The one-story building was a simple, unadorned structure made of rough bricks. Long and rectangular, it was divided into three equal sections. At its center lay the main hall, spacious enough to accommodate a crowd, flanked by two smaller rooms on either side. Yu Cai Ling’s room was located on the east end. Modest in appearance, it had polished yellow mud walls that were smooth and clean. At the center of the room was a large square stove made of clay, its age evident in its worn design. Despite its old-fashioned look, the stove radiated enough heat to warm the entire space. But today, even this warmth couldn’t calm Yu Cai Ling’s frayed nerves; the events of the past few days had left her feeling faint with fear. 

The room lacked typical furnishings. There were no beds, benches, or chairs. Instead, a flat wooden board on the floor occupied nearly a third of the room. On this board lay a thin layer of bedding that served as a makeshift bed. A few circular cotton cushions were scattered around, acting as seats, while a small square table was positioned nearby for meals. As Yu Cai Ling gazed around, she felt as though she had awakened in an ancient, austere Japanese room, reminiscent of the barren sets from the Akira Kurosawa films she used to watch. 

When she first regained consciousness ten days ago, the starkness of the room had overwhelmed her, and she had promptly fainted again, wishing desperately that she could simply vanish from this strange existence. 

Her hometown of Jingnan was nothing more than a tiny, forgotten 1800-tier town, nestled amid mountains and valleys and blending a patchwork of cultures and customs. It was so remote that traveling in and out had once been nearly impossible. It wasn’t until the People’s Republic of China was established that the government carved roads, built bridges, and tunneled through the mountains, making Jingnan a small, accessible mountain town.

But back then, the town was cut off, its only connection to the outside world coming from those brave enough to leave for work in the big cities. They returned with tales of "foreign devils"—a term they used for the Japanese—and these stories enraged the old village chief. In his fury, he ordered the villagers to lace yams, sweet potatoes, and dried radishes with rat poison, to be offered to any such invaders. The poison, however, was never used; no foreign devils ever appeared again.

“Young Mistress, it’s time for your medicine,” a middle-aged woman announced as she entered the room, balancing a thick wooden tray. She glanced toward a young girl who was holding up a heavy cotton curtain at the doorway. “A’Mei, put down the curtain. It’s cold outside.”

Yu Cai Ling snapped back to attention, quickly composing herself as best she could in her kneeling position. The woman set the tray down on the small table. On it were two pottery bowls, one large and one small. The larger bowl was filled with steaming medicinal soup, while the smaller held three candied fruits—a meager concession to the bitter taste that was to follow. Yu Cai Ling lifted the large bowl and took a cautious sip, immediately cringing as the intense bitterness filled her mouth. The taste was unbearable—worse, she thought, than drinking dichlorvos, even though she had never tasted the insecticide herself. 

After finishing the bitter medicine, Yu Cai Ling picked up a piece of candied fruit and let it dissolve in her mouth, savoring the sweet reprieve. She turned her gaze toward the woman sitting across from her—an imposing figure who had introduced herself simply as Zhu. The name felt strange to Yu Cai Ling, reminding her of the owner of a tacky, multifunctional hair salon back in her old town, who would flirtatiously call out her name as if calling a lover. Yet, unfamiliar with the local customs and wary of offending anyone, she chose not to question it and stuck to calling her Zhu.

Zhu had a square face and a robust, no-nonsense build. Her expression was stern, matching her ash-gray linen jacket, which had a short train that revealed trousers tucked neatly below her knees—a practical choice, Yu Cai Ling guessed, meant more for work than style. A thick cotton coat cinched around her waist flowed down to her heels, giving her an air of both warmth and authority. Next to her, the ten-year-old A’Mei, dressed in a short cotton coat and thick trousers, was darting playfully around the yard, her youthful energy in stark contrast to Zhu’s solemn demeanor.

Yu Cai Ling's memories flashed back to just over ten days ago, when she had been trapped in a haze, her body weak and eyelids heavy as lead. Fading in and out of consciousness, she remembered lying on the rough “bed,” barely able to move, when a shrill female voice pierced through her foggy awareness. “...you incompetent, stupid woman! My Madam gave you this task, and you’ve done nothing but neglect it. If anything happens to the Young Mistress, your whole family will be fed to the dogs!”

