She counted three seconds in her head. Nothing moved.
Three more seconds. Still no earth-shaking crackle of firecrackers, no choking smell of sulfur.
Only the old ox’s unhurried clop-clop, the monotonous clank of its bell, and the all-too-real jolting beneath her.
Qiao Yujie’s heart went cold.
It was over.
If her mom ever found out that she’d used “repairing the ancestral tomb” as an excuse to trick her daughter into donating fifty thousand, and then the daughter got “sacrificed” away…
Would she cry herself unconscious in front of the grave?
Last month, her dad had said that when he retired next year, he’d already picked out a position for her.
Vice Director.
Vice Director of a Grade 3A hospital.
She’d already rehearsed her acceptance speech in her head several times at midnight.
And then?
Qingming, back to the hometown, sincerely (forced) kowtowed nine times.
And she was gone.
Great-Great-Grandfather, do you have some kind of catastrophic misunderstanding of what “find me a good match” means?
If you really wanted to help, just set me up with someone local.
That newly transferred District Chief Xu from the district office next to the hospital would’ve been great. Refined, cultured, boundless prospects.
At the very least, the personal trainer at the gym across the street who looks like Eddie Peng would’ve been acceptable.
But no. You went and exiled me.
Exile is one thing, but couldn’t you have picked a better era?
At least send me back to the Tang Dynasty so I could taste the lychees Imperial Consort Yang ate.
Or the Song Dynasty, to see the prosperity in Along the River During the Qingming Festival.
Even the eighties would’ve been fine. Catch the wave of Reform and Opening Up, maybe become a female entrepreneur.
But this?
Bulky old military coats, an old ox and broken cart that struggle to breathe, the inescapable stench of poverty, and keywords like “countryside re-education” and “fiancé.”
That overwhelming sense of an era straight out of Grandma’s bedtime stories.
Qiao Yujie closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the cold, foul air, trying to suppress the despair churning in her stomach.
Forget Vice Director. Whether she’d even get to eat her fill in this life was now an open question.
The more she thought about it, the worse it got.
Qiao Yurou wasn’t annoyed that Qiao Yujie didn’t answer.
She was used to that cold, aloof, superior attitude. After all, one was biological, and she was adopted.
She touched the marriage contract in her coat and smiled faintly.
Gu Mingsong, Gu Mingyang.
The fiancés of the Qiao family’s two biological daughters. Both promising military officers.
Especially the eldest, Gu Mingsong. Already a political commissar, handsome, refined.
And her own “match,” Huo Zheng? The Gu family’s nephew. A troublemaker. An unmanageable thug. Dark and fierce-looking.
She’d already changed the names on the marriage contract.
The thug for Qiao Yujie.
Gu Mingsong for herself.
“Little Sister Xiaoyu, once we’re at the military district, we three sisters need to look out for each other. We can’t let Mom and Dad worry back in the countryside.”
Qiao Yurou’s voice was gentle as tea brewed three times over. Weak and affected.
Qiao Yujie opened her eyes in resignation and glanced at her.
Her gaze was calm, like she was reading a pathology report. Appraising, emotionless, yet seeing through everything.
What an actress.
But somehow, her parents thought this girl—entrusted to them by a dying comrade-in-arms—was sweet, sensible, and considerate.
“Remember those words.”
Qiao Yujie didn’t even look at her. Her gaze rested on the distant gray horizon, her tone as calm as if she were writing a medical order.
“Once we’re at the military district, take good care of your two sisters, Yuxin and me. Don’t let Mom and Dad worry.”
Qiao Yurou’s smile froze.
Instinctively, she touched the marriage contract in her coat, her fingertips tightening.
Hmph. Sharp tongue won’t help you. Once we’re at the military district, we’ll see who’s crying.
In the corner of the cart, Qiao Yuxin hadn’t said a word. She hugged her knees, curled into a ball like a wary stray cat.
Just then, the corner of her mouth twitched downward, fast, then smoothed back. No one noticed.
Qiao Yujie looked away from her and turned to this body’s biological sister.
Her face was blank, her eyes carrying a kind of “what’s it to me” indifference.
Honestly, Qiao Yujie understood. Living with such a two-faced adopted sister, under parents who couldn’t see straight, it was hard not to become selfish and cold.
At least the original owner had grown up with her grandparents in Guangdong, dodging all this mess. Until last month.
Her grandparents passed away. Those research-scientist parents came home for the funeral.
For some reason.
They used thunderous methods to drag the original owner—who already had a job at the Guangzhou department store—forcibly back to the capital.
And then, in less than a month.
The family fell apart.
The three sisters were hastily “arranged” into marriages. Packaged up and sent to the military district for union.
Now, the Qiao Yujie of 1975 had become the her of 2026.
Qiao Yujie burrowed her face deeper into her thick scarf, leaving only a pair of eyes reddened by the northern wind, staring at the dirt road ahead that seemed to have no end.
The ox cart creaked and groaned. She felt like her bones had been shaken apart. Finally, through the howling northwest wind, it stopped at a stern, imposing gate.
High walls, tightly shut iron gates, soldiers standing guard with rifles, their postures straight as pines. On the wall, faded but still clear and forceful slogans.
The military district gate.
Qiao Yujie practically tumbled off the ox cart. Her legs were numb, dead to all feeling. Her feet hit the ground like stepping on cotton. She grabbed the cold cart shaft and steadied herself for a long moment.
But Qiao Yurou had already snapped into character. Though her face was pale from the cold, she forced herself to endure.
She pulled out a small handkerchief, poured a little ice-cold water on it, and wiped her face and hands, tidying her appearance.
Every movement was meticulously designed to convey “pitiable beauty” and “ready to meet her future husband at any moment.”
Qiao Yuxin glanced at her silently, then lowered her head and slowly tidied herself too.
Qiao Yujie watched them “freshen up,” feeling nothing. She almost wanted to give them a thumbs-up.
Warriors. True warriors, both of them.
She touched her own tender southern skin. If she dared to get water on it in this wind that could freeze tears, tomorrow she’d be performing “face cracking” live.
Three girls in bulky coats, covered in dust. Like three little quails that had wandered into a steel jungle, standing outside the vast, grim military district gate, waiting for the guard in the reception room to notify someone inside to come get them.
The wind cut across the empty training ground like a knife, wailing like ghosts.
Qiao Yujie curled herself into a ball, trying to hide in the tiny bit of shelter by the gate. The small flame of defiance in her heart flickered weakly in the bitter cold of reality.
Things had come to this. She could only take it one step at a time. Now, she had only one last, humble hope.
Great-Great-Grandfather, for the sake of my fifty thousand yuan and nine kowtows…
Please, let the “fiancé” you’ve matched me with at least be someone who suits my taste.
Even if he’s only half as good-looking as District Chief Xu. No, a third would do!
Please! I’m begging you!