The headache was the first thing Mu Qingyao noticed.
It wasn't sharp enough to make her panic, just heavy and persistent, like someone had pressed a weight against her head and forgotten to take it off. She kept her eyes closed, listening to the unfamiliar sounds around her. A steady beeping nearby. A low mechanical hum. The air smelled clean too clean and slightly cold.
This was not her room.
When she opened her eyes, the brightness made her frown immediately.
Too bright.
She closed them again, mildly annoyed. Whoever designed this place clearly had no concern for people waking up with injuries.
After a moment, she tried again. The pain was still there, but manageable now. The ceiling above her was smooth and white, without beams, without patterns, without history.
Before she could think further, memories rushed in.
Not hers.
A modern life unfolded in fragments.
A large, well-furnished house. Quiet hallways. Staff who spoke respectfully. Parents who were busy but attentive. A family name that carried weight, the Mu family, third wealthiest families in the country.
Esther Mu.
She wasn't poor. She had never struggled for money.
She had grown up with comfort, resources, and expectations. The kind of expectations that assumed she would study something sensible, take over part of the family business, and live a stable, respectable life.
But Esther Mu had chosen otherwise.
At sixteen, she had walked away from her studies and entered the entertainment industry.
Her acting career, however, was far less glamorous than outsiders imagined.
She worked constantly but never truly broke through. She wasn't terrible, but she wasn't extraordinary enough to stand out in an industry overflowing with talent. She was a D-grade actor as what people on Internet called her.
Then came the accident.
A historical drama. A horse. A scene that went wrong.
The fall.
Darkness.
Mu Qingyao breathed out slowly.
So this body belonged to Esther Mu.
She tried to move and immediately felt how unfamiliar it was. The limbs were lighter, weaker. No muscle memory. No strength built from years of riding and training.
Only then did her own memories begin to surface.
Her real ones.
Mu Qingyao had been the youngest daughter of the Mu family, a family of generals that had served the empire for generations. She was the sixth child, born late, and from the moment she arrived, she had been loved almost excessively.
Her parents adored her.
Her father rarely scolded her, and even when he did, it never lasted long. Her mother complained often usually to her father that they had spoiled Qingyao too much. But those complaints never became control. She never truly stopped her. At most, she sighed, shook her head, and then made sure Qingyao had eaten properly before quietly letting her go again.
Her grandfather was the most indulgent of all.
To the outside world, he was a strict and intimidating general whose name carried authority and fear. At home, he was the one who let Qingyao sit beside him during discussions and never once told her she shouldn't ask questions.
He had rules.
But those rules were never meant to cage her.
"You can do whatever you want," he once told her calmly. "Just not in front of society."
She had been five years old.
Five was considered an age when girls were expected to understand discipline. Old enough to behave properly. Old enough to know what was expected of them.
At that age, she hadn't liked his words. They felt unfair.
But even then, she understood something important.
He was protecting her.
In that world, women were restricted from the moment they were born. A woman's life belonged first to her father. After marriage, it belonged to her husband. And if she outlived him, it belonged to her son.
Women were not treated as individuals.
They were burdens passed from one man to another. A responsibility to be managed, controlled, and eventually transferred.
Mu Qingyao had understood that early.
And her grandfather had done everything he could to shield her from it.
So she learned.
In public, she was obedient, quiet, and well-mannered. Exactly what society expected.
In private, she was free and wild as her mother called her.
Her brothers indulged her endlessly. Her sisters loved her openly. She rode horses early, asked too many questions, and learned to observe people carefully.
She also learned what kind of life she never wanted.
Her elder sister was married to the Crown Prince.
On the surface, it was an honor. A general's daughter becoming Crown Princess. A perfect match.
Inside the palace, life was tightly controlled.
The Crown Prince had four other wives.
In public, her sister was always sensible and composed. The perfect Crown Princess.
In private, it was different.
Whenever she returned home, or whenever the they visited her in the palace, she would find time to be alone with their mother.
And then she would cry.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just quietly afraid of anyone hearing her cry.
Their mother never lectured her. Never told her to endure. She only listened while holding her hand and her eyes always moist with tears threatening to fall.
Mu Qingyao saw all of it.
And decided she never wanted palace life.
When she was later betrothed to a prince known more for indulgence than responsibility, she resisted openly.
Her family protected her again.
They sent her to the mountain estate under the excuse of illness. While the capital whispered rumors, Mu Qingyao spent her days riding her horse, Chiyun, enjoying a freedom few noblewomen ever knew.
Until she rode too fast.
A sharp turn.
The fall.
Darkness.
Mu Qingyao opened her eyes again in the hospital room.
Everything aligned. She and Ester Lu both fell down from the house and maybe that's how her soul came to this world.
She glanced at her reflection in the glass beside the bed and paused.
Mu family.
The surname was the same.
For a brief moment, curiosity surfaced. Was it the same Mu family? Descendants? Coincidence?
She didn't think too deeply about it.
Some questions could wait.
From Esther Mu's memories, she understood this world better.
Women here had careers. Ambitions. Choices. They could succeed, fail, and try again. No one told them their lives belonged to someone else.
And the clothes.
She remembered Esther Mu's wardrobe and found it quietly amusing. Fabric that would have caused outrage in her old world was worn casually here. Women would be burned alive for wearing something like that in her world.
Mu Qingyao almost laughed.
This world wasn't suffocating.
And that realization made her happy briefly.
Then reality settled.
She had come to this world.
Which meant she had left hers behind.
Her parents. Her grandfather. Her brothers and sisters. The people who had protected her without ever asking for anything in return.
She missed them.
The thought came suddenly, unexpectedly, and her chest felt tight for a moment.
How would she go back?
Would she ever see them again?
Mu Qingyao let out a quiet sigh and stared at the ceiling.
This world gave her freedom.
But it had taken her family.
For now, there were no answers.
She rested her head back against the pillow, allowing herself a moment of silence.
She would think about everything else later.
Right now, she was here.
And she would have to learn to live again.