Chapter 1: A New Arrival

Yan Yan felt that her life’s coffee table must be crowded with “tragedies,” but none was more disastrous than swapping souls with someone who didn’t even exist.

She thought she would never forget that afternoon: cradling a dusty novel she’d borrowed from who knows where, sitting at the outdoor café opposite her company, pretending to read with elegance. The truth was, she was waiting for the newly appointed manager of the General Affairs Department. Just catching a distant glimpse would fill her with energy for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t that Yan Yan was infatuated—no, that wasn’t it. The handsome manager was her college classmate, Ni Chen, the one she had secretly loved for three years. Fate, it seemed, was unfair. They’d graduated from the same university, joined the same company, yet he became a manager, while she remained a lowly underling.

Yan Yan sighed heavily, but continued her undignified vigil. Truthfully, she was quite capable, but there’s always someone better, and comparing oneself to others only brings misery. Suddenly, her eyes lit up—Ni Chen had left work, striding out of the company building.

He was tall, though he didn’t like basketball; he rarely smiled, but exuded warmth; he never paid much attention in class, yet always earned top marks. He was the obsession of every girl in the class—no, in the whole school—and, of course, of Yan Yan herself.

She gazed foolishly as Ni Chen passed by on the street, thinking that if there had been a mirror in front of her, she’d have seen herself drooling.

Yan Yan didn’t know how it happened. She only remembered that when Ni Chen bent down to pick up his dropped phone, a car sped toward him. She had no idea how she managed to dash forward. She’d always thought herself more self-controlled than those love-struck girls in her class, but, in the end, she was only deceiving herself.

When she awoke, she had a new identity—the concubine of Prince Yin Tang, the Ninth Son of the Emperor. Staring at the women in their television-drama costumes gathered around her, their faces full of concern, Yan Yan thought she must be the unluckiest soul of the century, and that she had stumbled into the most melodramatic situation imaginable.

Yes, Yan Yan had time-traveled.

No, perhaps this couldn’t be called time-travel—it was simply farcical. Because, to her surprise, in this world her name was still Yan Yan. She was the illegitimate daughter of the concubine of the Wanyan family, with a weak-willed father who dared not acknowledge her to the family matriarch. Thus, she bore the surname Yan, and, along with her only sister who knew her secret, was sent as part of the dowry to the residence of the Ninth Prince. On a dark, windy night, she was deflowered by a drunken Yin Tang, becoming a concubine of awkward, ambiguous standing.

Yan Yan was mortified—these were events straight from the novel she had been reading. Had she, in a moment of inattention, fallen into the world of that very book? And to land in such a pitiful role! If she had known, she would have chosen to read about Empress Wu Zetian instead.

Yan Yan was at a loss.

She wanted to cry but had no tears.

Crushed, she drifted through her days like a walking corpse.

Then, one day, she happened to catch a glimpse of the legendary Ninth Prince, Yin Tang—and he looked exactly like Ni Chen from her previous life. She was left speechless. She wanted to ask the heavens whether this was a gesture of mercy or a cruel joke. Was her life not miserable enough that fate decided to heap even more “tragedies” upon her?

Whatever the case, after seeing Yin Tang’s face, Yan Yan finally resigned herself. Perhaps this was destiny. With newfound determination, she began to take stock of her living conditions. But as she did so, her brief spurt of enthusiasm was swiftly dampened.

Yes, she had her own courtyard—Yin Tang was generous enough that, presumably, all his women had their own. But her courtyard was so small that even she, who had lived in cramped apartments in her former life, found it tiny; one could imagine just how meager it was.

She had only one maid, with the rather common name of Cui’er, and a coarse old servant woman—who, to add insult to injury, was shared with another courtyard. Yan Yan pressed her hand to her forehead and sighed once more.

Cui’er, standing by, said, “My lady, you’re sighing again. This is the thirty-fifth time today.” At that moment, Yan Yan was sitting in her small room, gazing at the bare landscape outside, quietly fretting.

Yan Yan shot her a glance. How could she not sigh? Even if she was a modern woman with brains, substance, curves, and ambition, making something of herself under such limited conditions would not be easy.

As if Yan Yan’s sighs weren’t enough, Cui’er added, “My lady, you’ll have to pay your respects to the Princess tomorrow. You’ve been ill and excused from it for some days, but you can’t keep avoiding it. Once Lady Wanyan finishes her confinement, you’ll be scolded again.”

Yan Yan now understood: she had fallen into the water and suffered a fever, hence the change of soul. Her elder sister had just given birth to a second daughter and was still in confinement. Yin Tang’s principal wife, Lady Dong’e, had been married for over two years without bearing a child.

At this point, history stood still in the forty-third year of Kangxi’s reign. The twenty-one-year-old Yin Tang already had three daughters, two born to Yan Yan’s own sister—a testament to her sister’s favor.

With this thought, Yan Yan sighed yet again. Cui’er was about to remind her, but Yan Yan suddenly leapt to her feet and rushed into the courtyard like a madwoman. Alarmed, Cui’er followed, calling, “My lady… what’s wrong?”

Yan Yan glanced coolly at a patch of earth by the east wall. “Cui’er, don’t you think our courtyard is too plain? Let’s clear this patch and plant something.”

Cui’er stared at her as if she were mad. “My lady, you are of noble birth…” Yan Yan waved her hand impatiently. This girl couldn’t even lie convincingly—she, noble? More like a burden.

Ignoring Cui’er, Yan Yan gazed at the wall and fell into thought. Since she was stuck here, unable to return or change identities, she would borrow the wisdom of all those time-travel heroines to turn her fate around. At the very least, she would strive for better days, and live with her own flair.

Food is the essence of the people, she thought; she would start with something to eat. If other time-travelers could come up with schemes to win favor and make money, why shouldn’t she give it a try? Nodding to herself, Yan Yan stared at the barren ground and began plotting her grand reversal of fortune.