Just as Yu An stood helpless before Widow Cui, a flood of memories—both familiar and foreign—poured into her mind.
The sheer volume of it blanked her mind for an instant; her vision swam and she nearly lost her footing.
Before Yu An could absorb any of it, it was Widow Cui who panicked first.
Watching the person before her suddenly go pale and sway hard enough to slosh the bucket, she grew badly rattled.
Yu An hardly had a good name to protect. A philandering gambling addict besides—who could say she wouldn’t try to extort someone?
In her panic, Widow Cui began improvising. “There’s food on the fire at home. I’ll leave you be—another day, then.”
With that, she sashayed off, hips swaying like a water snake.
Yu An had even less time for her—she was busy sorting through the memories. By the time she came back to herself, Widow Cui was long gone, leaving only a spilled bucket and a crowd of spectator Omega.
She didn’t know whether to marvel or count herself lucky.
If those memories hadn’t arrived to leave her dizzy, she honestly wouldn’t have known how to face Widow Cui.
Most of the memories were common knowledge.
For instance: Zeyuan Village was the village Yu An now lived in, and the river before her was its mother river—the Zeyuan River.
Or: the current era was the Great Min Dynasty—a dynasty she’d never once heard of, yet with traceable roots. Go back a few decades and you’d find the Northern and Southern Dynasties period; the Great Min Dynasty had essentially taken the place of the Sui and Tang.
In her free time, Yu An would skim history books or pick things up from TV, but her actual knowledge was shallow.
And even if she knew more, it wouldn’t help much—this era was fictional, and its trajectory anyone’s guess.
For instance: this society’s primary labor force was made up of Alpha and male Beta—that is, ordinary men.
Ordinary female Beta ranked even below Omega. The imperial court and the powerful preferred taking Omega young ladies as wives or concubines; only a minority married Beta.
Alpha and Omega, sharing the defining trait of the Rain-Dew Period, had the highest marriage rate of all.
Scattered fragments of the original novel filled in the rest of what Yu An hadn’t read. For instance: the original owner had been twenty, same as her—a female Alpha whose taste ran to Omega, and older Omega at that. Liu Huaixu was five years her senior; the widow and the courtesan even older. Only the Village Head’s daughter, Cao Guan, was younger.
Beyond that, the original owner’s daily haunts were brothels and gambling dens, making her the most notorious wastrel in Zeyuan Village.
She didn’t have much money, but with so many Omega doting on her, she still lived comfortably.
Liu Huaixu was the sole exception—”conquered” didn’t quite describe it.
It was a smut novel, after all—sleeping together had certainly happened. But in the ending, when the original owner settled into shameless domestic bliss, Liu Huaixu wasn’t there.
She had left with a Jieyuan[T/N: First Place in the provincial exams] who barely appeared in the early chapters.
The memories came in fragments. As Yu An combed through them, she discovered the novel never even gave the Jieyuan’s name.
Incomplete as they were, they beat nothing. Better than struggling to learn this world from scratch, at least.
Yu An scooped out a fresh bucket of water and headed home, guided by her new memories.
But as she walked, something began to feel off.
She hadn’t read much of the original—yet of all things, she had read the segment with the original owner and Widow Cui.
The timeline matched now almost exactly. A few days ago, the original Yu An had hooked Widow Cui, and the two had arranged to meet today, by that very river—where the original owner had given away her first time.
Except that when the moment came, she’d been knocked unconscious—and the woman she woke to was Cao Guan, not Widow Cui at all.
If her memory wasn’t at fault, then the novel had been rewritten.
Which meant there might be a chance to shed this scumbag identity after all.
The thought considerably brightened Yu An’s mood. She was transmigrated either way—but who wanted to transmigrate into a scumbag?
Especially since Yu An considered herself a model young citizen. Aside from a high-school crush on the class flower next door, she had zero scandal to her name. There was simply no way she’d ever do anything so messy…
Same name or not, chaste-and-proper Yu An simply could not comprehend the original owner.
Huaixu’s face was exactly her type. How could the original owner neglect such a gorgeous wife and go chasing widows and courtesans instead?
If it were her… how was an icy-beauty older sister not the better catch?
Of course, Yu An wasn’t letting herself think that far yet. She couldn’t go back anyway—improving things with Liu Huaixu mattered far more!
These fine resolutions didn’t last long. The moment she stepped through the gate and saw Liu Huaixu’s icy face, the road ahead suddenly felt very long indeed.
Liu Huaixu had been waiting for her ever since she’d walked out. Yu An never came—Widow Cui arrived first instead.