Another, quieter voice muttered defensively, “But you told me to ignore her, to let her scream and curse, to stamp out her temperament and let her endure her punishment—”

“Outrageous!” the shrill voice cut in angrily. “Even if she’s at fault, she is still the Master’s daughter. How can you be so careless?”

Yu Cai Ling felt herself slipping back into sleep, the harsh words blending into her restless dreams. Moments later, she was jolted back to awareness by the sensation of warm liquid being pressed to her lips. Someone was feeding her medicine. Instincts kicked in, and she forced herself to swallow. She could hear, faintly, the shrill voice again, now tinged with cruel amusement. “...I won’t hide it from you. This is a hot potato, and now that she’s so sick, no one wants to take responsibility. You’re lucky you’ve been begging me for days…”

Then came the soft, deliberate voice of Zhu, who spoke with a smile that Yu Cai Ling couldn’t see but could easily imagine. “The Young Mistress is very sick, but I am more than capable of handling this job. I only hope that when she recovers, Master will remember my efforts and look favorably upon me and my family, ensuring that A’Mei and A’Liang have prosperous futures.”

There was the sound of coins clinking together, a metallic reassurance of Zhu’s compliance, followed by the satisfied reply of the shrill voice, “That’s fine. Since you’ve accepted the task, do it well.” With that, the voice faded, and the heavy footsteps echoed as she departed.

Yu Cai Ling, who prided herself on her sharp logical reasoning skills, began to piece together the situation. Even with her fever clouding her senses, she deduced that she was inhabiting the body of a young lady who had somehow fallen from grace in an aristocratic family of some ancient era. It seemed her caretakers had failed her, their negligence leading to her severe illness that had nearly claimed her life.

When Yu Cai Ling first laid eyes on Zhu, her limited knowledge of ancient times left her imagining that she might see the signature braids of the Manchu era or a Tang dynasty dress with exposed shoulders. She wouldn’t have minded marrying a half-bald husband or enduring the harsh winters of old. But Zhu’s dark, practical robes stumped her; they were unlike any specific period she could pinpoint, leaving her unanchored in time and deeply disheartened.

This disorientation lingered for three long days. Then, on the fourth day, after regaining some of her strength, Yu Cai Ling accompanied A’Mei to see off a bride, and her mood inexplicably lifted. A’Mei, puzzled, didn’t understand why the usually melancholic Young Mistress had suddenly cheered up for no apparent reason.

Meanwhile, Zhu was observing Yu Cai Ling just as closely. To help the girl recover, the medical staff had been providing an assortment of treatments and ingredients. Despite the grueling regimen, Yu Cai Ling had only spat out the bitter medicine once in defiance. From then on, she took her doses without complaint, gritting her teeth with a stubborn determination that even Zhu found impressive. Zhu, naturally reserved, hadn’t expected this from the young lady, who was rumored to be unruly and unmanageable. But this girl rarely spoke, staying quiet and withdrawn, her demeanor stoic and tough—a stark contrast to the image others had painted of her. The mystery of this silent, introspective behavior left Zhu perplexed and a little uneasy.

After finishing the bitter medicine, A’Mei, her round face flushed with excitement, nestled up to Yu Cai Ling’s side. “Young Mistress, it’s warm outside today. Let’s go and play,” she suggested eagerly. Yu Cai Ling, weary from being cooped up indoors, nodded in agreement, longing for a change of scenery.

“It’s good to get some fresh air,” Zhu remarked with an unusual smile. “But remember, the guards aren’t here today. Don’t stray too far, and take A’Liang with you.”

Yu Cai Ling glanced at Zhu with a puzzled expression. It was unlike the usually quiet woman to speak so much, let alone grant permission for Yu Cai Ling to go out and play without a strict adult companion. Something about today felt different.

A’Mei made a playful face at her mother and quickly helped Yu Cai Ling put on her thick-soled cotton shoes, wrapping herself in a heavy cloak. The two girls, thrilled with their newfound freedom, joined hands and dashed outside.

