Jiang Huaiyu had never known that electrocution could be this terrifying.
The pain had been unbearable—sharp, invasive, clinging to her bones like a curse that refused to let go. Even as consciousness slowly returned, her body remained weak, heavy, as if all strength had been drained from her limbs.
Then, suddenly, she heard crying.
A baby's cry—soft and thin, tinged with grievance. The child wailed twice, then hiccupped in between, as though even crying required effort.
Huaiyu almost laughed at the sound.
But confusion followed quickly.
Who would bring a baby into a hospital ward to see me?
Her cousin and his wife, maybe? Had they brought little Jun along?
…No, that didn't make sense either. That brat cried like the sky was falling—how could he sound this cute?
Instead of guessing, Huaiyu opened her eyes.
And in the next second, her world collapsed.
She stared at the dilapidated tile-roofed house in front of her. Then she looked down at herself. Then—slowly—at the infant cradled in her arms.
"What… is going on?!"
She swallowed hard.
She should be lying in a hospital bed right now. And in this day and age, where would anyone even find a run-down house like this? Her family would never pull such an elaborate prank on her.
Deep down, Huaiyu already had a suspicion—but she desperately didn't want it to be true.
The air she breathed was painfully real. The textures, the smells, the weight of the child in her arms—everything told her this wasn't a dream.
She tried to deceive herself into believing it was some elaborate joke by friends or family.
But her body, weakened by the electric shock, betrayed her. After walking just a few steps with the baby in her arms, she was already panting. Her slender arms began to ache.
She made her way to the well, tightened her hold on the baby, and leaned forward slightly to look at the water's surface nearby.
Ripples spread gently across the water, and reflected in it was a face—
Bright eyes, white teeth, exquisitely delicate features. Beautiful to the point of fragility. A face that could make anyone's heart soften at first glance.
A face that looked nothing like hers.
Huaiyu raised one hand into view. The skin was pale, like carved jade—though a little rough, it couldn't hide its elegance.
Her face drained of color.
This was not her body.
Her real left hand bore a long scar and was far more slender. This hand, though beautiful, was not hers.
Even her clothing—a finely embroidered light-yellow long dress—confirmed it.
At this point, when she looked at both herself and the baby in her arms, Huaiyu had no choice but to face the truth, her face as pale as paper.
She had really… crossed into the past.
Huaiyu considered herself mentally resilient, yet her heart raced uncontrollably for a long while before she managed to calm down.
Just moments ago, she had attended a gathering for traditional arts enthusiasts. After returning home, the group chat was still buzzing with conversation.
Someone had suddenly mentioned her, joking that since she was skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, painting—the so-called Four Gentlemen's Arts—she'd probably survive far better than anyone else if she were sent back to ancient times.
Huaiyu had laughed it off.
Time travel was absurd, after all.
She'd reached for her glass of water—and accidentally knocked it over. The water spilled behind her desk, flowed along the wires, and seeped straight into the power socket.
The computer screen went black with a sharp pop.
An overwhelming pain surged through her body—and then, nothing.
And now… here she was.
Questions piled up mercilessly.
Who was this body's original owner?
Was the baby in her arms her child?
Was there a burly husband somewhere inside the house—and an ill-tempered mother-in-law waiting to make her life miserable?
Huaiyu stood there from morning until noon, refusing to accept reality.
It wasn't until the sun grew fierce overhead that she remembered the baby couldn't endure such heat. Annoyed with herself, she hurried inside.
The moment she stepped into the house, her anxious heart settled slightly.
On the old wooden table lay two documents: a land deed and a household registry.
And written clearly on the registry—
Jiang Huaiyu.
She exhaled sharply.
With a registered household and legal ownership of the land, she wouldn't be treated as an undocumented drifter. More importantly, the registry listed her as the head of the household.
No mysterious husband.
No forced marriage.
Huaiyu finally let out a long breath of relief.
The weather was scorching. She wiped the sweat from her brow and surveyed what would be her home from now on.
The fence, built of wood and stone, was sturdy enough. The courtyard held a well and a chicken coop. Other than that, there were only two tile-roofed rooms.
The larger one served as a living and dining area. It was crude, but when she glanced at the neighboring houses, she realized this place was actually better than most.
A door on the left led to the bedroom.
She pushed it open—and nearly lost her breath.
The room was empty except for a single wooden bed.
Suppressing her frustration, Huaiyu stepped out and lifted the cloth curtain of the other room.
The kitchen.
A bundle of firewood sat in the corner. Her expression improved instantly. On the earthen stove lay a cabbage, a slab of pork, and a small sack of rice.
A pleasant surprise.
Her arms were going numb from holding the baby. She remembered seeing a cloth sling in the bedroom earlier. Without caring about the dust, she tied the wide-eyed baby onto her back.
