The sound of the carriage wheels rolling over the bluestone road gradually became crisp and clear. The coachman’s booming voice pierced through the carriage: “Young Master, we’ve arrived at the Capital City!”
Shen Qinghuan abruptly opened her eyes. The exhaustion from days of travel was swept away by a sharp glint in her gaze. She raised a hand and lifted the heavy curtain. In an instant, a gust of wind carrying noise and the scent of everyday life rushed toward her.
Before her stood a towering, majestic city gate. Its vermilion paint gleamed with a restrained luster under the sunlight. The imperial guards stationed there wore dark armor and held long spears, their postures straight as pines.
Inside and outside the gate, traffic flowed endlessly. Pedestrians came and went in an unceasing stream, some dressed in fine silks, others in coarse cloth, each bearing different expressions. The cries of peddlers, the laughter of children, and the music drifting from taverns and teahouses intertwined into a bustling scene of urban life.
Ornately carved buildings lined the streets. Tavern banners displayed large gilded characters. In the silk shops’ windows hung shimmering Jinzhou satin. Even the vendor selling candied hawthorn by the roadside had polished his bamboo skewers until they gleamed.
Gazing at this vivid yet extravagant scene, Shen Qinghuan felt a strange sense of unreality rise in her chest. She thought to herself: This Capital City really is exactly like those ancient costume dramas from her previous life—lively to the extreme.
But behind that liveliness lurked flashing blades and ruthless intrigue, something only those within could truly understand.
“Young Master, where should I stop the carriage?”
The coachman pulled the reins and asked over his shoulder.
Shen Qinghuan suppressed the emotion in her eyes. Her gaze swept toward a relatively quiet alley at the street corner, and she said calmly, “Go to that Yuelai Inn in the alley. Find a clean spot to stop.”
“Right away!”
The coachman acknowledged and steered the carriage into the alley.
Before long, the carriage stopped in front of Yuelai Inn.
Shen Qinghuan stepped down briskly and took out fifty taels of silver from her sleeve, handing it to the coachman.
His eyes lit up instantly. He bowed repeatedly in gratitude. “Thank you for the reward, Young Master! If you ever need a carriage again, just look for Old Wang’s Carriage Shop by the city gate!”
Shen Qinghuan gave a slight nod. She watched as he drove away, the sound of hooves fading down the alley, then turned and entered the inn.
No sooner had she stepped inside than a waiter in a blue short jacket and white apron hurried over with a beaming smile. His voice was loud and cheerful. “Welcome, honored guest! Are you staying or dining? Our braised pork knuckle and roast goose leg are specialties of the Capital City—the aroma carries three streets away!”
Shen Qinghuan glanced around the main hall. It was mealtime, and every table was occupied. Groups of diners gathered in twos and threes—some drinking and playing finger-guessing games, others chatting in low voices. The air was thick with the fragrance of food and a faint smell of alcohol.
She withdrew her gaze and said, “I’m staying.”
“I want a private room on the second floor. The quieter, the better.”
“Of course! Please rest assured!”
The waiter responded eagerly and led her toward the stairs, talking nonstop as they went. “All the private rooms upstairs face the windows—bright and airy! If you feel bored, just open the window and you can watch the street below. Our shopkeeper also says that lodging guests receive a complimentary pot of pre-rain Longjing tea. Guaranteed to be soothing!”
Shen Qinghuan did not respond, simply following him upstairs.
He led her to the innermost room and pushed open the door. “Please take a look, honored guest. This room is the quietest. No one is staying next door, so you’ll definitely have undisturbed rest.”
Shen Qinghuan stepped inside and surveyed the room.
There was a table, a chair, and a couch—simple furnishings, yet clean and tidy. By the window sat a pot of lush asparagus fern, adding a touch of vitality to the otherwise plain room.
She nodded in satisfaction and handed the waiter a string of copper coins from her sleeve. “Thank you for your trouble.”
The waiter accepted them, his eyes crinkling into a narrow line from smiling. “You’re too kind, honored guest! If you want anything to eat, just call for me. My name is Xiao Sanzi—just remember that!”
After speaking, he deftly poured a pot of tea and set it on the table, then tactfully withdrew, carefully closing the door behind him.
Shen Qinghuan slid the door bolt into place, walked to the window, and pushed half of it open.
The evening breeze carried distant clamor along with a faint scent of cooking fires.
She raised her hand and gently touched her lower abdomen. It felt warm and soft. Her space had fused with this body—it was the unique support she had awakened upon transmigrating.
With a mere thought, she could clearly sense the scene within. Spiritual energy swirled above the black soil. A century-old lingzhi mushroom thrived vigorously. In the storage area were supplies of all kinds—silver needles, soft armor, and more. There was also a delicate courtyard dwelling standing quietly beside a spirit spring.
A cold, ruthless glint flashed across her eyes, and her fingers curled slightly.
Shen Chong’an, Minister of Personnel, was her biological father—yet also an utterly despicable one.
The Original Owner’s mother had left behind a generous dowry: gold, silver, jewels, antiques, paintings, fertile fields, and profitable shops. It should have been the foundation of the Original Owner’s life. Instead, Shen Chong’an and that vicious stepmother, Madam Wang, had colluded to seize most of it.
They used the wealth to curry favor with the powerful and pave the way for the stepsister, Shen Chuchu, hoping to marry her into an even higher family. Meanwhile, the Original Owner had been cast aside to a rural estate and left to fend for herself.
Tonight, she would not only reclaim the Original Owner’s mother’s dowry but also confiscate all the wealth Shen Chong’an had amassed by exploiting the common people.
Didn’t that scoundrel father and stepmother love money more than life and fawn over the powerful?
Then she would cut off their path to prosperity.
Collecting a little interest was merely an appetizer for this grand revenge.
Shen Qinghuan closed her eyes and quietly circulated the spiritual energy from her space to nourish her body.
Even with spiritual support, days of travel had left her fatigued. She needed to conserve her strength for tonight’s operation.
Time passed. Eventually, darkness fully enveloped the sky outside, and the noise from the inn’s main hall grew louder.
Shen Qinghuan opened her eyes and rubbed her brow as a faint hunger stirred in her stomach.
She stood, adjusted her clothes, and pushed the door open.
As soon as she descended the stairs, Xiao Sanzi spotted her and hurried over. “Honored guest! Would you like to dine? I’ll list the dishes—braised pork knuckle, roast goose leg, steamed sea bass—”
“Just bring two light dishes and a pot of rice wine,” Shen Qinghuan interrupted, choosing a seat in the corner.
Xiao Sanzi complied promptly. Soon he returned with two plates: cold lotus root slices and stir-fried seasonal vegetables, along with a pot of warm rice wine.
Shen Qinghuan ate and drank at an unhurried pace, but her ears were discreetly alert, listening to the idle chatter in the hall.
At the neighboring table, several men were drinking heavily, their faces flushed. One bearded man slapped the table and shouted, “Have you heard? Duke Zhenguo’s Mansion caused a huge joke yesterday!”
“Oh? What joke? Tell us!”
The others immediately leaned in with interest.
The bearded man took a smug gulp of wine and lowered his voice just enough for those nearby to hear. “You know the duke’s precious youngest son, right? That pampered wastrel heir, Zhao Yu!”