2. Transcendence

Having just endured the painstaking process, Lin Yun opened her eyes once more to see a veil of pale jade silk, faintly shimmering with golden and silver threads that spoke of opulence. Yet, instead of lifting her spirits, it only deepened her gloom.

At the sight of this familiar, tattered curtain, she knew she was back in the Ningyuan Marquis Manor, lying again on this precious bed, rare and costly beyond measure.

This bed, crafted from yellow rosewood, was enclosed on three sides with doors and topped with a wooden canopy. The ceiling above the bed was painted with intricate patterns of cranes in circular motifs, resembling a small chamber in itself.

Lin Yun had only seen such beds in museums before and marveled at the ingenious design that combined sleeping, dressing, and daily living all in one.

But now, experiencing it firsthand in this cramped, stifling, and dimly lit bed, she felt suffocated and restless. All she wanted was to escape.

She began to deeply long for the thin, cheap mattress of her single dormitory bed back at school. Though it had its troubles, at least she was free there.

Indeed, Lin Yun’s soul did not belong to the Great Zhou Dynasty. She came from a distant time and place—modern China. There, her friends often teased her as “Dr. Lin,” and she would patiently correct them, “I’m still a PhD candidate, haven’t received my diploma yet.”

Her friends would dismiss it lightly, “It’s only a matter of time, why be modest?”

But Lin Yun was not modest; she was pragmatic. Before obtaining her degree, who could say what might happen?

No matter how cautious or foresighted she was, she had only contemplated usual academic setbacks like postponement or dropout. She never imagined that her failure to graduate would be because—

She had traveled through time.

Lin Yun studied agronomy. She had died suddenly in the early hours, working on a paper, only to find herself inside the body of a fifteen-year-old girl in the Great Zhou Dynasty.

The original owner of this body had just turned fifteen a few days ago. Due to a series of convoluted and melodramatic events, she had grown up away from home, completely unaware that she was the sole legitimate daughter of the Ningyuan Marquis. Only recently, after her foster mother’s death, did she learn of her true identity and come to the imperial city. Using a token, she gained entry to the Marquis’s estate, fell gravely ill, and her body was taken over by Lin Yun, a doctoral student.

Back in high school, Lin Yun had read some novels, and at first, recognizing these elements, she could only sigh at such a clichéd beginning.

A simple search on Jinjiang Literature Network would yield hundreds of stories with similar starts. But soon she realized—

This was not a melodramatic romance; it was an endless stream of horror.

In the Great Zhou, she lived a strange existence, dying and reviving repeatedly, caught in a cycle of life and death.

For Lin Yun, surviving in the Great Zhou was even harder than publishing in SCI journals. After all, she had truly published SCI papers before, but here, she repeatedly met gruesome deaths.

Every time she died, she returned to the moment of her initial arrival. This was already her seventh awakening on this bed; previously, her longest survival had never exceeded five days.

Asked how she felt now, twelve words summed it up perfectly—

Wanting to live but living poorly; wanting to die but unable to.

After mustering mental strength and barely comforting herself, Lin Yun rose weakly from the bed, pulled back the curtain, and felt the fatigue and frailty of this body. The illness that had afflicted the original owner had left her with a very weak constitution.

As soon as the curtain was drawn aside, two maids hurried over, attending her with practiced grace. With repeated calls of “Second Miss, please lift your hand” and “Second Miss, will this do?” they helped her dress, wash, and groom.

When Lin Yun first arrived, she was flustered, but after multiple restarts, she had become adept at this routine.

She had considered doing everything herself but only insisted on washing her face. The layers of complicated clothing and elaborate hairstyle were beyond her skill, and she lacked the strength to manage it.

By the time they finished dressing and grooming her, it was already the early morning hour. Breakfast was brought in, and Lin Yun glanced over the sumptuous spread.

The maids set out a small table laden with a bowl of stuffed melon, a plate of assorted vegetables, slices of dried meat, a bowl of fresh milk curds, a bowl of silky noodles, a dish of spiced cakes, several pine-flower cakes, and a bowl of white sugar porridge enriched with a dozen kinds of dried fruits.

Though Lin Yun could not tell the exact names of these dishes at first, after hearing their descriptions seven times, she knew them all by heart.

A table balanced with meat and vegetables, soup and broth, noodles and cakes, even desserts—Lin Yun’s mouth watered at the aroma but wore a grimace as if she wanted to vomit. “I have no appetite. Take it away.”

The maid tried to persuade her, “Second Miss, you should at least try a little.”

Lin Yun waved her off, retching twice to show how close she was to throwing up if the food wasn’t removed. Yet when the dishes were taken away, she could not keep her eyes from following them longingly.

She knew how delicious these dishes were because she had eaten them before. Precisely because she had eaten them, she now dared not touch them.

Her mental state was like a tongue-twister, capturing her hunger and fear of death all at once—

She had been poisoned by this very breakfast once.

When she first arrived, unsuspecting, she ate a full meal, only to die from bleeding through all seven orifices. It was slightly more refined than dying from vomiting blood at a morning stall, but no less gruesome.

With the food gone, only lingering scents remained. Lin Yun endured her hunger, sitting in an armchair by the window, watching sunlight slowly invade the lavish yet oppressive room. In her mind, she quietly counted: “Two, four, seven, eleven...”

