Jintai Prefectural City, Eighth Year of Changle, Great Zhou.
The Dragon Boat Festival had passed, and the heat was intensifying. The calamus and mugwort sprigs hung by the doorways had already withered and dried in the sun.
Under the scorching midday heat, adults hurried about their business. Only a few children seemed oblivious to the temperature, laughing and chasing each other in the open sun with innocent joy.
Nie Qingqing watched the scene unfold as if it were a movie. These were children from ordinary families, dressed in summer tunics that were half-new and half-worn, embroidered with the crude patterns of the Five Poisonous Creatures. It was a local custom for the Dragon Boat Festival: besides eating zongzi and hanging mugwort, children were also given gourds to carry and wore these Five Poisonous Creature garments.
This was the twenty-fifth year of the Great Zhou Dynasty, under the reign of its second emperor, who used the era name Changle.
The Great Zhou Dynasty was similar to the Ming Dynasty she knew, though the available goods differed slightly, and the social atmosphere was relatively more relaxed.
Corn had been introduced by this time, but sweet potatoes had not. She had heard that women in some old-fashioned noble families bound their feet, while the more modern ones did not. Courtesans also bound their feet, but ordinary women from the lower classes generally did not, as they needed to work.
Though the strict separation of the sexes was still observed, it wasn’t as extreme as she had expected. Even the young ladies of wealthy families weren’t completely confined to the inner courtyards; instead, they often went out in groups to sightsee or host flower festivals. This trend had its consequences, leading to increasingly extravagant fashions and a culture of fierce social competition.
This will be good for my future business, she thought.
Since she couldn’t go back to her own time, she was determined to carve out a successful life here. Even in this strange, ancient world, she would live comfortably.
In her past life, she had been born into a family that favored sons. Her father had cheated and divorced her mother just to have a boy, leaving her and her mother to struggle. Her mother was a strong-willed, nagging woman who scrimped and saved, using emotional appeals to force her daughter to study relentlessly. She demanded that Nie Qingqing outperform every child in her father’s and mother’s families.
As a result, she never dared to play or waste time on things she enjoyed. She couldn’t bear to see the sorrow on her mother’s face. She rose before dawn and worked late into the night—memorizing texts and grinding through practice exams, cutting out any hobbies that might distract her or lower her grades. She had turned herself into a high-scoring machine.
She didn’t blame her mother. She had found joy in the success her studies brought her. She loved seeing her mother’s smile, the envious glares of her relatives, and hearing her grandmother berate her scumbag father for losing such an outstanding daughter.
She never let her mother down. She started studying earlier than her peers, consistently ranking first in her class and top three in her school for every exam. She got into the experimental class of a top-tier high school and then a prestigious university.
But even though her mother was thrilled, she still aged and fell ill. Yet she insisted on funding her daughter’s master’s and doctoral degrees, wanting her to become the pride of both families.
For the first time in her life, she defied her mother. Upon graduating at twenty-two, she started a business with her classmates. She was determined to make money—to give her mother a good life and the security she deserved. She would prove that a daughter could be more capable than any son.
Perhaps her father had taken all their bad luck with him when he left. Her studies had been a smooth ride, and her business venture wasn’t particularly difficult.
Could any challenge be harder than those early days, eating rice soaked in soup for three meals a day? Could anything be worse than watching her mother hesitate to take medicine because she was saving money for her daughter’s math Olympiad classes?
She never disappointed her mother or herself. With her earnings, she bought them a house and a car, took out insurance, and upgraded every aspect of their lives.
But when her mother urged her to find a loving partner, she fell silent.
She and her mother had leaned on each other for survival since childhood. She knew how to make her teachers happy and how to be a good friend to her classmates, but she had no idea how to navigate intimacy.
Whenever someone pursued her, her mind flooded with a memory: her father smiling as he lied, “Good girl, Qingqing, Daddy will go buy you some shrimp crackers. Daddy loves his good girl Qingqing the most.” Then, she had seen him at a street corner, supporting a heavily pregnant woman as they discussed names for the son they were about to have.
In the distorted lens of that memory, men were born to be unfaithful. She wanted no part of it.
