1 Chapter 1: 26 to 36_1

Yang Zhulan stared blankly at the ceiling beam, actually seeing nothing. It wasn't even dawn outside yet; had she not received those memories, she would have screamed by now.

In the darkness, her hands twisted the quilt on her body, using it as an outlet for her frustration. She had spiritedly set out to save someone, but not only did she fail to rescue them, she ended up transmigrating herself—a truly unique experience.

The thought of the rescue made Yang Zhulan bite down hard on her back teeth. In the 19th year, affected by the El Niño phenomenon, severe winds, heavy rainfall, and hailstorms were frequent. The Capital had seen several strong winds. As she was returning to her residence on an errand, having just parked her car, she saw the roof tiles wobbling in the gust, about to fall off, just as a man emerged. Without thinking, she rushed into the building, bringing the man with her to take shelter, but unexpectedly, he ended up on top of her, missing the chance to hide, and pain was the only sensation before she lost consciousness.

When Zhulan reached this point in her thoughts, she figured if she had transmigrated, that burning-hot man must not have been spared either. At that thought, she felt a twinge of sorrow.

A muffled groan came from beside her, and Zhulan didn't dare to move. The person next to her was none other than the original body's husband. Once more, she cursed the man who had trapped her in this situation.

It wasn't until the breathing beside her steadied that Zhulan let out a sigh of relief. She had read quite a few novels, especially those featuring ancient farming life, but she never imagined she'd have a chance to experience it herself.

What she resented most was that she didn't aspire to transmigrate into a high-status body, nor did she dream of becoming a rich young lady as a pay-to-win player. But to be tricked into becoming a mother without saying, and to age ten years overnight, going from twenty-six with neither marriage nor romance directly to motherhood was bad enough, but at thirty-six to also become a grandmother—that's right, a grandmother, and not just of one grandchild.

The wicked ancient society, marrying off at just over ten years old—how was she, who had been a lifelong single dog, to bear it!

Zhulan sighed, her thoughts turning to her parents. Although both had remarried and had their own children, they had been good to her. Her grandparents, fearing she would be wronged, had left her all their property when they passed away. She really didn't worry about her parents; instead, she was concerned about her maternal grandparents, knowing they'd be devastated to hear the news.

She couldn't help but tear up, thinking more than once that if she were to die, perhaps she could go back. But it was only a fleeting thought; with a massive section of rooftop falling from such a height, survival seemed improbable. The more she thought about it, the harder it was to hold back her tears, and she cried silently.

After crying herself out, she didn't know when she fell asleep again. In the morning, she was awakened by the crowing of roosters and finally got a clearer view of the bedroom's general situation. On the kang bed, there were two wooden boxes laid side by side, covered with unused quilts. There was a kang table and a basket for sewing materials standing in the corner. Looking at the floor, there was nothing at all, not even the memories she had received could prevent the shock in her heart.

According to the memories, her current family was living quite well by the village standards, but aside from being slightly cleaner, everything else was shabby. She couldn't even begin to imagine the state of poorer families, not to mention the rough and scratchy quilt—it was simply unbearable for her, yet for most families here, finding one without patches would be a challenge.

Zhulan reminisced about the silk duvets of the modern world; she actually managed to sleep under such conditions the night before, surely because she was exhausted from crying.

There were sounds of feeding chickens outside, and people talking.

Zhulan, "...."

The architecture of ancient villages didn't have a thing called soundproofing; in her room, it was like being at a live broadcast.

Zhulan sighed. She didn't want to get up; to be precise, she didn't want to face the original body's children and family members. Even though she had suddenly topped the food chain, and even though the name of her new identity was the same as hers, she felt no joy. Her gaze became unfocused as she looked at the pitch-dark ceiling beam.

"Mhm."

There was a movement from the person beside her, a contemplative hum as if he was about to wake up. Zhulan's mind went blank; how could she have forgotten about the original body's husband? Sensing that he was about to wake, she quickly closed her eyes.