Stepping into the crisp air, Yu Cai Ling inhaled deeply, the cold biting her lungs in a way that felt invigorating. The charcoal fire in her chest seemed to cool as the fresh, icy air filled her. She tilted her head back, marveling at the expanse of blue sky above her—an endless stretch of white clouds floating lazily in a pristine sky, like the illustrations from her childhood textbooks come to life. The sky was vast, clear as pure ice water, and it made Yu Cai Ling feel unexpectedly joyful.

The courtyard was encircled by a tall bamboo fence, offering a sense of seclusion. Although it was a rural dwelling, the cottage was robust, with a towering roof and three spacious rooms that felt anything but cramped or sorrowful. The house’s scale and design were far from the compact, melancholic architecture of Japan that Yu Cai Ling had initially assumed.

Feeling pleased with the surroundings, Yu Cai Ling pulled A’Mei and a seven- or eight-year-old boy named A’Liang along as they ventured beyond the yard. In the distance, two figures on horseback galloped toward them, their combat gear glistening under the sun, kicking up snow and dust as they rode.

A’Mei, her eyes sharp and full of recognition, gasped and pointed. “That’s Father… and Brother!” she exclaimed, breaking free from Yu Cai Ling’s grasp. Without hesitation, she ran forward, her voice ringing out in the cold air. “Father! Brother!”

The two horsemen reined in their horses with precision at the front of the yard, dismounted in unison, and greeted the group. The older man, with a weathered but kind face, immediately spotted Yu Cai Ling and approached her. Clasping his fists and bowing his head, he smiled respectfully, “Young Mistress.”

The younger rider, a boy of seventeen or eighteen, followed his father’s gesture, mimicking the respectful bow with his own hands clasped. Yu Cai Ling acknowledged them with a smile. “Welcome back, Fu Yi.”

“Is the Young Mistress heading out to play?” Fu Yi asked, his voice warm and cheerful. “We just passed by the temple to the river god. There’s quite a crowd gathered—you should go and join the excitement.” He then turned to his son. “Deng, don’t go inside just yet. Join them.”

Fu Deng obediently handed the reins of his horse to his father. The group stepped forward, their feet crunching on the thin layer of snow beneath them, and headed toward the sounds of distant festivities.

Fu Yi, Yu Cai Ling had learned, was Zhu’s husband. She had overheard the guards refer to him as Leader Fu, and she followed suit. But her formal greeting had initially frightened Fu Yi, catching him off guard. From the way he interacted with Zhu, she had assumed him to be her lawful spouse, though his initial wariness suggested that Yu Cai Ling’s assumptions had put him ill at ease.

As they left the courtyard and walked westward for about ten minutes, the tinkling sound of flowing water reached Yu Cai Ling’s ears, mingled with the murmur of distant voices. They arrived at a small stream, about ten meters wide. Its water was crystal clear, shallow—barely half a meter deep—and narrow, just three or four meters across. Despite its modest size, the stream was rich with life, teeming year-round with fish and shrimp that greatly supplemented the villagers’ livelihoods.

Not far upstream, on the shore, stood a small shrine built by the village elders to honor the gods of the mountains, forests, streams, and waters. It was a simple but reverent space, constructed to secure the gods’ blessings and to bring more abundance in fish, shrimp, fruits, and vegetables to the community.

As soon as the temple came into view, A’Mei excitedly grabbed Yu Cai Ling’s hand and ran inside, her enthusiasm infectious. She dug out a few coins and bought a bamboo tube filled with homemade incense from a monk at the entrance. Next, she approached a young girl holding a basket of fruits, purchasing a selection that Yu Cai Ling didn’t recognize. 

The girl, noticing the handsome Fu Deng nearby, couldn’t resist a playful gesture. She tossed an orange at him with a mischievous grin, her gaze lingering on his flushed face. Fu Deng’s cheeks reddened, his embarrassment plain as he caught the fruit with a nervous smile. A’Mei beamed with excitement. “My brother is getting engaged soon!” she announced proudly.  Yu Cai Ling smirked and teased, “Then why do you still charge us for the fruit if you like him?” The girl with the basket laughed brightly. “Even if he’s handsome, my family still needs to eat.” Her response sparked a round of hearty laughter among the group.

