Chapter 1

“And then?” Shen Lingyue, wrapped in a brocade quilt, lounged idly on her bed with little regard for decorum. Cushioned by a soft floral pillow at her lower back, she cradled a black lacquered snack box in her arms, cracking melon seeds as she blinked her apricot eyes, urging her maid Qingchan to continue.

“That second young master of the Duke Ling’s household and the granddaughter of the old Minister Zheng—weren’t they childhood sweethearts, betrothed since infancy? How is it that he’s suddenly set to marry some unknown common girl?”

Qingchan cleared her throat and, with dramatic flair, began to recount the gossip she’d gathered.

“Miss, do you recall last winter’s turmoil on the northern frontier, when the Duke Ling’s heir and his younger brother both led troops to war?”

Shen Lingyue nodded repeatedly. “Of course, I remember.” Not really. She hadn’t even transmigrated here back then.

“The army was ambushed at Yunling. It was a brutal battle. Not only did the heir perish, but the second son was gravely wounded—barely making it out alive, thanks to his loyal guards.”

“When news reached the capital, the old matriarch and the duchess nearly fainted from grief. The young heir died so young, without a wife or heir. To continue the family line, they decided the second young master should take on a double marriage.”

Shen Lingyue blinked. “A double marriage?”

Qingchan, thinking her mistress didn’t understand, explained, “It means the second son will marry two wives—there’s no distinction of rank, just a main and secondary household. The children born to the main wife will be registered under the name of the fallen heir, to carry on his lineage.”

Shen Lingyue clicked her tongue, her face full of disdain.

All this elaborate justification just to marry another wife—how convenient for him.

“Wait a minute.” She caught on. “What about Minister Zheng’s granddaughter?”

“The second son claims that the common girl saved his life, and lost her reputation caring for him. He must take responsibility. But his bond with Miss Zheng, their childhood affection, he can’t abandon that either.”

“He also says that since Miss Zheng is of noble birth, raised in a family of scholars, she must understand his predicament. Besides, with her high status, if she bears a child, it will be registered under the late heir’s name—thus he, as a younger brother, fulfills his duty to his elder.”

Shen Lingyue: …

She couldn’t help but retort sarcastically, “So because Miss Zheng is ‘noble,’ she’s doomed to marry a dead man, while he gets to ‘reluctantly’ wed a commoner, and the two of them can live happily ever after?”

Qingchan corrected her, “Miss Zheng would only be the heir’s wife in name. In reality, she’ll bear children for the second son…”

Isn’t that even worse?

Suddenly, even the melon seeds in Shen Lingyue’s hand lost their flavor, and she frowned deeply.

Anyone with eyes could see this was a trap. The second son had clearly found new love, but didn’t want to break his old engagement, so he used his dead brother as a shield.

Poor heir, you probably don’t even know your dear brother has conveniently found you a wife from the grave.

Shuangxu silently offered her a cup of tea and murmured, “If old Minister Zheng were still alive, the Duke Ling’s family would never dare humiliate Miss Zheng like this.”

Shen Lingyue immediately turned to her usually reserved maid. “Go on—tell me more.”

Shuangxu bit her lip awkwardly. “I only overheard this while collecting my allowance at the main hall. Madam seemed troubled about what gift to send—after all, old Minister Zheng was master’s examiner in his youth. By rights, we should stand up for the Zhengs, but since they fell from grace in the treason case…”

Shen Lingyue understood. Her so-called father was always a fence-sitter, too timid to even speak on his own daughter’s marriage, much less defend his disgraced teacher’s family. He’d run the other way if he could.

She let out a heavy sigh.

Great. She herself was a mess, yet she still had the energy to gossip about others’ misfortunes?

She dismissed the two maids and burrowed under her quilt, tossing and turning restlessly.

So annoying!

All she’d done was indulge herself with some all-night gaming after finals. How did she end up dead—and then transmigrated into a novel?

College students really are fragile, she thought.

Transmigration was one thing, but she hadn’t become the heroine, nor did she have any cheat system or golden finger. She’d read so many novels, all muddled together, that even she didn’t know which storyline she was supposed to follow.

All she knew was that she’d landed in a fictional empire called Daye—a parallel world where history had taken a turn after the Tang and Song dynasties. It was reminiscent of the Ming, yet the royal family now bore the surname Xiao.

The body she now inhabited belonged to the youngest legitimate daughter of the Vice Minister of Rites. She had two older brothers and two older sisters—the eldest sister already married, the brothers still in their studies, and the second sister, just three months her senior, was yet unbetrothed.

And yet she, the baby of the family, had been granted an imperial marriage—soon to wed the second son of the Marquess of Changning, Pei Jinghuai, with the wedding set for the eighteenth day of the sixth month, three months hence.

An imperial marriage!

She was only a two-hundred-and-forty-month-old baby—how could she be forced to marry a stranger she’d never met?

The first days after her arrival, every time she thought of the imperial decree displayed in the main hall, she almost wished she could end it all with a length of white silk.

—No doubt, the original owner had been unable to accept this marriage either, and died of rage.

But Shen Lingyue, soft and cowardly, had already died once. Who knew if she’d get another life if she tried again?

Since she was here, she might as well make the best of it.

Her parents in the modern world had long since passed away; she was an orphan, with no ties…

No, there was still one person who’d grieve for her—her one and only, best friend Yan Yi. If Yan Yi received news of her sudden death, she’d be devastated.

