In his dreams, Jiang Huai felt a chill seeping through his body, as if no amount of hugging himself could stop the heat from dissipating. He grew increasingly anxious.

Fortunately, he soon discovered a large, warm body pillow—one that seemed to radiate heat on its own. Hugging it with satisfaction, Jiang Huai clung to it tightly, even wishing he could wrap all four limbs around it.

However, the body pillow didn’t seem willing to comply. It wriggled as if trying to escape from Jiang Huai’s grasp.

Jiang Huai would not allow such a thing. A body pillow’s purpose was to be hugged—it couldn’t just run away! Mumbling a few disgruntled words, he tightened his grip, using both hands and feet until the pillow gave up and stopped resisting.

Satisfied, Jiang Huai nuzzled against the pillow and continued his peaceful slumber.

In reality, Xiao Jingzhao’s face had turned as dark as storm clouds. He hadn’t expected Jiang Huai to be so clingy when asleep. Initially, Xiao Jingzhao had also been sound asleep and hadn’t woken when Jiang Huai first leaned against him. But as the embrace grew tighter and more persistent, Xiao Jingzhao couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Xiao Jingzhao had tried prying himself loose, but the more he pulled, the tighter Jiang Huai clung. Even calling Jiang Huai’s name had no effect; the other man remained deeply asleep.

After a few moments of struggling, Xiao Jingzhao sighed in resignation. Fine, let it be. It wasn’t the worst thing to have someone keeping the bed warm—he was feeling a bit cold anyway.

When Jiang Huai finally woke up, he felt immensely refreshed. But as he turned his head, he froze. Xiao Jingzhao, who looked like a human-sized doll, was wrapped tightly in his arms. He had even buried his face against Xiao Jingzhao’s chest in his sleep.

Jiang Huai’s body stiffened. He instinctively leapt back three steps, staring at the imprint of his grip on his hands. Memories of his dream came flooding back, and he was mortified.

Did Xiao Jingzhao notice?

Jiang Huai tried to reassure himself, but the memory of the “body pillow” struggling was too vivid to deny. He couldn’t even lie to himself about it. Standing in place, Jiang Huai steeled himself mentally: The sleeping me isn’t the real me. If Xiao Jingzhao wants to settle accounts, he can take it up with the me in my sleep!

Oddly, Jiang Huai found that he wasn’t as anxious as before, even after their failed escape attempt and Xiao Jingzhao uncovering the truth. Instead, he seemed to have adopted a more “whatever happens, happens” attitude.

From outside the tent came the sound of commotion. Jiang Huai’s thoughts were immediately redirected as he perked his ears to listen. It sounded like Zhang Tou and the constables had returned.

Zhang Tou and the others had searched high and low but found no trace of Sun Yong.

“What now, Zhang Tou?” one of the constables asked. They couldn’t afford to waste too much time here. Escorting prisoners was a time-sensitive task, and after the terrifying mudslide last night, the group was eager to move on and cross the mountain. Who knew if another mudslide might come? They couldn’t count on surviving a second one.

Many of the constables believed that Sun Yong had likely been buried in the mudslide or swept away to some far-off location. If he were anywhere nearby, they should have found some trace of him by now. Looking for his body would only delay their journey.

Zhang Tou understood the risks of lingering too long. After some deliberation, he decided they should take the prisoners down the mountain first. Once they reached the foothills, they could report Sun Yong’s disappearance to the local authorities and let them handle the search. If Sun Yong was still alive, he could catch up on his own—but Zhang Tou wasn’t optimistic.

The group quickly made their way down the mountain. After explaining the situation to the local officials, the officials politely agreed to help, though Zhang Tou could tell they wouldn’t put much effort into the search. After all, they wouldn’t expend significant resources just to find a missing constable.

“Zhang Tou?” A constable approached him as he exited the yamen, speaking hesitantly.

“The officials said they’d send people to search. Let’s prepare to move out immediately,” Zhang Tou said after a moment’s pause.

“Not bringing in new people?” the constable asked, glancing back at the prisoners.

“There’s no point. We’re close to An Yuan Prefecture. It’s just a short distance now,” Zhang Tou said, shaking his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but the officials hadn’t seemed enthusiastic about helping, and none of the constables were keen to join the escort team.

The journey had already squeezed every bit of money from the prisoners. Now, all that remained was hardship. It was better to finish the task quickly and go back to claim their rewards.

Jiang Huai had been worried that Sun Yong’s disappearance might trigger a deeper investigation. But seeing how Zhang Tou resolved the matter so easily, he was stunned.