The so-called temple was a large structure consisting of two halls, one positioned behind the other. The villagers, who had seen Yu Cai Ling and her entourage several times, recognized her as the young lady from a nearby wealthy family and eagerly invited them inside. The front room was filled with thick incense smoke, and high on a platform stood several grotesque, ferocious statues of deities. The figures were a confusing blend—Guanyin that didn’t resemble Guanyin, and a bizarre version of Jesus. At the foot of these stone figures, several pools of blood stained the floor, remnants of recent sacrifices. Nearby, chickens and ducks still flailed their legs, trapped in a large wooden basin, their lives slowly ebbing away.

Yu Cai Ling shook her head yet again, disheartened by the crude depictions of the deities. The statues, terrifying in appearance, and the primitive methods of worship seemed out of touch. How could believers find solace or inspiration in such grotesque figures? She couldn’t help but imagine how she would modernize the temple: she’d craft benevolent statues, surround them with fresh flowers, add ponds of goldfish, and perhaps even organize poetry readings and scripture recitations. It would be an irresistible atmosphere of serene devotion, guaranteed to attract followers and, most importantly, their wealth.

But that was just her modern perspective. To the surrounding villagers—women, children, and the elderly—this crude setup felt perfectly functional. They were kneeling or standing in awe, hands clasped in prayer, murmuring words of reverence. A’Mei quickly handed Yu Cai Ling three sticks of incense and tugged her down to kneel on the grass mat before the altar. Yu Cai Ling sighed. The last time she had bowed in reverence was in her previous life when she and her three roommates had gone hiking in the mountains. The four young women had knelt devoutly before the statues of Sanqing, the Three Pure Ones—the highest gods of the Taoist pantheon. 

Yu Cai Ling’s thoughts drifted back to her college days with her three roommates, each with their own desperate wishes whispered into the silent temple air. Her SMS roommate, ever the diligent student, prayed earnestly for another full scholarship by the end of the term. The blogger roommate, hopelessly in love with the handsome guy next door, pleaded for him to break up with his girlfriend and fall madly in love with her at first sight. Meanwhile, her QQ roommate, ambitious and career-driven, hoped to secure an early internship opportunity with the prestigious NZND company. As for Yu Cai Ling, her prayer was more pragmatic: she hoped the eleven-page application she’d just completed to join the Communist Party would be accepted. Her uncle had promised her a brand-new laptop if she succeeded in gaining Party membership—a gateway to better career prospects.

After each girl fervently voiced her own hopes, they all recited "Amitabha" in unison, sealing their prayers with a reverent chant. Together, they left the temple, giggling as they went, completely oblivious to the puzzled look on the old woman kneeling beside them. Yu Cai Ling knelt before the altar, inserted the three incense sticks into the brass jar, and let out a soft sigh. From her vantage point, the act of worship still held a kind of compelling charm. In her previous life, she had been fearless and ambitious. If fate hadn’t intervened, would she have made it into the Party? And what of her roommates? Had their wishes been fulfilled, or were they still chasing after the fleeting dreams they had once whispered in that temple?  The bitterness of missed opportunities and squandered luck gnawed at her. So when A’Mei enthusiastically invited her into the hall to hear the latest prophecy from the resident monk, Yu Cai Ling flatly refused. The last time she’d encountered that monk, he had duped her into performing some shady ritual. Yu Cai Ling suspected he was simply looking to swindle money from her, thinking she was another gullible rich girl. Even if she had money to spare, she’d rather emulate her aloof, self-made father who invested in helping those from the fringes of society rather than squander it on charlatans. At least that way, she reasoned, she’d be contributing to a harmonious society.

“Everyone says that monk is powerful,” A’Mei whispered, tugging on Yu Cai Ling’s sleeve, her eyes wide with intrigue.

Yu Cai Ling raised an eyebrow, skepticism dripping from her words. “If they’re truly that powerful, why haven’t they been summoned by dignitaries and officials? Why would someone with such supposed abilities stay in a small place like this?” She thought of her father, whose business had flourished only after finding the right guidance—someone with real skills, not some random charlatan posing as a conduit of the divine. “That’s hard to say,” A’Mei replied thoughtfully. “Mother told us about the Immortal Yan who once met the emperor. He refused to become an official, choosing instead to live in seclusion, wearing fur and fishing every day.” A’Mei’s voice was filled with admiration, as if she were reciting a legend from a forgotten past.