Earlier, she'd searched everywhere—including herself—and found just one tael of silver.
She had no idea how long that would last.
Her stomach, however, was already protesting loudly.
"Seriously… what use are music and calligraphy now?"
She wiped her sweat with a bitter smile and quickly set about lighting the stove.
Thankfully, the knowledge she'd learned in school hadn't abandoned her completely.
Sparks flew as she struck the flint, igniting the tinder. Relieved, she added firewood, poured water into the cleaned iron pot, and added a handful of washed rice.
She'd checked her body earlier—there were no signs of having given birth. Which meant the baby on her back wasn't biologically hers.
Fortunately, the child already had a couple of rice-grain-sized teeth. Huaiyu wasn't experienced with babies, but figured rice porridge would be safe.
The fire burned strong. Soon, the water boiled, rice tumbling and softening, turning the liquid milky white.
She finely chopped half a cabbage leaf and a finger-thick slice of pork, tossing them into the pot.
The aroma of meat, vegetables, and rice blended together, stirring Huaiyu's appetite—and drawing curious little noises from the baby behind her.
He craned his head forward, babbling softly.
"Just a little longer," Huaiyu said gently, her heart melting at how quiet and adorable he was.
He was the first person she'd seen since arriving in this world.
In a way, he was her anchor—proof that she wasn't completely alone in this unfamiliar place.
Smiling softly, she said, "I don't know who the original owner of this body was, or what your relationship was to her… but the registry says you're my son."
"Then you'll take my surname."
"I'll protect you. I promise."
The fire crackled. Steam soaked her hair and face, leaving her looking disheveled—but her eyes shone like stars, bright and resolute.
While waiting for the porridge to finish, Huaiyu decided on the child's formal name.
Jiang Runjing.
As for a nickname—
She thought of the sweet buns she often ate in winter. Her lips curved unconsciously.
"…Tangbao."
She didn't realize she'd just saddled the poor child with an extremely sweet nickname.
The baby soon learned the sound of it. Every time she called "Tangbao," he responded with a cheerful ah.
When the fire died down, the porridge had cooked into a soft, thick mash—perfect for him.
She spoon-fed Tangbao carefully, then ate the rest herself. Afterward, she washed the bowl cautiously, avoiding a chipped edge.
Suddenly, a shrill voice came from the neighboring house.
"You useless brat! You can't even wash clothes properly—you tore your brother's outer robe! I'll beat you to death!"
A little girl's wailing followed.
Huaiyu jumped and quickly covered Tangbao's ears.
"You're just like your father—good-for-nothing! That old man saw the new neighbor and started acting like a rutting boar! One day he'll die outside!"
Huaiyu was exhausted.
She nearly went out to see what kind of woman could spew such filth—but in the end, she forced herself to ignore it.
She cleaned the bedroom thoroughly. By the time the sun sank below the hills and darkness fell, she lit a candle she'd found in the kitchen cabinet.
The flame was weak, illuminating only the room.
She hadn't greeted the neighbors during the day. Tomorrow, she planned to buy some things and pay them a visit—also to find out who exactly had been screaming like a shrew next door.
She knew well enough that people like that could never be allowed to think she was easy prey.
The first night in ancient times was hard.
After locking the door, Huaiyu couldn't fall asleep.
No soft bedding. No mattress. No air conditioning. No mosquito coils to silence the incessant buzzing.
Mosquitoes didn't care much for her—but Tangbao's fair, chubby cheeks and tiny limbs were soon covered in red welts.
The baby was heartbreakingly well-behaved, tears pooling in his eyes as he looked at her.
Fear of this unfamiliar world faded as Huaiyu racked her memory for every lullaby she knew. She extinguished the candle, used her clothes as a fan to chase the mosquitoes away, and softly coaxed Tangbao to sleep.
She didn't know when she fell asleep herself.
But her sleep was restless.
She dreamed a long dream—watching this world unfold like an outsider—yet still learned nothing of her own or Tangbao's true origins.
When she woke, the room was still dim.
Her gaze was complicated.
Then—brightened into delight.
This world had once endured over a century of warring states. No one had unified the land. Endless war had left people destitute—and countless cultural traditions lost.
From the memories now lingering in her mind, she realized—
The Four Gentlemen's Arts were unheard of here.
Even tea culture, so common in her old world, didn't exist. People didn't know what to do with tea leaves after boiling them into bitterness.
Incense appreciation was crude at best—burning agarwood or sandalwood outright was considered refined.
So many recipes were missing.
So many things…
She was now in the territory of the Great Yun Dynasty, a realm that had ended the chaos and enjoyed over two hundred years of peace.
Yet from nobles to commoners alike, spiritual life was barren, and the quality of living left much to be desired.
Huaiyu's eyes gleamed.