Shen Lingyue slowly lowered her quilt, imagining Yan Yi mourning with her photo in hand, and couldn’t help but tear up herself.

We promised to live to eighty together, to travel, to dance in the square—how could she leave her behind?

The more she thought, the sadder she became. Overwhelmed by sorrow yet afraid to cry aloud, she bit her quilt and wept in silence.

This wasn’t a society of law, but one where imperial power reigned supreme.

What they called an arranged marriage was, in fact, the emperor’s favor—whether it was thunder or rain, all was a blessing.

Crying, Shen Lingyue eventually fell asleep. When she woke again, it was dusk.

Sunset filled the sky, orange light spilling through the paper windows onto the stone floor. Vases and ornaments cast tangled shadows from the multi-tiered shelves, and trees swayed outside—a scene of tranquil beauty.

She sat hugging her quilt at the edge of the bed, dazed, as if she’d gone back to a lazy Wednesday afternoon with no classes, the dorm quiet, her roommates still asleep, spring sunlight perfect for napping…

The next moment, her gaze caught the copper mirror on the dressing table by the window. In its dim reflection appeared an ancient girl with her hair in a bun, dragging her back to reality.

Every day, she hoped she’d just wake from a dream, still the carefree university slacker, her greatest worry whether to eat grilled flatbread, stir-fried rice noodles, goose leg skewers, tofu, or fried pancakes from the west gate today…

A rumble from her stomach broke her reverie for campus street food. Rubbing her belly, Shen Lingyue realized she was starving.

Just then, Shuangxu’s voice sounded at the door.

“Miss, are you awake? The kitchen has sent your meal.”

“Come in,” Shen Lingyue replied lazily.

The maids entered in an orderly procession—one to help her up and dress, one to wash her face and hands, one to set the table—all efficient and practiced.

She’d gone from feeling awkward to calmly playing the role of a pampered baby.

The table held four dishes and a soup, each served in dainty palm-sized plates, the portions meager, the food light and entirely meatless.

Shen Lingyue stared at the sea of green before her, utterly despondent.

What use was it to be the cherished daughter of a high official? She hadn’t eaten meat in days!

She longed for her crayfish, crispy fried chicken, cod burgers, meat pizzas, smoked fish, roast duck…

Qingchan handed her the chopsticks and coaxed, “Madam said you’ve only just recovered, so your diet must be light and nourishing. And with the wedding approaching, if you gain weight you’ll have to alter your bridal gown—you won’t be the beautiful bride you wish to be.”

Seeing Shen Lingyue unmoved, she thought for a moment and delivered the final blow.

“His Majesty decreed that both sons of the Marquess of Changning are to marry on the same day—you wouldn’t want to be outshone by Miss Zhou, would you?”

A spark flashed in Shen Lingyue’s eyes. She snatched the chopsticks and took a huge bite of chilled lettuce.

“…I’ll eat!”

Indeed, the original owner hadn’t died of rage just because of the imperial marriage, but also because her lifelong rival—the eldest daughter of the General of Xuanwei—had received an imperial marriage too.

And as luck would have it, both girls were to wed the two brothers of the Marquess’s family.

After more than a decade of rivalry, the original owner now had to call her former adversary “sister-in-law”—and while her rival was destined to inherit the marquessate, she herself would be married off and separated. How could anyone bear such humiliation?

Shen Lingyue gnawed at the lettuce, the crunch loud and fierce, as if she were biting into the bones of the yet-unseen Miss Zhou.

If not for their endless competition driving the original owner to her death, she’d still be playing games in her dorm room—why suffer all this now?

Qingchan and Shuangxu exchanged glances and stifled their laughter.

As expected, nothing motivated like the words “Miss Zhou.”

Shen Lingyue, pure-hearted warrior of petty grudges, finished every bite of her food, not leaving even a single grain of rice.

After going hungry for so long, even the thick rice porridge tasted richly fragrant.

Having slept all afternoon, and seeing it was still early, Shen Lingyue was about to go for a walk when the gatekeeper reported that the second young miss had arrived.

“Second sister?” Shen Lingyue raised an eyebrow. “Show her in.”

Second Miss Shen Songyi, along with Second Young Master Shen Mingda, were both born of the concubine Madam Liu. They’d always kept their distance from the main branch.

Moreover, the original owner, spoiled since childhood and proud of her legitimate status, had never failed to show disdain toward her half-siblings.

Why was Shen Songyi suddenly eager to visit?

Perplexed, Shen Lingyue set aside her plans and brought Qingchan with her to the front hall to receive the guest.

“Are you feeling better, little sister?”

As soon as she entered, the girl in blue seated at the guest’s seat rose, approaching with affectionate concern. She took Shen Lingyue’s hand warmly, her delicate face brimming with worry.

“Ever since you fell ill, Mother said you needed rest and couldn’t receive visitors. I’ve been so anxious, hoping each day I might see you. It’s all my fault—if I hadn’t said those thoughtless words before, you wouldn’t have gotten so upset…”

Shen Songyi’s face radiated pain and remorse, her eyes rimmed red, tears sparkling, the very picture of delicate helplessness.

Shen Lingyue allowed her hand to be grasped, her face expressionless but inwardly on high alert.

Here it comes—the classic inner-court intrigue!

Dear frail little white flower of a stepsister, let the performance begin!