Fu Deng, who had been listening intently, scoffed slightly. “The Immortal Yan was originally a master of Confucian classics. He was a first-class scholar, and divination was just a pastime. It wasn’t his life’s work.” A’Mei pouted but relented, and the trio decided to play by the stream. Little A’Liang’s excitement was palpable as he led the way, skipping ahead. They departed from the noisy temple, heading toward the gentle murmur of the water.

By the stream, children and teenagers gathered, their laughter punctuating the crisp air. Folk customs were simple, and the games reflected that simplicity—skipping flat stones across the water, wading into the frigid stream to snatch up sluggish crabs and shrimp, or, for the more daring, splashing through the water in high-legged wooden clogs fashioned at home. A’Mei and A’Liang joined in the fun, splashing and squealing with delight, their faces flushed with joy.  Yu Cai Ling took a few steps back, her gaze scanning the area until she spotted a sun-warmed boulder near the water's edge. She sat down, feeling the heat of the stone seep through her cloak, and let herself relax for a moment. Fu Deng silently followed her, positioning himself close by, his presence quiet yet attentive. She glanced at Fu Deng. Of all of Zhu’s children, he was the most reserved, mirroring her own quiet demeanor. But his silence was an obstacle; he was like a locked chest, withholding any clues that could help her unravel her own situation. A’Mei and A’Liang, being so young, could only offer her the naive perspectives of children. The household staff, rigid and tight-lipped, were equally unhelpful. And Yu Cai Ling knew that asking too many questions could easily attract unwanted scrutiny from Zhu. The last thing she needed was more attention from the one person she trusted the least.

Yu Cai Ling had realized within days of arriving that this was an intensely superstitious society. After she began to recover from her illness, Zhu had arranged for monks to perform rituals—singing and dancing to appease the gods. In the courtyard, a new stove had been built, and Zhu had slaughtered another lamb, setting out plates of fruit as offerings to the Kitchen God. Even during a heavy snowfall just the day before, Zhu had solemnly placed two jars of winter wine outside; Yu Cai Ling couldn’t tell if it was meant to make the snow stop or encourage it to fall harder. Yesterday, the sun shone brightly, melting the snow and making it easier to gather mushrooms and wild vegetables. Zhu, delighted by the change in weather, killed a pair of chickens and ducks as a fresh offering. Yu Cai Ling didn’t dare ask what all the rituals meant; the superstitions ran too deep for her to grasp fully.

What bothered Yu Cai Ling the most, though, was that she still didn’t know the name of the body she now inhabited. 

Ahead, A’Mei was yelling and laughing, her voice carrying over the crisp air as she tussled with a group of children. A boy had been teasing A’Liang, and A’Mei retaliated by picking up a piece of frozen ice from the grass and shoving it down the back of the boy’s shirt. The boy leapt and shrieked like a scalded shrimp, and the other children burst into laughter.  Yu Cai Ling couldn’t help but smile. Despite the strangeness of her situation, she was grateful to Zhu and her family. 

More than ten days ago, when Yu Cai Ling was still groggy and feverish, she had sensed that her surroundings were bleak. She’d been lying on a hard wooden board with only thin cotton for bedding, and the room was damp and cold, carrying a faint, unpleasant odor. But after she arrived, Zhu had changed all her clothes and blankets to warm, thick materials. With the help of other rural women, Zhu had hauled a large stove into the room to heat the entire space. She’d scrubbed the place meticulously and even used lit mugwort to smoke out the room inch by inch, ensuring there were no lingering insects or pests. Zhu built a stove, piled firewood, and cooked nourishing meals daily, slowly nursing Yu Cai Ling back to health. Each day, Yu Cai Ling felt a bit stronger, though she remained thin and weak.  Recovering from such a severe illness wasn’t easy, especially in an era with rudimentary medical care. Even today, despite her good spirits, Yu Cai Ling felt frail, unable to walk too fast or too far. To lift her mood, Zhu had found a bull cart and arranged for two guards to take Yu Cai Ling and A’Mei on leisurely rides through the countryside.

In Yu Cai Ling’s mind, survival was the first priority. Only after living could one think about living well. Stranded in this unfamiliar time and place, she had no choice but to adapt. She was inherently practical and selfish—sentimentality had no place in her fight for survival. She would do what was necessary to stay alive.

End of Chapter 1.