She believed that a few true friends and enough money would be sufficient. Most importantly, she had her mother. As long as she had her, she could face any storm.
But then, her mother passed away too.
In her final moments, her mother urged her not to grieve, to trust others, and to find a good man to keep her company.
She gripped her mother’s hand, begging her not to leave, feeling as if her entire life was collapsing.
“Nannan,” her mother had said, “I’ve wronged you. I always thought I was living for you, but in truth, I was forcing you to live for me. Now that I’m gone, from this day forward, live for yourself. Live well, my sweet girl. You must find happiness…”
It didn’t matter to her who had forced whom to live for whom. She only knew she loved her mother. And now that she was gone, her entire world had collapsed.
Suddenly, the drive to earn money vanished. She handed her company over to her partner, stopped studying, and quit working. She just wanted to be a “salty fish”—to do absolutely nothing.
Carrying her mother’s belongings, she traveled the world. She bought all the toys and trinkets she’d loved as a child but never dared to ask for. She threw all her time and energy into her hobbies, even chasing pop stars, attending concerts to admire the stunningly beautiful idols, and acting like a total fangirl just to bask in their good looks.
Her mother had told her to live for herself, so she decided to follow her every whim.
Since she was a child, she had always adored the costumes in historical dramas. She longed to dress up like those characters—wearing ethereal, flowing gowns, her hair styled in elaborate, beautiful updos adorned with exquisite hairpieces, a delicate silk scarf draped over her arms as she played the fairy or swordswoman, living freely in the mountains.
She found a picturesque spot in the countryside and settled down. Like her mother had once done during the Down to the Countryside Movement, she started farming and gardening—growing vegetables, tending flowers, raising dogs and cats. She learned to pickle vegetables, make preserves, and cure meats and fish.
She began to dress like the people of ancient times, weaving her hair into intricate styles held by elaborate pins and hairpins. She learned to weave cloth, cut fabric, and sew her own clothes and shoes, even recreating ancient jewelry.
She became completely absorbed in this new life, losing track of time. As she worked, she studied, poring over reference materials. Before she knew it, she had become a true expert in the field, publishing a number of scholarly papers. She also became a master craftswoman, a “beauty from the ancient world” whom the media and netizens celebrated as a viral sensation.
Her videos took the internet by storm, drawing a massive global audience. Her commercial value became immeasurable, and countless companies approached her for endorsements and live-streamed sales events.
She rejected them all.
What did she need money for? She was content to be a “salty fish,” doing absolutely nothing for anyone else. She had already used her own fortune to establish a foundation in her mother’s name, dedicated to supporting rural schools and underprivileged students. Living self-sufficiently in the mountains, she had no use for more money.
If she hadn’t drunk a few too many cups of her own homemade rice wine on her mother’s anniversary, she wouldn’t have slipped down the hillside on her way home. She wouldn’t have woken up in the body of the original owner—a girl with her same name—and she might have spent her entire life living freely in the mountains.
The original owner had been an exceptionally beautiful young woman, guileless but stubborn. Her mother always said she was too single-minded, while others gossiped that she was simply foolish.
But Nie Qinghe knew the truth: the girl had simply devoted all her wit and devotion to the little scholar she was betrothed to.
The scholar was a handsome youth, though his pride made him awkward and difficult. He seemed dissatisfied with their arranged marriage, yet he never openly rebelled against it, nor did he refuse Nie Qinghe’s care.
By the age of eight or nine, the original owner had mastered needlework just to make him a pair of well-fitting socks. From the time she was ten, she made all his clothes—except for his undergarments. Although his mother was the one who delivered them to him, he surely knew who had sewn them. Yet he never showed the slightest gratitude.
Mother Nie was displeased, unable to bear her foolish daughter’s one-sided devotion. But the original owner never complained. Instead, she prayed day and night that the little scholar would pass the imperial examinations—first as a Xiucai, then a Juren, and finally, the Zhuangyuan.
The little scholar’s aunt always mocked the original owner for her delusions of grandeur, sneering that a daughter of an artisan household could never be a Zhuangyuan‘s wife. The girl would only offer a sheepish smile, praising the scholar’s brilliance in return.
But the girl who had loved him unconditionally was gone.
