The Sister from the Dream
"I heard Prince Qi has rebelled!"
Zhang Wanqing woke up to this sharp exclamation.
The warm midday sun filtered through the willow branches, casting fragmented rays on her delicate yet dirt-streaked forehead. Slowly opening her eyes, she tried to shift her aching knees, but her body felt weak and limp. She realized she was trapped in a small, cramped willow basket, unable to move, jolted by constant bumps beneath her.
Peering through the gaps in the willow basket, she caught glimpses of a woman walking ahead. The woman's voice continued, "Ever since the witchcraft case a few years ago, the Crown Prince was deposed, Prince Xiang was banished to his fief, Prince Ming disappeared, and one prince who hadn't even been granted a title died on the way back from the battlefield. Only Prince Qi remains in the capital. He could've waited until His Majesty passed away and then taken the throne, but he couldn't endure even two years. Truly, he's ruined his own future."
"Mind your tongue!" Another coarse voice immediately interrupted her. "We commoners shouldn't discuss court affairs. It doesn't matter who sits on the Da Sheng throne; we'll still be eating plain rice three times a day, not gold nuggets! Be careful, or the authorities might throw you in prison."
The voice came from behind, continuing, "Didn't you see the troops marching hurriedly just now? They might be reinforcements from the southwest army, heading to the capital to protect the emperor."
Zhang Wanqing's heart sank. Could it be that she had transmigrated? The Da Sheng dynasty they were talking about was the Sheng Dynasty, wasn't it? According to historical records, in the 35th year of Jianyuan, a royal upheaval caused by the witchcraft case resulted in the Shangsi Incident, shaking the imperial family to its core. Just like the woman said, none of Emperor Shengzhong's five sons, except Prince Qi, met a good end.
However, the one who eventually ascended the throne wasn't Prince Qi, the third son, but Prince Xiang, the fifth. By this logic, the current time should be the 37th year of Jianyuan, three years before Prince Xiang became emperor.
"Why is this wheelbarrow so heavy today?" A crisp male voice called out, interrupting her thoughts. "Don't tell me you two stuffed it with stones to wear me out on purpose? I forgot to bring any food today and can't muster much strength."
The sharp-voiced woman didn't take his complaint seriously and teased, "You lazy monkey! You're just too used to slacking off and not exercising. No wonder you're so weak."
The coarse-voiced woman chuckled, "It's just some little trinkets I bought for Sanlang. How heavy could it be?"
The man didn't reply, seemingly embarrassed, and gave an awkward laugh.
Carrying a live person isn't light, Zhang Wanqing thought guiltily, pondering how to stop them. However, hunger gnawed at her, leaving her too weak to speak. Besides, if she suddenly revealed herself, she wasn't sure who'd be more startled—her or them.
Maybe it was better to wait until they reached their home. She could ask for some food to fill her stomach before figuring out a way to leave. But how long would that take? Anxiety crept into her mind as she realized she had no memories of her original body—no name, no origin.
Right now, she desperately needed a steamed bun and a sip of water. Judging by her frail state, it seemed the original body hadn't eaten for three days.
Of all the possible transmigrations, couldn't she at least have been transported into a well-fed body? Instead, she was practically a starving ghost—not quite dead yet, but just one breath away from it.
Zhang Wanqing curled up lifelessly inside the basket, catching faint traces of floral fragrance but too exhausted to investigate. Her head felt heavy as a thousand pounds, and she seemed ready to pass out again.
After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the jolting suddenly stopped. The coarse-voiced woman shouted, "Sanlang, come quickly! I've brought some fresh things for you from the market!"
As quick footsteps approached, the top of the basket was abruptly lifted, flooding her vision with light, followed by a piercing scream that almost shattered her eardrums.
Slowly lifting her head, she saw three people standing in a circle but keeping a wary two-meter distance from her, staring at her as if she were a monster.
No, there was a fourth person—a man crouching behind the woman, his black eyes darting nervously.
The two women wore simple short tops with low buns, while the man had his hair tied and wore a half-sleeve cross-collar garment. Their clothing was typical of Sheng Dynasty commoners, but their attire was slightly finer, suggesting they were servants of a wealthy family.
At this moment, Zhang Wanqing was certain—she had truly transmigrated to the Sheng Dynasty. This wasn't just hunger-induced delirium.
She took a sharp breath, momentarily at a loss for how to react.
"Wh-who are you?" The young servant, Yang Shun, pointed at her, his hand trembling and voice stuttering, unable to complete a sentence.
But the man hiding behind the women suddenly poked his head out, stared at her for a few seconds, swallowed nervously, and seemed to muster some courage. Ignoring the women's attempts to stop him, he stepped forward, bowed slightly, and asked, "Sister, you look so familiar. Have we met somewhere before?"
Zhang Wanqing immediately felt three black lines forming on her forehead. What kind of plot was this?!
The man paused, then asked again, "Are you the sister from my dreams?"
Why not just say I fell from the sky! Zhang Wanqing inwardly grumbled. Forcing her eyes open, she carefully observed the man. He wore a light green brocade robe, with an ivory belt featuring cloud motifs at his waist. His sword-like eyebrows framed a pair of bright, starry eyes, giving him a cool and distinguished air.
However, despite his refined demeanor, his gaze betrayed a childish innocence that didn't match his stature.
Zhang Wanqing struggled to formulate a response to his bizarre and naïve question but suddenly blacked out before she could say anything.
"Don't die!" she heard a desperate shout.
Zhang Wanqing jolted awake from a nightmare, her chest heaving violently under the now-intensified midday sun.
She realized she was lying on a solid wooden bed. Rolling her eyes to look around, she saw an older woman sitting by the bedside. The moment she awoke, the woman's worried expression turned into relief. "You're awake, miss? Were you having a bad dream?"
"May I ask who you are? How long was I asleep?" Zhang Wanqing asked, disoriented, unable to distinguish between dreams and reality.
The older woman hesitated briefly before answering, "You slept for about a quarter of an hour. My name is Zhang; you can call me Aunt Zhang."
During her brief unconsciousness, the original body's memories flooded into her mind like a vivid dream. She relived the hardships of the body's life in just fifteen minutes, and the pain was unbearable.
The original Zhang Wanqing had been a poor farmer's daughter, only seventeen years old, living in a remote southern village with her grandparents, parents, and younger brother. Life was harsh, and the heavy taxes and corruption made survival difficult.
By the time she was eight, her grandparents had passed away. Two years later, her father was falsely accused of theft and beaten to death by soldiers. Her mother struggled to raise two children, working day and night sewing and washing clothes for the landlords, but eventually died of exhaustion in the fields.
Left orphaned, twelve-year-old Zhang Wanqing took on the burden of raising her five-year-old brother alone. She worked tirelessly, but life only got worse. A series of natural disasters—drought, famine, and then floods—devastated her already fragile existence. Her brother fell ill and died in her arms, and she barely survived by begging.
Zhang Wanqing felt an immense sorrow for this body's tragic past. Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence she had transmigrated here—maybe it was destiny.
Now, as she stared at Aunt Zhang's kind smile and accepted a bowl of porridge, she resolved to live a different life in this world.