“That’s it? They’re just letting it go?”

“Because we’re outsiders. People far from home are considered less valuable,” Xiao Jingzhao explained quietly that evening when he noticed Jiang Huai was still brooding.

If Sun Yong had gone missing in his hometown, there would be people demanding answers, dead or alive. But here, far from familiar territory, Zhang Tou and the others couldn’t stay indefinitely to search. Moreover, with the mudslide as a plausible explanation, most people assumed he had died and saw no reason to dig deeper.

The mudslide made searching even more troublesome. Even if Sun Yong’s body were found, it wouldn’t benefit anyone, so they let it slide.

“What about him…?” Jiang Huai asked, recalling Xiao Jingzhao’s earlier remark.

“I checked. He’s gone,” Xiao Jingzhao said flatly, lowering his gaze. He had gone back to confirm if Sun Yong was still there but found that the mudslide had buried everything.

Though Xiao Jingzhao didn’t explain why he had gone back, Jiang Huai felt it was somehow related to him.

After a moment of silence, Jiang Huai spoke again: “Brother Wei, could you teach me those lethal moves you mentioned before? Just once more.”

“Now you want to learn?” Xiao Jingzhao asked.

“It’s better to know and not need it than need it and not know,” Jiang Huai said firmly. While his overall stance hadn’t changed, the recent events had subtly shifted his perspective.

Ultimately, the techniques themselves weren’t the problem—it was how people used them.

Sensing Jiang Huai’s resolve, Xiao Jingzhao smirked faintly but didn’t comment further.

“Not leaving today?” Jiang Huai asked the next morning after finishing the food and water Xiao Jingzhao had brought. He found it odd; by now, they should have been on the road again.

His question was met with silence. Jiang Huai looked at Xiao Jingzhao and noticed something off about his mood. After spending so much time together, Jiang Huai could sense even subtle changes in Xiao Jingzhao’s emotions.

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Huai tugged at Xiao Jingzhao’s sleeve instinctively.

“Nothing,” Xiao Jingzhao said, shaking his head. “The Emperor’s Consort will be formally enthroned soon. A general amnesty has been declared, so some prisoners won’t need to go to An Yuan Prefecture anymore.”

Exile had levels of severity, and An Yuan Prefecture was one of the harshest destinations. Some lucky prisoners would be redirected to more lenient places like Yi Yang Prefecture or Chang Xi Prefecture.

The other prisoners, who had been eavesdropping, were elated at the news. For many, this was a rare chance to change their fate. They began calculating their crimes, wondering if they might qualify for reduced sentences and possibly even return to their hometowns to rebuild their lives.

Jiang Huai, too, felt a flicker of hope. But Xiao Jingzhao quickly shattered it.

“Not you. The Jiang family’s crime of treason excludes them from amnesty,” Xiao Jingzhao said sternly.

Jiang Huai felt a pang of disappointment but wasn’t entirely surprised. He knew the gravity of his charges. Even with his limited understanding of this world’s legal system, he knew his case was leagues apart from the other prisoners’.

The consort’s enthronement didn’t interest Jiang Huai much—it felt too distant to concern him.

Because of the amnesty, many prisoners were reassigned to different destinations, and the constables were eager to offload their charges to others. The prisoners were no longer profitable, and continuing the journey was just a grueling chore. Everyone wanted to wrap things up quickly and go home.

Listening to the constables chat about the amnesty, Jiang Huai sighed. With the treason charges weighing on him, even improving his life in An Yuan Prefecture would be a struggle. His crime was too severe—so severe that even if the Emperor died, the Jiang family’s name would remain tainted.

The only way to overturn such a stain would be rebellion—establishing a new dynasty with the Jiang family supporting the new ruler. Only then could they rise again.

But even that wouldn’t come without cost. Time might eventually erase the stigma, but Jiang Huai doubted he’d live long enough to see it happen.

Realizing his thoughts were spiraling, Jiang Huai shook his head to clear them. It was foolish to fantasize. This dynasty was less than a century old, and the Emperor seemed to govern well. Even as a prisoner, Jiang Huai had to admit that rebellion seemed nearly impossible.

But just as he dismissed the notion, a memory surfaced like lightning striking his mind.

Jiang Huai froze, replaying the memory in his head. His eyes widened.

No way. He had just been daydreaming, but it turned out someone really would rebel—and it was none other than the deposed Crown Prince.

So this wasn’t just transmigration—this was a story he had read before. He had transmigrated into a book.