Eight days ago, a message had reached her: the little scholar was waiting under the Great Willow Tree west of the Chengnan Prefectural Academy. The note had promised he would be there, rain or shine.
Thinking he was finally taking the initiative to be with her, she had carefully styled her hair into a duoma bun—the kind favored by Squire Liu’s daughter. But when she saw her reflection, she blushed with shame and immediately unraveled the elaborate style, braiding her hair simply before heading to their meeting.
She waited beneath the Great Willow Tree, her anticipation turning to despair as the hours passed. By evening, a torrential downpour broke, soaking her to the bone.
When darkness finally fell, she knew he wasn’t coming. Yet she felt no hatred, only worry. What if he had fallen ill? What if he had slipped in the rain? What if something urgent had happened?
She considered going to the Prefectural Academy to check on him, but feared her presence would only bring him ridicule and shame. In the end, she turned and walked home.
The night was dark, the road slick with rain. She stumbled, her footing uneven, until she slipped and fell into a deep pit.
That was the moment Nie Qinghe had arrived. In her own world, she had fallen into a mountain ravine. Her consciousness had been a hazy blur, but she remembered the sound of hooves and a low, cool voice beside her. Someone had lifted her, but she had been too weak to respond before drifting into complete unconsciousness.
When she finally woke, she was in a clinic by the street corner. Her parents were there, drenched from searching for her in the rain. She had managed to crack her eyes open, only to be so overwhelmed by the unfamiliar surroundings that she lost consciousness again, sinking into a feverish sleep that lasted three days.
Her physical recovery had been swift once she regained consciousness, but she couldn’t immediately accept that she had traveled to another world. She deliberately feigned weakness, hoping the original owner of the body would return.
But the girl never did. Unable to keep up the pretense without worrying Mother Nie, she finally accepted her new reality and resolved to live a good life in this person’s place.
I hope the original owner has found a better place to be, she thought.
Nie Qinghe carried a lightweight woven basket on her arm, her steps light as she approached the large tree where the original owner had once waited for the little scholar. She quickly lit three sheets of paper, silently mourning the original owner’s lost, youthful love.
It was common for women to burn spirit money by the roadside or under trees, so passersby didn’t question her. However, a few stopped to stare, curious about her beauty.
Nie Qinghe feigned grief. “My childhood sweetheart has passed away. I’m burning spirit money for him.” She let out a soft sob.
“So young and beautiful, yet already a widow,” a woman sighed. “What a pity.”
“Don’t say such things,” another chimed in. “What’s there to fear about losing a childhood sweetheart? The girl is still young. Why don’t I introduce you to someone better? My nephew is quite handsome himself…”
Nie Qinghe quickly covered her face with her basket, pretending to weep as she hurried away.
She then walked to the large pit northeast of the Prefectural Academy, where she burned a few more sheets of paper. This time, she silently mourned the original owner and bid farewell to her own past life.
After her offerings, she stopped at a nearby private vegetable garden and bought a basket of greens—a perfect excuse for her outing.
Nie Qinghe turned onto the main road, rubbing the soles of her shoes together to knock off the mud. She scraped the remaining slush from the uppers with a blade of grass before continuing north.
When she reached the bustling East-West Main Street, she spotted the little scholar. He was with two other students, just emerging from Xianxue Study, a prominent bookstore.
He was indeed a handsome youth—tall, elegant, and radiating the scholarly air of someone immersed in books. He even managed to make the indigo robe the original owner had sewn look ethereal and refined.
A waste, she thought. A waste of a good outfit and an even better face.
The scholar’s eyes fell on her. He clutched a scroll in one hand, the other resting in a loose fist at his side. His expression was cool and aloof; he regarded her with the same indifference he showed any other passerby.
He’s probably worried I’ll corner him and embarrass him in public, Nie Qinghe reasoned.
A sneer touched her lips. Since I’ve already burned spirit money for you, you’re just a dead man to me now!
She kept her basket on her arm and walked past him, her head held high and chest out. She treated him like a mere stone by the roadside, not even granting him a glance.
The little scholar, who had straightened his posture in anticipation of her greeting, could only stare blankly as she strode away.