The widow’s route home from the river passed right by her gate, and the woman had come with no good intent. Seeing Liu Huaixu standing in the doorway, she planted her hands on her hips and hollered: “Huaixu dear, you really must keep your Qianjun in line. What’s a widow like me supposed to do, hounded by a young Alpha like that?”
Widow Cui fluttered her handkerchief and put on a bashful act, utterly indifferent to Liu Huaixu’s blackening expression as she spewed more shameless words. “Just now at the river, your Qianjun grabbed me and wouldn’t let me leave. Plenty of people saw it, too.”
Liu Huaixu said nothing the whole time, and Widow Cui didn’t mind one bit—having said her piece, she was in an excellent mood.
She sashayed off.
Liu Huaixu hadn’t made a sound, but the cloth in her hands was crumpled full of creases—any harder and it would have torn.
If she had spoken, Widow Cui would only have grown more smug.
The woman had come to flaunt, nothing more. Liu Huaixu refused to take the bait.
Still—she had noticed the silver bracelet Widow Cui had made a point of flashing.
A while after Widow Cui left, Yu An finally returned. Before she’d even reached the gate, Liu Huaixu could see it clearly: Yu An’s clothes were dirty, her hair mussed.
Liu Huaixu’s cold face left Yu An flustered, unsure even where to put the bucket she carried. She edged slowly through the gate toward Liu Huaixu, smiling awkwardly as she inched along. “I… I’m back. With the water.”
She nearly bit her tongue saying it.
The current Liu Huaixu reminded her of her high school homeroom teacher—forever wearing a cold face whether there was reason or not, yet warm-hearted underneath.
She didn’t know Liu Huaixu, but today’s events made her suspect the woman wore two faces, public and private—and that beneath that icy exterior beat a genuinely warm heart.
Mostly, Yu An didn’t carry much guilt. She wasn’t the original owner; she’d done none of those things. So even Liu Huaixu’s remark about visiting brothels didn’t sting much.
With how scummy the original owner had been, such words weren’t exactly out of line.
It was just the constant coldness that chafed.
Yu An scratched her head and said it again. “I’m back.”
“I can see that.”
Liu Huaixu’s expression was flat, her gaze never once landing on Yu An—as if the woman were air.
Yu An: “…”
What is this situation? What am I supposed to say?
Yu An’s mind went blank. What she couldn’t stand most was a person like Liu Huaixu—someone whose words left her with nothing to say back.
“I… where should I put the water?”
Asked one time too many, Liu Huaixu grew annoyed and pointed casually. “Over there.”
She was pointing to the spot beside the indoor stove. Yu An followed her finger and finally took in the interior layout.
Compared to the house, the courtyard was practically luxurious.
She’d assumed that if the courtyard wasn’t too run-down, the interior couldn’t be either. She was wrong.
The indoor stove was clearly plastered from mud, straw still mixed into it. A stove like that would smoke terribly when lit—and the room would never hold much warmth anyway.
Deeper in, everything was pitch-dark and impossible to make out. The sun hadn’t even set yet, and not a ray of light made it inside.
Yu An stared into the room for a long while, and Liu Huaixu asked warily, “What are you looking at?”
She had bought this courtyard just last year with the meager funds the old madam had entrusted to her. Watching Yu An size the place up and down, a bad premonition stirred in her chest.
Surely Yu An wasn’t scheming to sell the house again?
The Yu family’s original estate had been one of the finest in the village—until Yu An gambled it away.
At the thought, melancholy crept into Liu Huaixu’s eyes. Who knew when Yu An would ever grow up? For the rest of her days, it seemed, there would be nothing but worry over Yu An—no ease to be found ever again.
“Don’t get any ideas about this house. There’s nothing left to take. You’d best learn to behave.”
Yu An had merely been wondering if the house could be renovated, and now she was being scolded for a couple of extra glances. Feeling wronged, she moved to explain—then her eyes caught Liu Huaixu’s outfit.
On the walk back, Liu Huaixu had been busy and Yu An still distracted; she’d completely failed to notice what Liu Huaixu was wearing.
At the rescue, Liu Huaixu had worn a white ruqun. Now she was dressed in coarse hemp cloth.
“Why aren’t you wearing that dress anymore?”
The question was hopelessly brainless. Liu Huaixu couldn’t fathom what she was up to, but she answered anyway: “This is what I wear every day.”
Liu Huaixu worked all day; a ruqun would go to waste on chores. Hemp clothes were the practical choice—they lasted.
Yu An didn’t know much about garment styles, but she could tell good fabric from bad. That round-collar robe on her own body, for instance—in half a day of wandering the village, she’d hardly seen two people wearing material that fine.
