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“The Feng Dynasty was a short-lived reign, lasting only a single generation.”
“The only surviving relic from that era is this fragment of a stone stele, which records the downfall of the famous Zhan family of generals.”
The guide pointed to a partially broken stone tablet encased behind the glass display.
Shen Zhaozhao leaned in closer to examine it carefully.
She had been fascinated by military family history since she was a child.
“The Zhan family was known for its unwavering loyalty and valor. All the men perished on the battlefield, except for the youngest son, Zhan Nanxing, who survived with severe injuries.”
“The Emperor, blaming them for the defeat and the loss of the city, issued a decree exiling the entire Zhan family to the northern frontier.”
“On the night of his wedding, Zhan Nanxing was assassinated…”
A glint of cold light flickered in the guide’s eyes as she slipped her hand into her pocket.
When she pulled it out again, there was a syringe in her grip.
Shen Zhaozhao was still bent over, fully absorbed in studying the stele.
“Hiss—”
By the time Shen Zhaozhao realized what was happening, a wave of pressure surged through her chest.
Her body went numb, and her breath caught—she had been injected with a neurotoxin.
As a core member of her organization’s medical research division, there were plenty of people who wanted her dead.
This time, she had let her guard down.
Shen Zhaozhao turned, yanked out the syringe embedded in her side, and, using the last of her strength, lunged forward to seize the guide.
She drove the needle into the woman’s neck with a reverse grip.
Facing the guide’s shocked expression, she gave a faint smile.
If you dare to kill me, don’t think you’ll get away.
Her vision blurred. As darkness swallowed her, her eyes fell once more on that stone tablet quietly resting in the display case.
Zhan Nanxing was assassinated—did he die or not?
Feng Dynasty.
When Shen Zhaozhao opened her eyes, she found herself surrounded by ancient furnishings, steeped in traditional elegance, with red decorations and ceremonial trappings all around.
Before she could react, a middle-aged man in historical attire approached her.
Wiping his eyes, he gently lowered a red bridal veil over her face.
“Come now, let Father escort you to the bridal sedan.”
“After you marry into the Zhan family, you must respect your elders and support Nanxing with all your heart…”
Shen Zhaozhao listened to the rambling as her vision was obscured beneath the red bridal veil.
All she could see was a sea of crimson.
The crackling of firecrackers exploded beside her ears.
The bridal sedan swayed gently back and forth.
Shen Zhaozhao felt dizzy and disoriented. In her mind, unfamiliar memories began to surface—memories that didn’t belong to her.
She had transmigrated.
Shen Zhaozhao was now the daughter of a fifth-rank official in the Feng Dynasty’s capital.
Her aging father was an honest and upright man. He had once owed a great debt of gratitude to the Zhan family. After the Zhan family’s defeat in battle and the annulment of Zhan Nanxing’s engagement due to his injuries, her father made a resolute decision to marry his daughter to Zhan Nanxing in order to repay that kindness.
The original Shen Zhaozhao had never wanted this marriage.
She had someone she loved.
The Zhan family had just suffered a crushing defeat—every man in the family had perished in battle. Only Zhan Nanxing survived, wounded and left with a crippled leg.
The original Shen Zhaozhao had thrown a tantrum, raising hell and even threatening suicide to resist the marriage.
She had hung herself with a silk sash, kicked her legs in a final act of desperation—only to be cut down and saved. By then, her soul had already been replaced by Shen Zhaozhao, the military physician.
In the eyes of her aging Father, the marriage had already been arranged. As long as his daughter was alive, she had to go through with it.
No sooner had she regained consciousness than she was unceremoniously packed off and placed into the bridal sedan.
Shen Zhaozhao held her aching, dizzy head and glanced down at the wedding robes beneath her veil.
So, she was now the unfortunate bride who would witness Zhan Nanxing’s assassination?
She patted around.
No suitable weapon for self-defense.
“Step down!”
Tok tok tok—
Three knocks sounded.
The door of the bridal sedan was opened.
Before Shen Zhaozhao could grasp what was happening, she was led out, stepping over the ceremonial brazier, and made to go through the entire marriage ritual. The red veil blocked her vision, and with only a red silk ribbon in her hand to guide her, she couldn’t see anyone around her.
