist.
It was hot.
Scalding hot.
Luo Tang blinked, her heart warming up as she guiltily retracted her hand. “Your clothes, you grabbed the wrong thing. You’re supposed to grab the clothes.”
Not considering herself a saint incapable of being swayed by beauty, Luo Tang nevertheless said, “I’ll go get you a bowl of hangover soup.”
With that, she hurried away, pulled open the door, and let a blast of cold air rush in to dispel her mounting heat.
It’s so hot.
Luo Tang called out to the innkeeper, “Brew a bowl of hangover soup—make it a good one, and don’t try to fob me off with any cheap rubbish.”
Fishing out some silver from her money pouch, she handed it over. Catching sight of the gold nuggets, the innkeeper instinctively beamed. “I wouldn’t dare trick you, miss! Just wait a moment, it’ll be ready right away.”
Turning back inside, Luo Tang extinguished the charcoal brazier and pushed open the window, allowing the bone-chilling wind to sweep in and make her shiver.
It’s freezing.
She walked back to the couch, hooked the bed curtains aside, kept her eyes averted from the bed, and muttered, “I’ve opened the window. A breeze will help you cool down.”
Then she turned and walked away.
From beginning to end, she hadn’t glanced at her even once.
The innkeeper soon delivered the hangover soup.
Luo Tang opened the door to find the innkeeper smiling obsequiously. She thought to herself: Indeed, money makes the ghost push the mill; money can make people smile this subserviently.
“Thank you,” Luo Tang said with polished etiquette, smiling as she expressed her gratitude.
“You’re too kind. Just let me know if you need anything,” the innkeeper beamed, utterly thrilled. What a lavish, foolish spendthrift! A bowl of hangover soup wasn’t worth much, let alone a gold nugget.
Luo Tang was a profligate spender, and she was used to it. As a powerful minister in her past life, she had hardly been a model of frugal integrity; she spent lavishly and grew accustomed to it.
In this lifetime, she hadn’t yet shaken off that extravagant habit.
Nor did she have any intention of changing it anytime soon.
Turning back into the room, Luo Tang shut the door. Half an hour had passed since they first stepped inside.
Leaning forward, she held the bowl of hangover soup and peered over, finally taking in the scene unfolding on the bed.