Most likely, the original Yu An had dressed up fine for appearances while her wife at home wore hemp.
“Do you do needlework?”
At the question, Liu Huaixu faltered, half-suspecting Yu An was insulting her.
What Omega in this world couldn’t do needlework?
Skill was one thing—to not know it at all was a mark people would sneer at behind her back.
Her face grew colder still.
Yu An realized she’d put her foot in it again. She smiled awkwardly and finally explained what she’d meant: “I was going to say, the fabric on this robe of mine is better—it might be more comfortable on you…!”
As Liu Huaixu’s expression kept cooling, Yu An began to regret her misplaced kindness, muttering at her feet: “I just thought you could take it in a little…”
Female Alpha might not be as tall and imposing as male Alpha, but from Yu An’s observation, their builds were roughly comparable to ordinary men’s.
People in this era ran short; an ordinary man stood about her height. Liu Huaixu was clearly more petite, hence the need for alterations.
But Liu Huaixu clearly didn’t see it that way. What Yu An wore was the standard style for Lord Alpha, the fabric stiff and heavy—on her own slight frame, it would only invite ridicule.
“Worry about yourself first.”
Liu Huaixu’s voice was flat. She’d given up hoping for Yu An long ago. As long as she didn’t gamble away the entire household, she could do as she pleased.
With that, Liu Huaixu went inside to light the stove and cook, leaving Yu An alone in the yard…
Yu An stood there, mortified, with no idea what to do.
Liu Huaixu’s hostility ran deep—every attempt at conversation got slapped back down. Try as she might to extend goodwill, there was nothing to be done.
Dusk settled in, cooking smoke curling up from every household. Yu An hovered in the yard, at a loss. She thought about going in to help—but Liu Huaixu’s hands were impossibly fast. In no time at all, the meal was ready and the dishes laid out.
Yu An was a fussy eater, so Liu Huaixu, indulging her, had cooked with polished rice rather than the coarse brown rice she ate herself. The dishes, though, were simple: vegetables from the garden, and potatoes.
Liu Huaixu ate little, and when she finished, she retired to her own room.
Besides the cooking area, the earthen house had two rooms, one adjoining the heated kang bed connected to the stove. That was the room Liu Huaixu entered. Once inside, she shut the door tight—not a sliver of a gap left.
Hungry and exhausted, Yu An ate a great deal. Only when she’d finished did it dawn on her: Liu Huaixu had, apparently, shut her out.
Quietly, she made her way to the room that belonged to her.
The moment she stepped in, a chill crept over her. By the stove during dinner she hadn’t felt the cold—here, it was genuinely cold.
She checked the bedding. Clean, at least.
Yu An sighed and resigned herself to fate.
For several days running, Yu An stayed meekly at home—which made Liu Huaixu uneasy. The last time Yu An had holed up like this was when she’d lost the estate in a bet. The old madam had been dead less than three months, and Yu An had already squandered most of the good farmland. Liu Huaixu had thought she’d finally settled down—only for a crowd to show up within days and seize their home outright.
Liu Huaixu had been powerless. The IOU bore the name “Yu An” in black and white.
Ten taels of silver owed.
Powerless still—and unable to bear watching them beat Yu An to death—Liu Huaixu had pawned off what remained of the good fields and property.
All that was left were the current dozen-odd mu of poor land.
The bit of cash left over had gone toward this dilapidated little house.
Which was exactly why such peaceful days unsettled her all the more.
Early one morning, Yu An got up at dawn, fetched a bucket of water from the river, and came back dreaming of a hot meal—only to find Liu Huaixu had cooked nothing at all. She stood in front of the house, waiting.
“What’s wrong now?” Liu Huaixu’s face was grim, and Yu An’s stomach knotted.
Days of Liu Huaixu’s cold shoulder had passed; Yu An had busied herself accepting reality. She’d just about finished accepting it—and now Liu Huaixu seemed colder than ever.
“Come inside, it’s been getting bitterly cold these past days.” By the lunar calendar it was late in the eighth month, and the weather was turning. Seeing Liu Huaixu’s small frame standing in the doorway, Yu An couldn’t bear it. She gave her sleeve a tug—it didn’t budge an inch.
“What’s the matter with you? Not saying a word.”
Yu An had swapped her own clothes for hemp ones by now—wherever she’d dug them up from. Liu Huaixu studied her deeply, convinced this performance had gone entirely overboard.
“Out with it. What trouble have you stirred up out there this time? Have you lost this house too?”
