Chapter 1: Can’t you let me travel through time in a decent way?

“Whoosh… smack…”

“Aah!”

A pitiful scream echoed through the small, rustic courtyard.

A woman in her fifties was fiercely wielding a bamboo stick, as thick as a finger, striking the back of a fourteen-year-old girl with all her strength.

Hu Zhaodi’s exposed skin was covered in bruises, showing no spot left unscarred. Some were fresh, while others were older wounds yet to heal.

“Grandma, I’m sorry, please stop hitting me,” Hu Zhaodi begged helplessly.

The old woman’s face twisted in fury as she kept beating and cursing, “I’ll beat you to death, you little wretch! Where did you get the nerve to steal my pork cracklings?”

She spat venomously, “You worthless girl! Who do you think you are? Those are for my grandson! You don’t deserve them, you little burden…”

“Smack… smack…”

The beating and scolding continued.

Under the eaves, a chubby boy around eight watched gleefully as his grandmother whipped his sister. Holding a bowl with half-filled pork cracklings in one hand, he stuffed them into his mouth with the other, chewing contentedly.

The boy shouted as he ate, “Hit her, hit her! How dare she steal my pork cracklings? Grandma, beat her to death!”

“Grandma, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! I was just so hungry!” Hu Zhaodi pleaded.

Her grandmother only became more incensed, raising the bamboo stick high and lashing it down on Hu Zhaodi’s frail body.

The malnourished Hu Zhaodi could no longer withstand the blows. Her eyes rolled back, and she lost consciousness.

But even as she lay limp, the old woman didn’t stop, continuing to strike her mercilessly.

…

The searing pain made Xiang Xinyao frown, her ears filled with the old woman’s shrill curses: “You wretch, pretending to be dead? I’ll beat you to death! There are a lot of work to do, and here you are playing dead!”

Smack!

Another hit landed on the girl’s back.

Suddenly, Xiang Xinyao’s eyes flew open, seeing the old woman raise the bamboo stick for another strike.

What the heck? Who dared to hit me, Xiang Xinyao?

Ignoring the pain, she rolled over and kicked the old woman square in the stomach.

The old woman staggered and fell to the ground with a thud.

Xiang Xinyao was in shock. How did that kick not send her flying?

The old woman was equally stunned. The brat actually dared to kick her?

Xiang Xinyao looked around, completely bewildered.

The farmhouse courtyard was in shambles; the mud-brick walls were crooked with cracks, and the roof was covered in straw.

Both the old woman and the boy under the eaves wore rough, old-fashioned clothes, their hair done up in traditional buns.

Where on earth was she?

She’d just been practicing swordplay on her family’s mountain when a bolt of lightning struck and somehow sent her to this strange, rundown farmyard?

This was absurd!

Did… did I transmigrate?

Before Xiang Xinyao could process it, the old woman, furious, scrambled to her feet.

“How dare you, you little wretch! You dare fight back? I’ll beat you to death today!”

The old woman raised the bamboo stick again, ready to strike.

Xiang Xinyao narrowed her eyes, a dangerous gleam in them filled with killing intent.

She grabbed the woman’s wrist and, with her free hand, delivered two crisp slaps right across the woman’s face.

“You little wretch, how dare you hit your own grandmother? You ungrateful burden…”

Xiang Xinyao shoved the old woman down and straddled her, slapping her repeatedly.

“Grandma? All these scars on me, are they your doing? So, it’s fine for you to hit me, but I’m not allowed to fight back?”

Under the eaves, a chubby boy watched in fear, staring at Xiang Xinyao as if she were a demon.

The old woman screamed, “Help! Dashan, save me! This little brat has gone mad—she’s going to kill me!”

But Xiang Xinyao grew more and more alarmed as she continued, realizing her strength was quickly draining, and even a few slaps had her gasping for breath.

Just then, a burly man stormed out of the house, spotting his daughter on top of his mother, hitting her. Grabbing a hoe from the doorway, he charged toward them.

“You little beast! That’s your grandmother, and you dare to hit her? I’ll kill you for your disrespect!”

Xiang Xinyao froze for a second, then sprang up and ran out of the yard.

Whether this was a different world or not, survival came first.

Behind her, Hu Dashan chased and cursed, and Xiang Xinyao had no choice but to grit her teeth and run as fast as she could. She didn’t know where she was, so she just kept running, following any path she could find, hoping to avoid a beating.

When she finally lost Hu Dashan on the back mountain, she doubled over, hands on her knees, panting heavily.

Then, suddenly, a surge of foreign memories flooded her mind.

The original owner of this body was Hu Zhaodi, fourteen years old. She lived in Dawai Village, Fulin County, Yuncheng, in the Kingdom of Lingxiao.

Since she could remember, she’d been the poor, unloved child—neglected by both her parents and scorned by her grandmother. Her grandfather had passed away, leaving only her grandmother Yang, her father Hu Dashan, her mother Zhang, and her younger brother Hu Yaozu, who was a spoiled, overgrown infant.

All the dirty and exhausting chores were dumped on her, and she was constantly underfed and poorly clothed.

If her brother cried, it was her fault. If chores weren’t finished, it was her fault. If her parents or grandmother were in a bad mood, somehow, that was also her fault. Being beaten by her family was a daily routine; old wounds barely healed before new ones appeared.

The treatment her spoiled younger brother received was a world apart from hers. All the good food went to him, and any decent fabric in the house was used to make clothes for him alone. Hu Zhaodi was left to wear patched-up rags that the others had long outgrown.

Today, her grandmother had rendered a chunk of pork fat, and the aroma filled the entire courtyard. Starving, Hu Zhaodi couldn’t resist the temptation and, when her grandmother left to bring a piece to her brother, she tried to sneak a taste.

But just as she reached for the bowl, before she could even touch the pork cracklings, her grandmother caught her and delivered a brutal beating that ultimately took her life.

In a rush like scenes flashing forward in a movie, Xiang Xinyao reviewed Hu Zhaodi’s painful ten-year history. She gritted her teeth, seething with anger.

Ever since she could remember, Hu Zhaodi had never lived a single day like a human being in the Hu family. If not for the fact that they needed her for the household’s labor, they likely would’ve beaten her to death long ago.

Damn it all!

So, she really had transmigrated—and not just anywhere, but into a place that didn’t even exist in history, the Kingdom of Lingxiao.

Even stranger, unlike most transmigrations where people take over someone with the same name, she had ended up in someone else’s body entirely.

She, Xiang Xinyao, heir of a hidden martial and medical family from the twenty-third century—couldn’t she have at least been transported somewhere with a bit more dignity?