"Arghh… this damn hangover," the girl groaned, clenching her teeth as she reached up to hold her pounding head, feeling as if it might split apart.
It wasn't her first time experiencing such a brutal hangover, but she could swear this one was worse than any other she'd endured before. Her whole body felt like it had been hit by a truck, weak and aching.
Her head spun so badly that even with her eyes closed, the dizziness and nausea overwhelmed her. Every muscle in her body throbbed and even lifting a finger felt like too much effort.
"I swear, if I touch alcohol again, I'll come back as a cockroach in my next life," she muttered under her breath, massaging her temples in a vain attempt to soothe the pain.
How much did she drink last night? Her body felt as heavy as a boulder, and she could barely move.
After what felt like an eternity, she forced her heavy eyelids open. It took all her energy, but she finally succeeded.
"Hah!" she panted, blinking a few times to clear her vision. "Wait… am I hallucinating?"
Instead of the plain white ceiling of her room, she found herself staring at a dull, cracked ceiling made of sandstone. A dusty, poorly carved chandelier hung from the center. The room itself was bare—just a small, uncomfortable bed and a broken vanity in the corner. The bedding felt rough, definitely not the kind of comfort she was used to.
"What... where am I?" she muttered, frowning. This room looked like it belonged in a period drama, old and completely devoid of luxury. It felt more like a servant's quarters than anything else.
"Am I dreaming again?" she murmured, recalling the embarrassing dreams she'd had as a kid—like the ones where she thought she woke up and went to the toilet, only to realize she was still in bed.
But this… this felt too real.
She sighed and slapped her cheeks, trying to wake herself up. "I need to get out of this stupid dream before I embarrass myself."
"Damn alcohol," she grumbled, pinching her arm hard. "Ow!" It hurt—but she still wasn't waking up.
"MISS!! MISS!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" A shrill voice suddenly pierced the air, startling her so badly that she almost fell off the bed.
Xiaowei, the young maid, had just returned with fresh water when she froze, shocked to see her lady sitting up in bed. Yang Ning had been unconscious for days, so seeing her awake was a relief at first.
But then, horror-struck as she saw Yang Ning slapping herself in the face as if she'd gone mad.
The basin slipped from Xiaowei's hands, water spilling across the floor as she rushed to Yang Ning's side, panic bubbling up inside her.
"Miss! Miss! What are you doing? Why are you hitting yourself?" Xiaowei cried out, grabbing Yang Ning's wrists to stop her from hurting herself.
Has Miss gone mad? Xiaowei's face turned pale with fear. There were rumors about women being possessed by evil spirits. Could that be happening to her lady? If it were true, they'd need to call a shaman to drive the spirit away—or worse, Yang Ning could be cast out.
While Xiaowei was panicking, Fang Li—now in Yang Ning's body—was equally confused. The maid's touch felt so real. Too real for a dream.
"Who… who are you? And how did you get into my dream?" Fang Li asked, blinking at the strange girl in odd period clothes.
Wait, is this one of those historical drama dreams? Had she watched too many period dramas, and her drunken mind had conjured all of this up? And why did everything feel so… vivid?
"Miss, have you lost your memory from the fever?" Xiaowei asked, her voice shaking. "I'm Xiaowei, your personal maid."
Yang Ning—or rather, Fang Li—raised an eyebrow. "Why are you crying? And who said I lost my memory? I remember every single damn thing perfectly!" she declared dramatically, waving her hands in exaggerated motions.
"You're the one who barged into my dream, trying to make me feel guilty for something I didn't do!" she added, pulling her wrist away from Xiaowei.
Xiaowei's lip trembled as she fought back tears. "Miss… she's gone insane," she thought, horrified.