Chapter One: Strangled by My Own Mother

Lingran awoke to a searing pain encircling her neck and the sound of several women weeping, and in her heart, she was overjoyed. After five years of torment from leukemia and finally succumbing to death, she found herself before a judge in the underworld, who informed her that her time was not yet up. But when she wished to return, her body had already been cremated, so he promised to find her a new vessel for a second chance at life.

Lingran then laid out a long list of requests: first, she refused to start life anew as a baby, fearing she would suffocate from boredom; second, she wanted to be a beautiful young woman—if she woke up as a man, she’d weep upon discovering her new appendage; third, she didn’t want to be poor—if her family had been wealthy in her previous life, she could have afforded that bone marrow transplant and survived... As for points four, five, six, and seven, before she could finish, an imp gave her a hard kick, sending her off.

“My poor child…” wailed a woman sprawled atop her, sobbing. Others around her joined in or tried to console. Clearly, the body’s mother. Not wanting to be crushed any longer, Lingran coughed as forcefully as she could.

“Ling… Ling’er isn’t dead yet!” cried a deep-voiced woman.

Lingran thought, Well, at least I won’t be smothered anymore. Who could have guessed that the woman pressing her down, upon hearing she was still alive, went mad, seized Lingran’s throat with both hands, and shrieked, “Why won’t you just go! Die and be done with it! Hurry up and die!”

Lingran had no time to react before she was choked into unconsciousness. As her eyes rolled back, she thought, Could I be any more unlucky? Just reborn and already faced with such a vicious mother—the pain on her neck was from being strangled by her own mother… This is just too damned much!

A sudden clamor and the crash of a door, accompanied by angry shouts, interrupted the woman’s frenzy. Lingran felt several men burst in and wrench the woman from her, punctuated by the crisp slap of a palm.

She couldn’t help but cough violently, finally opening her eyes to take in her surroundings.

She was in a small room, three sides of which were walls, and the fourth was fitted with sturdy wooden bars. There was a small door in the bars, hung with an iron chain and a large lock. The walls were pitch black, the floor strewn with messy hay, and suspicious objects littered the corners—it looked just like the dungeons from TV dramas.

Including herself, there were eight women in the cell. Four huddled together in a corner, clearly having kept silent throughout the previous ‘death.’ The middle-aged woman lying on the ground was probably the body’s mother; two women on either side helped her to the wall, where they clung together, crying as one.

Two men had entered, their black uniforms trimmed in red resembling those of constables. Their faces were utterly forgettable, so much so that Lingran didn’t bother to look twice. Two more stood guard outside the cell door.

One of the men pointed at the crying women and said, “To think the wife of an Imperial Censor would be so ignorant. That your daughter was chosen as a select courtesan is an honor! It’s a bright future for her. If you kill her and ruin our master’s profits, selling you all to the Spring Blossom Brothel wouldn’t be enough to make up for it!”

At these words, the three women reacted furiously. One leapt up and cursed, “What are you people? Didn’t the Emperor decree our return to our ancestral home? You dare defy the imperial edict and send our daughter to such a filthy fate! This is treason—you’ll be executed along with your families!”

“Hmph!” sneered the first constable, grabbing Lingran with his companion while shouting, “Are we supposed to be scared? Trying to intimidate us with the Emperor’s name—ha!”

Lingran had no idea what was happening. She didn’t know whether to hide from the constables or from the woman who tried to strangle her.

The second constable declared, “According to the laws of Great Ming, the founding emperor decreed that the female kin of convicted officials are to be conscripted as official courtesans. To be chosen as a select courtesan is a privilege! As for you three old hags, even the lowest brothels wouldn’t want you!”

So this was the Ming Dynasty! She hadn’t landed in some unknown era after all. Relieved, Lingran watched as the women fiercely fought the constables for her, pulling her hard in both directions until she yelped in pain.

“Ling’er, a woman’s reputation is everything. If you resolve to die, no one can stop you!” One of the women, taking advantage of the distraction, yanked Lingran toward her and shoved her hard against the wall. Dizzy from the impact, Lingran barely managed to shield her face with her hands—she’d just been reborn and wasn’t about to die again so easily.

Seeing Lingran’s pathetic state, the woman wailed and cursed, “Wretch! Shameless creature…” The three were soon subdued by the constables, who beat them until they lay motionless, satisfied only after venting their anger.

“Enough, take her away and don’t delay the master’s business,” one of them said. They spat and hurled insults like “cesspit stone,” “stubborn old hag,” before dragging Lingran out of the dungeon.

Looking back, Lingran saw the three women clinging to the cell door, one shrieking at her to kill herself. She wanted to see their faces clearly, but their hair was wild and their faces filthy—impossible to distinguish. The other four women remained huddled in the corner, trembling, their connection to the body’s original owner unclear.

Two constables with pancake-like faces dragged her along. She thought she’d be taken before their master and braced herself for whatever lay ahead. After all, she was determined to face whatever challenges came with this new life. However, after passing through several courtyards and leaving the yamen, she was bundled into a large cart, and the constables handed her over to more than ten men in matching dark green livery, who took charge and set the cart in motion.

The cart could seat a dozen people, covered with yellow cloth and woven bamboo panels, allowing plenty of light inside. As Lingran boarded, she saw eight or nine young women already seated, each one elegantly dressed, with unique hairstyles and features—none of that cookie-cutter celebrity look.

When Lingran entered, the girls showed no surprise, but nine pairs of eyes turned to her in unison, making her uneasy.