When the sixteenth pane of the carved wooden window was filled with light, Lin Yun tensed her calves, preparing to stand. At that moment, a matron in her fifties lifted the curtain with a smile and said, “I heard Second Miss is feeling better today. The Marquis’s concubine invites you to meet her at the Xiaming Pavilion.”

Lin Yun stood straight, nodded in acknowledgment, took the rough-edged cloak handed by a maid, and stepped out into the biting winter cold.

Whether from hunger or irritation, she couldn’t tell, but she felt a growing impatience.

***

Many held authority in the Ningyuan Marquis Manor, but the Marquis’s main wife lived in seclusion on the outskirts of the capital. Lin Yun’s birth mother, the Marquis’s wife, dutifully attended her and remained by her side. The Marquis himself had left on official business the day after Lin Yun’s return. In short, none of the powerful figures were present in the manor.

Thus, the one truly in charge was the Marquis’s concubine, Lady Li.

After several encounters, Lady Li left a deep impression on Lin Yun, for she had never met anyone so brazen and unrestrained by law.

In the previous six cycles, Lin Yun had accepted invitations to the Xiaming Pavilion only twice, feigning illness thereafter to avoid going.

Now, Lin Yun entered the hall, her aura cool and distant. At the head of the room sat Lady Li, eyes like autumn waters, graceful and poised. The noble concubine Fang was seated to the side, delicate and refined, cradling a boy of eight or nine years.

Fang had once been Lady Li’s maid and later bore the manor’s only male heir, Lin Yuanhan, earning the rank of noble concubine.

In other words, Lady Li and Fang were allies.

This was their first meeting with Lin Yun. As she entered, Lin Yun became the focal point of the room. Lady Li greeted her warmly, “Ah Yun fell ill as soon as she returned; I have been very worried.”

Her gaze lingered gently on Lin Yun, nodding with relief, “Your complexion has a healthy flush; you must be recovering.”

“It’s cold outside. Quickly bring Ah Yun a cup of hot tea to warm her; she mustn’t catch a chill.” Lady Li turned to the maid, exuding concern.

Fang chimed in, “The Lady’s Yangxian tea is rich and fragrant, rarely used. Today, Ah Yun, you are fortunate to enjoy it.”

Lin Yun sat in the armchair, hearing them call her “Ah Yun” over and over, as if she were very dear to them. She said nothing, not even a flicker of expression, staring blankly as if watching a play.

She was like a block of ice tossed into warm water, gradually cooling the whole room.

Lady Li had considered all possibilities—what kind of personality this girl raised outside might have, what attitude she would adopt toward them—but she never expected to be met with such indifference. The atmosphere became awkward.

Fortunately, a maid soon arrived with a tray of tea cups, serving everyone with delicate, graceful hands—a pleasant sight.

When it came to Lin Yun, the maid seemed intimidated by her strange temperament, holding the cup with extra caution.

Lin Yun looked at the tea brought before her and sighed inwardly—

This tea was an old acquaintance.

Because they had a history of dying together.

The first time, she took a sip and was poisoned to death.

The second time, knowing the tea was poisoned, she took the cup but didn’t drink. Yet she was still poisoned when the cup’s chipped bottom, coated with poison, cut her hand.

Now, once again, this cup of tea was placed before her.

Lady Li smiled, “Ah Yun is quiet. Since you’re drinking tea, your sister Qingzhao loves this tea most. If you enjoy it, you can take some leaves home from me.”

To Lin Yun, these words were no different from the call, “Darling, it’s time for your medicine.”

Faced with Lady Li’s “kindness,” Lin Yun remained motionless.

“Such a country bumpkin, rude and uncouth. Madam, please ignore her. A lowly person is always lowly; she can’t drink fine things.” Lin Yuanhan, self-proclaimed heir to the Ningyuan Marquis, deliberately spoke loudly to ensure Lin Yun heard.

His mother Fang pretended to scold him only after he spoke, “Tsk tsk, how can you say that to your sister? Children speak without thinking. Ah Yun, don’t take it to heart.”

Lin Yun ignored it. Rising, she took a large step forward, gathered her strength, and slapped Lin Yuanhan’s face.

The slap was pure and sharp, making a crisp sound as it landed and leaving a distinct, flushed handprint—a good, solid slap.

She had wanted to do this for a long time but never had the chance due to dying too quickly before.

Before anyone could react, Lin Yun swiftly followed with two more slaps.

The boy had said many unpleasant things before; they all needed to be paid back.

Turning sideways, Lin Yun did not forget to smack Fang as well, mother and son sitting close together—it was only natural.

Four slaps dealt, Lin Yun felt satisfied. Her movements were agile and forceful, impressive given she had not eaten.

She felt good; those hit did not.

Lin Yuanhan was stunned, clutching his face and howling. Fang screamed, and the servants rushed forward, shielding the two.

Lin Yun had no desire to prolong the fight. She stepped back two paces, wrapped her hot palm in a handkerchief, then, through it, lifted the poisoned tea cup from the table. Bending her back and gathering strength in her right leg, she prepared to throw.

While Lady Li feigned concern, saying how could Ah Yun quarrel with a child, Lin Yun’s right leg pushed off, her wrist flicked, and the cup left her hand.

It flew a short distance but was thrown with precision.

Lin Yun watched with satisfaction as the cup struck Lady Li’s forehead, splashing hot tea over her face and head, the chipped bottom cutting her skin.

“Drink as much as you like,” Lin Yun grinned for the first time in the Xiaming Pavilion, revealing a neat row of white teeth.

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