“First bow—to Heaven and Earth!”
Shen Zhaozhao bent at the waist stiffly and mechanically.
“Second bow—to the elders!”
In her heart, she silently cursed the entire family of the assassin disguised as a museum guide.
“Husband and wife, bow to each other!”
Shen Zhaozhao had made up her mind.
Whether Zhan Nanxing lived or died, she had to survive.
“Rite complete!”
She was helped into the bridal chamber and seated on the edge of the wedding bed.
The room was bustling with activity.
“Third Brother, hurry and lift the veil! I want to see Third Sister-in-law!” a lively young voice exclaimed.
“This night of wedded bliss is worth a thousand gold coins. Third Brother and his bride must work hard tonight—who knows, maybe you’ll hit the mark in one go and help our family carry on the bloodline sooner!”
The cheerful voice, judging by how she addressed them, belonged to Shen Zhaozhao’s future Sister-in-law.
Even as a modern woman, Shen Zhaozhao couldn’t help but feel awkward hearing that.
People in ancient times talked this bluntly?
“Second Sister-in-law, mind your tongue,” came a voice, stern and authoritative.
Chastened, the earlier voice gave a light cough. “We’re just happy, that’s all. Fine, let’s go then—no need to be an eyesore.”
Inside the room, footsteps shuffled about in a disorganized manner.
Then the door closed, and the voices gradually faded away.
From the way they addressed one another, it was clear that the women just now were Zhan Nanxing’s Sisters-in-law and younger sister.
According to the inscription on the stele, after the defeat, all the men of the Zhan family had perished—only Zhan Nanxing survived.
Which meant that the man beside her was now the only adult male left in the family.
Shen Zhaozhao’s body tensed slightly.
“Here.”
The man’s voice was low and a little hoarse, yet it carried a magnetic undertone.
Shen Zhaozhao lowered her head. Beneath the red bridal veil, a man’s hand extended a piece of paper toward her.
She took it and unfolded it.
The handwriting was bold and vigorous, the ink fresh and dark.
Only… she couldn’t read the script of this era.
“This is a letter of release.”
“Cough, cough.” Behind her came the sound of a man coughing violently.
“My family has been defeated. I am now a cripple. This marriage was arranged by the elders on their own accord. I dare not burden you, Miss.”
“With this letter, you are released from this marriage. From now on, you are free to marry whomever you wish.”
“There’s no need to lift the veil. Tonight, you may return home on your own.”
Shen Zhaozhao had originally resolved to focus solely on self-preservation. But now, she was wavering a little.
She had always admired those with unwavering loyalty and patriotism, especially those from military families.
And now this man was willingly letting her go, refusing to be her burden.
“If you let me go now, my Father will just send me right back again.”
Shen Zhaozhao let out a sigh.
They had already bowed and completed the ceremony—there was at least some kind of fate between them.
She would help Zhan Nanxing survive the assassination attempt. After that, she’d leave.
Shen Zhaozhao had it all planned out, but someone clearly had no intention of letting her stay.
“Zhan Ping,”
Zhan Nanxing called out.
Shen Zhaozhao immediately heard the door of the bridal chamber being pushed open.
“Take her back,” Zhan Nanxing ordered.
“No way!”
Shen Zhaozhao flared up—this man really didn’t know how to appreciate kindness!
She yanked off the bridal veil in one swift motion, turned around, and locked eyes with the man whose long black hair fell loose over his shoulders.
Zhan Nanxing sat on the far side of the wedding bed. Her bold action had clearly startled him—he stared at her in shock.
Shen Zhaozhao nearly choked on the breath caught in her throat.
Their eyes met.
Amidst a sea of festive crimson, the pale-faced man looked straight at her.
Sword-like brows slanted sharply toward his temples, a high nose bridge, and finely cut features—his face radiated heroic elegance. Yet his eyes, narrow and languid like peach blossoms, brimmed with tenderness. Just beneath one eye was a single tear-shaped mole, lending a touch of fragile sorrow to his otherwise striking appearance.
He didn’t look feminine, nor did he possess the rugged coarseness of a typical warrior.
Clearly, the heavens had shown great favor when crafting this face.
Two words drifted through Shen Zhaozhao’s mind:
Exquisite.
What a pity it’d be if he died.