One, near the door, pinched her nose and exclaimed, “She stinks!”

Another said, “They let someone like this in?”

A third murmured, “Don’t say that…”

Lingran thought to greet them, but her neck hurt too much, and her throat felt blocked—no sound came out.

Nine girls filled the seats on either side of the cart. Lingran intended to sit at the outermost seat with four others, planning to observe before making her move. But the girl in the deep blue embroidered jacket and bright red skirt at the edge didn’t spare her a glance, fanning herself coolly.

Instead, a girl in green at the far end beckoned, “Sister, come sit here.”

Lingran shot the girl at the edge a glare, then made her way to the inner seat, dodging three attempts to trip her.

This green-clad girl wore her hair in two buns and looked about fifteen or sixteen, fresh and pretty as a peach. Lingran couldn’t resist pinching her cheek before clearing her throat and asking, “What’s your name, sister?” Of course, her voice was hoarse, likely drawing more disdain.

She’d lived twenty-two years in her past life, and on calling her ‘sister,’ she suddenly recalled a certain aging actress forced by her agency to visit another aging actress on set. Upon arrival, she greeted her with, “Sister, you’ve worked hard,” freezing the staff, while the other replied sweetly, “Thank you, sister.” Whether the tale was true or not, at least it illustrated that among beauties, ‘sister’ had become a slightly derogatory term. But here, since she was addressed as ‘sister’ first, calling the other girl ‘sister’ back seemed welcome.

The girl beamed, “My family name is Wang, given name Biqing. What about you, sister?”

Lingran still didn’t know her current name. She’d been separated from her “family,” and when she woke, the woman had kept calling her ‘Ling’er,’ so perhaps her name hadn’t changed. “I’m Lingran. Please take care of me from now on, sister.”

Biqing agreed with a cheerful nod. Lingran began to probe, “Sister, what year were you born?”

“I was born in the third year of Jingtai, same as the reigning Emperor Chengshou. You’re not from the early Jingtai years, are you? If so, I’ll be the youngest here again.” Biqing puffed her cheeks, looking adorable.

Lingran knew the Jingtai era, but Chengshou Emperor? Was she hearing things? After Jingtai, Emperor Yingzong was restored, and the era should be Tianshun, right? Even if Yingzong only ruled for seven or eight more years, his son’s reign would be called Chenghua. She’d spent five years shuttling between hospitals and home, hadn’t had much proper schooling, but read many books, especially history, so while she might not recall all the court officials, she could recite the Ming and Qing emperors fluently. Yet she couldn’t remember any Emperor Chengshou. She asked again, “Did you say Emperor Chengshou?”

“Yes, the third year of Jingtai. Now it’s the tenth year of Chengshou. I’m the same age as His Majesty—fifteen,” Biqing replied, giggling.

What was going on? Had too many transmigrators altered history? Or perhaps she hadn’t actually arrived in the historical Ming Dynasty at all?

“Are you the daughter of Censor Zhang Ning?” someone across from her suddenly asked.

Lingran looked up and saw a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl in a pink and white plum blossom dress, her hair in a simple spiral bun with a jade hairpin, exuding distinguished poise. Truth was, she had no idea who her current father was, so she replied vaguely, “I suppose so.”

“Lord Zhang is known for his virtue. What, are you ashamed? Afraid to admit he’s your father?” asked another girl on Lingran’s side, her tone mocking.

Lingran craned her neck to study her—a girl of about seventeen or eighteen, dressed in pale yellow with shimmering silver thread, fanning herself with a silk round fan. Her eyes weren’t large, but they possessed a captivating charm, and her face was nearly flawless. Still, Lingran’s keen eye caught a flaw—the upper lip was noticeably thick, lending a hint of childish naivete to an otherwise lively face. Her air was haughty and unwelcoming. Lingran judged that she and the girl in plum blossom were both the arrogant type.

Hmph! All these shallow, self-important brats, she muttered inwardly, then mimicked their tone and asked, “And who is your father, miss?”

The girl in yellow curled her lip disdainfully but did not answer.

Biqing hurried to fill the silence, “Sister Shen Zhu’s father is named Zheng, styled Xingzhi, formerly Vice Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, skilled in poetry and painting—a renowned gentleman.”

Lingran only knew that a Censor in Ming times was a low-ranked but powerful official. The Vice Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices was clearly higher, and if Miss Shen’s father was also famed for his talents, a little pride could be excused. The thing was, since they were all among the select courtesans, her father must also be a prisoner now—what right did she have to mock others? So Lingran simply smiled.

Seeing Lingran didn’t fawn over her, Shen Zhu scowled and glared fiercely.

Biqing pointed to the girl in white with red plum blossoms, “Sister Xu Shanquan’s father was once Minister of War, Xu Youzhen, a family of even greater distinction…”

A girl at the far end of the cart suddenly interrupted, “Distinguished indeed, yet rumor says Lord Xu gained his post by framing a loyal minister. Now that he’s been toppled and exiled, as the Buddha says, karma never fails—perhaps this is his retribution.”

The bluntness of the girl’s words was remarkable—most would never criticize so openly. Lingran couldn’t help but admire her, sneaking a look at her plain black attire and unremarkable makeup, though her beauty was striking.

“Still better than being a fallen woman from the brothels!” Xu Shanquan shot back.

“What did you say?” the girl in black roared, leaping up to grab Xu Shanquan’s hair.

Chaos erupted in the cart.

It seemed the saying “three women make a drama” was absolute truth. Lingran’s head throbbed from the clamor, and she dearly wished they’d all just give her some peace.