Chapter 1: Exile
join patreon.com/worldoffanfiction for advanced chapters and to support the daily update
“Stop playing dead, get up!”
In a daze, Shen Tang felt someone kick her. The kick wasn’t enough; the person also cursed.
[MD, who kicked me?]
She winced in pain, curling her calves, and weakly opened her eyes. The world before her seemed to have had its thin, concealing veil pulled back, transforming from a frosted texture to high-definition tempered glass.
[What happened?]
A pain that threatened to explode her head made her gasp, staring blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings.
[Wasn’t I having a drinking contest with someone last night?]
She seemed to recall reaching the latter half of the drinking session when her editor called to rush her manuscript. She had no choice but to push through her drunkenness to grab her paintbrush... More than that, she couldn’t remember no matter how hard she tried. But one thing was certain: it definitely shouldn’t be like this!
Shen Tang secretly pinched herself hard until a sharp sting came from her skin, shattering her lingering hope. Seeing her unfamiliar hands, four words instantly popped into her mind—
She had transmigrated!
Along with the implications of “transmigration.”
[I wonder if I drank myself to death or died from overwork while rushing a manuscript.]
The more she thought, the more her head hurt, as if tiny figures were hammering away inside it. The pain forced Shen Tang to stop immediately.
“Hurry up and eat. After eating, we can hit the road.”
She was clutching her head, easing the sharp pain, when a tall figure blocked the sunlight above her. The person wore straw sandals stained with dark brown mud and casually tossed a palm-sized, charred and rough饼子 (biscuit). The biscuit landed on the muddy ground outside her skirt. Without caring whether Shen Tang would eat the mud-stained biscuit, the person proceeded to hand one to the next person.
The next second, a hand shot out like lightning beside her. It grabbed the biscuit and quickly retracted. Shen Tang was a beat too slow and could only look over suspiciously.
The one who snatched the biscuit was a disheveled woman, greedily stuffing the biscuit into her mouth with both hands, looking like a starving ghost reborn. Fearing Shen Tang would snatch it back, she didn’t even bother to brush off the mud. In a short while, she had stuffed the entire small biscuit into her mouth, finally sucking the crumbs from her fingers as if still not satisfied.
Shen Tang: “...”
She wondered how long it had been since this person last cleaned herself. Her long hair, which should have been shiny black, was greasy and matted. Looking closely at her exposed scalp, one could see a yellowish, sticky layer accumulated. If she sniffed carefully, she could even detect a peculiar, fishy stench emanating from her—somewhat like stale socks and shinan hua (a type of flower, often associated with a pungent smell) that had been stewed together for three to five weeks—the only redeeming feature was her attractive facial features, which even the dirt couldn’t completely obscure.
Shen Tang, with good temper, reasoned with her: “Madam, that was my biscuit.”
The woman, however, acted as if she were deaf, completely ignoring her, smacking her lips, savoring the taste of the biscuit.
Shen Tang then noticed that the finger joints the woman had sucked on were several shades different from the rest of her hand. Her throat involuntarily spasmed and swallowed. She wasn’t a germaphobe, but the close-range visual impact caused an instinctive physical discomfort.
Catching a glimpse of the change in Shen Tang’s expression, the woman, worried this fool might go crazy and hit her, shifted her butt in the opposite direction. Moving was not good; with her movement, Shen Tang also felt a tug.
She looked down at the source of the tug at her waist—it was a very thick hemp rope. This same hemp rope, like a string of grasshoppers, connected her body to the woman and other disheveled women of varying ages. Looking up and around, all she saw were old and weak men, women, and children, all wearing coarse hemp prison uniforms and looking utterly exhausted.
Another dozen or so young, strong men, dressed in somewhat uniform attire with sabers at their waists, were either standing guard or keeping watch over the prisoners. Their gazes occasionally lingered longer on young female prisoners with attractive figures.
This, this—
Was a whole family of criminals being taken to the execution ground to have their household registry canceled?Or perhaps they were on the way to exile.
The difference was merely whether they died sooner for an early rebirth or died later for a delayed one.
[Grumble, grumble, grumble]
Her rumbling stomach began to act up at an inopportune time, the noise so loud that even others could hear it. Shen Tang raised her hand to clutch her slightly churning stomach; hunger made her continually salivate. The more she swallowed, the more pronounced her hunger became, to an unbearable degree.
Shen Tang frowned inwardly, forcing herself to distract from the torment of hunger—within her line of sight, a prisoner ate too quickly, and due to the dry biscuit, choked. He continuously thumped his chest, trying to dislodge the biscuit caught in his throat, his face gradually turning green. Everyone watched indifferently. No one went to pat his back, nor offered him water. He struggled, kicking his legs, trying to crawl towards the officer-dressed figures, extending his right hand in a desperate plea for help. But he gasped his last breath, his right hand falling limply, and the officer showed no intention of saving him, kicking him twice to confirm he was truly dead, then grumbled, “Bad luck!” He drew a dagger from his waist, bent down, and cut off the man’s right half of skin near his ear, casually tossing it into a dirty cloth bag.
Shen Tang: “...”
“Time to go!”
“Hurry it up!”
“Get up, or I’ll use the whip on you!”
The prisoners once again donned heavy shackles. The women’s shackles were smaller, roughly thirty-five catties, while the men’s were a size larger, weighing no less than fifty or eighty catties. The dozen or so uniformly dressed young men urged them on, kicking any prisoner who reacted too slowly. If kicks didn’t work, they went straight for the whip, with immense force. One whip strike left a finger-wide, bleeding welt, a truly shocking sight.
Shen Tang silently walked with her head down, trying to recall memories related to this body. The result was unfortunate. Not only did she not get the basic social welfare of a transmigrator, she had no memories of the original owner, and her own home had been robbed—besides knowing her name was Shen Tang, that she had a pen name called “Youli,” made a living by drawing, and feared her editor rushing her, all other memories were completely vague!!! She secretly glanced at the prisoners and the officers guarding them, sighing inwardly: [Damn it, this must be a hellish start, right?]
It was truly bad luck’s mother opening the door for bad luck; bad luck had come home to roost! Regardless of the starting situation, her life was paramount. Should she try to escape mid-journey? Or should she follow the group to their destination and then seize an opportunity to escape? Currently, neither option looked promising.
They marched under the scorching sun. Several more prisoners fainted along the way until the sunset dyed the sky, when they were finally allowed to rest for the night. The officers gathered to build a bonfire, took dried meat from their packs to cook in a ceramic pot, and with a sprinkle of salt, it became a pot of meat stew.
This time, Shen Tang reacted quickly and saved her biscuit. She sat down on the ground, slowly chewing the hard, cold biscuit, softening it with saliva before swallowing, her attention fixed on the officers’ low conversations. Although their chatter was fragmented, she could piece together some information.
These prisoners were from one family. The Gong family, from the elders and children down to the servants, had all been arrested. They were divided into three groups, being escorted to their destination in batches. The men would go to the border to serve in the army as laborers, and the women would be sent to the Jiaofang of Xiaocheng.
Shen Tang’s group was the second batch, mostly consisting of Gong family’s female dependents and maids, including the eldest matriarch, several young mistresses in their prime, beautiful concubines and aunties, and children of various ages. The rest were accompanying servants. She estimated her current body was either a maid or a child. Pinching a bone, she guessed she was only eleven or twelve.
Men were branded on their faces, women behind their ears. If a prisoner died en route, their branded facial skin or ear would be cut off as proof of death. She raised a hand to her ear and indeed felt a scabbed blood clot behind her left ear.
Shen Tang: “...Damn it!”
