“Mmm…”
The rhythmic clatter of horse hooves echoed against the stone-paved road. Lin Jiayan awoke in a swaying carriage, her consciousness slowly returning. The whole world seemed to spin around her as she struggled to pry open her heavy eyelids.
Someone was quietly sobbing beside her. Pressing a hand to her aching head, Lin Jiayan frowned.
What’s going on? Wasn’t I skiing at Jiuyao Mountain? How did I pass out?
“Princess? Princess! You’re awake? Thank heavens!”
The young woman who had been crying threw herself excitedly toward the bedside.
It took Lin Jiayan several seconds to realize she was the one being addressed.
“Me? Where is this…?”
“Princess, thank goodness! The imperial physician said you wouldn’t make it. I thought you… Wuwuwu…”
“Stop.”
The incessant crying only made her headache worse, and she raised a hand to silence the girl.
She looked around. The carriage interior was spacious and lavishly decorated, exuding an air of luxury. Golden tassels hung from all sides, while the curtains were embroidered with intricate golden phoenixes playing among the clouds. Every stitch was exquisitely crafted—clearly no ordinary handiwork.
A tourist attraction experience? Nobody mentioned Jiuyao Mountain offered something like this.
She touched the bedding beneath her. The thick brocade was soft and warm, and she realized she was lying on a bed, dressed only in a thin inner robe.
Taking in the scene before her—and the palace maid standing anxiously beside the bed—a sense of foreboding rose within her.
A bronze mirror sat on a nearby table. Throwing back the covers, she stumbled toward it.
The face reflected in the mirror was indeed her own, but it was pale and haggard, marked by obvious illness. Looking more closely, her features seemed younger too—like her seventeen- or eighteen-year-old self.
The maid hurried over to support her trembling figure.
“Princess, what’s wrong?”
“Where am I?”
Lin Jiayan still hadn’t recovered from the shock.
Thinking the princess’s illness had left her delirious, the maid began sobbing again.
“Princess, we left the Southern Kingdom seven days ago. We’re only three days away from Ge Prefecture now.”
…
I must have slept in the wrong position. I’ll just go back to sleep and wake up again.
Lin Jiayan returned to bed, folded her hands neatly over her chest, and closed her eyes. Perhaps she was simply too exhausted—she quickly drifted back to sleep.
“Imperial Physician Liu, the princess woke up for a while just now, but she seemed rather strange. Could her illness have affected her mind?”
The physician rested his fingers on her pulse and frowned thoughtfully.
“Her pulse is as fine as a thread. Both her qi and yin are severely depleted. This is indeed the pulse of someone at death’s door…” Stroking his graying beard, he looked puzzled. “Yet her pulse has changed from deep to floating. There seems to be a sign of recovery…”
Lin Jiayan slowly woke once more. The first thing she saw was still the ornate canopy of the carriage. Unable to help herself, she covered her eyes and let out a mournful groan.
“Princess,” Imperial Physician Liu called out cheerfully, “you are blessed by fortune. You will surely pull through this crisis.”
Privately, he thought: The princess has been sickly since childhood. Even while being carefully cared for in the imperial capital, no one knew how long she would live. Now she’s been sent off to a barbarian land for a political marriage. This long journey alone could cost her life.
He had been assigned the thankless task of ensuring the princess reached her destination safely. During this time, he had barely slept, constantly afraid that she might stop breathing at any moment.
If the princess died on the road, he feared he wouldn’t escape punishment either.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Imperial Physician Liu withdrew to prepare her medicine.
“Princess,” the maid asked cautiously, “how are you feeling?”
“Terrible.”
Lin Jiayan pulled the blanket over her head in despair, trying to escape reality.
She had just graduated from university and was due to start work at a hospital next month. Her parents had been pestering her daily about arranged dates. Unable to endure their nagging any longer, she had driven to Jiuyao Mountain Ski Resort to relax.
She remembered strapping on her snowboard, fully equipped, and speeding down an expert slope. The moment she launched off a jump, she felt a sudden weightlessness—and then everything went black.
When she woke up, she was here.
Did I transmigrate?
Hidden beneath the blankets, she muttered quietly, “System? System? Is there a system?”
There was no response.
What’s going on? Don’t transmigrators usually get a system? Nobody’s even explained the situation to me. It just started like this?
“Princess, Princess.”
Afraid she might suffocate under the blanket, the maid gently pulled it away.
The two stared at each other.
“What’s your name?”
“Princess…” The maid lowered her head, tears welling in her eyes again. The princess’s illness really has damaged her mind. “I’m Lianxin, Princess. Don’t you recognize me?”
“Oh… Lianxin.”
Sighing, Lin Jiayan reluctantly accepted reality.
She sat cross-legged on the bed without ceremony, propping her head up with one arm.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“Last night, Your Highness suddenly fell unconscious. You couldn’t even take your medicine. Imperial Physician Liu said you… likely wouldn’t survive…” Lianxin’s eyes reddened again. “Who would have thought you’d wake up today? Your Highness is protected by imperial blessings—”
“Stop, stop, stop.” Lin Jiayan took a deep breath and interrupted her. “I know all that already. Tell me something else.”
“Something else?”
“For example… what dynasty is this? Which princess am I? And where exactly are we going?”
…
It’s over.
The princess had always been frail, and now her mind was completely gone.
When both sides held them accountable, her single head wouldn’t be enough to satisfy their anger.
She had thought the princess’s recovery meant her own life would be spared.
Was she doomed after all?
“Wuwuwu…”
Seeing her cry so genuinely, Lin Jiayan realized her questions had been too direct and made her sound insane.
She quickly climbed out of bed and held Lianxin by the shoulders.
“I’m just… well, my illness has left me a bit muddle-headed. I can’t remember a lot of things. Good Lianxin, please don’t cry. Just tell me what’s happened.”
Holding back her tears, Lianxin looked at the earnest expression on the princess’s face and finally began explaining the situation.
It was the thirteenth year of the Tianyue era.
She was the Sixth Princess of the Southern Kingdom, daughter of Emperor Nanxun. Her name was also Lin Jiayan.
Her mother, a beauty with a short and tragic life, had already been in poor health. After giving birth to her, she suffered severe complications and passed away not long afterward, leaving the young princess to grow up alone in the depths of the imperial palace.
At first, the emperor took pity on his frail daughter and visited her often.
But as the princess remained bedridden year after year, he gradually lost patience.
With three thousand beauties in the imperial harem, the death of one favored consort left little impression on him.
Even this sickly princess was slowly forgotten.
Then Chahar Bulehumu united the five great tribes of the grasslands and proclaimed himself king.
Only then did the pleasure-seeking emperor finally sense the threat from the northern frontier. After much deliberation, he decided to secure peace between the two nations through a political marriage.
That was when he remembered the long-forgotten Sixth Princess.
He hastily bestowed upon her the title of Princess Qingyang and ordered her to depart immediately for the grasslands as a bride.
“What?” Lin Jiayan shot upright in anger. “That old emperor never even bothered to visit me, and now he suddenly remembers I exist?”
“Princess, please mind your words!”
Lianxin was so startled by her outburst that she nearly bit her tongue. Her knees gave way, and she dropped to the floor.
Alarmed by the sudden kneeling, Lin Jiayan quickly helped her back up.
Frantically searching her memory for the historical knowledge she had long forgotten, she couldn’t think of any dynasty that matched this setting.
So much for predicting the future with historical knowledge.
Staring blankly at her index finger, she thought bitterly:
Why do other transmigrators get systems or cheat abilities? Why do I get nothing?
A catastrophic start like this—how am I supposed to survive?