The next morning, before dawn, Shen Qian was yanked awake by rustling sounds. He cracked open one eye and saw Xiao Wan already dressed—Xiao Die and Xiao Wan shared a room.

He was still in Xiao Die’s body.

Silently, Shen Qian called out to the system but got no answer. He sighed inwardly.

Xiao Wan, seeing he was awake, looked embarrassed. “Did I wake you? You fell into the water and did so much yesterday—you must be exhausted. Rest a bit more. The Young Master and Sister Zhan won’t mind.”

Shen Qian nodded vigorously. He definitely did not want to get up to work! He burrowed under the little quilt and turned over to go back to sleep.

But for some reason—either this body’s internal clock or Shen Qian’s restless nature—he couldn’t drift off again. He stared at the ceiling, mentally running through Ganlin Courtyard’s situation.

The external crisis was temporarily resolved; now he had to “manage the home front.”

Without the original host’s memories, he only had the brief identity summary and one full day’s observation to go by.

Fuchang Bo’s eldest young master had four first-rank personal attendants: the maids Zhan Er and Pan Er, and the attendants Xiao Die and Xiao Wan. Then there were eight second-rank attendants, plus ten junior maids and junior attendants handling chores. Of these, Zhan Er was older—formerly a second-rank maid to Madam—and now she ran Ganlin Courtyard. Xiao Die and Xiao Wan had grown up alongside the Young Master and were fiercely loyal.

Pan Er, however, was assigned by Liu Yiniang after she took over the kitchen. There used to be another maid, Zhu Er, but she was dismissed and forbidden from entering the inner gate last year after some scandal. Pan Er took her place.

The day before, when they confronted Shen Chun, Pan Er had said nothing. After Shen Qian and the others raided the kitchen, she disappeared—no dinner, nowhere to be found. Shen Qian sneered; that girl was definitely up to something. He turned over again.

What good is hiding? I’ll deal with you all soon enough.

He stayed in bed until broad daylight before leisurely getting up—and nearly jumped out of his skin.

In the courtyard stood someone in a white under-robe, hair disheveled, face hidden in shadows—but radiating boundless resentment, like an angry ghost.

Zhan Er swooped in with a cloak. “Young Master, you’ve only got your under-robe on! You just broke your fever—morning’s coldest of all. You’ll catch it again!”

Shen Qian jolted upright. That wretched Ye Gui! He was ruining his body! He rushed over with Zhan Er.

Of course, Shen Qian still hadn’t reclaimed his own body—Ye Gui was still in full sulk mode, furious, helpless, with nowhere to vent his rage.

This bizarre, unlucky twist wasn’t even over in a single day… Ye Gui glanced toward the gate, half-wishing Shen Chun would reappear so he could take it out on him.

But Shen Chun had been frightened out of his wits, tossing and turning all night; no way he’d show up here again.

Zhan Er and Shen Qian gently hustled Ye Gui back into bed, leaving him slumping under the blankets.

Two days had passed.

His soul had been out of his body for two days.

What a whirlwind—he didn’t even know how court politics had erupted in that time…

Suddenly he propped himself up. “Is the lockdown lifted yet?”

Zhan Er shook her head. “We sent word to the outer courtyard first thing—they said not yet.”

He sank back down, as defeated as when he’d first arrived—gazing vacantly at the bed curtains.

Just then, the little kitchen delivered breakfast: a thick, pale porridge of big-grained rice, with side dishes of shredded chicken, pork floss, and four light but nourishing pickles.

And a bowl of ginseng chicken soup had been prepared the night before, skimmed clean and shimmering amber.

The other dishes were fine, but the pork floss was novel—no one here had ever seen it. Xiao Wan had already tried some and loved it. “Xiao Die made it all evening—it’s so fragrant!”

Ye Gui wasn’t uncultured—back when Madam was alive, he’d eaten many delicacies. But this pork floss was fresh and paired perfectly with porridge. He heartily approved.

Shen Qian blushed—he’d watched the maids make it the whole time…

At last, Ye Gui groaned and dragged himself out of bed to taste a spoonful. His fussy palate was used to rare delicacies, yet this pork floss? He nodded: “Not bad.”

Then he added, “Clever idea.” He meant Shen Qian.

Though not on par with rare mountainside delicacies, this was something he’d never seen—and had a subtle, rustic flavor. If sold at a stall in the capital, it could keep a family fed.

Shen Qian exhaled in relief and coaxed, “Eat more, Young Master.”

The more he ate, the better his health would recover! Fresh from nearly drowning, he needed proper nourishment. But Ye Gui had lain around listlessly, barely eating—Shen Qian was worried sick.

So, to cheer up the sulky spirit, Shen Qian poured all his energy into cooking. In his cultivation world, after foundation-building, practitioners often fasted, relying on spiritual pills and rare ingredients for power. It wasn’t until his modern-world missions that he discovered the abundance of delicious foods. He feasted his fill, collected countless recipes—and now could put them to use.

Luckily, the next few days in the mansion were strangely peaceful—no more crises needing his intervention.

Though the Ganlin Courtyard crew had raided the kitchen, the mansion’s granaries still held food. As the lockdown’s third day dawned, however, murmurs of discontent began to rise elsewhere.

Xiao Wan returned from fetching water, complaining with Zhan Er to Shen Qian: “I ran into two maids of the other concubines—they spoke so snidely. They said the kitchen only passed out porridge, dried meats, and pickles. No proper table setting, let alone fresh meat or even an egg. Meanwhile we’re rolling in it—anything we want, we just cook ourselves.”

Shen Qian, shelling peanuts with Zhan Er in hand, flung peanut skins aside and sneered: “Those concubines chose to stand by and watch him almost die. Now they come here playing the victims? Do they expect our courtyard to share with them? Let them stew in it—if they don’t cause trouble for us, I’ll be surprised!”

Zhan Er nodded. “Can’t blame us. We didn’t empty the kitchen. I hear Zhao Pozi’s the one fawning over the other concubines—any fresh food goes straight to them. Seven bowls and eight plates last night—fancier than even the Young Master’s usual meals! Those concubines aren’t exactly gracious; of course she flatters them.”

Shen Qian instructed Xiao Wan: “Next time they complain, tell them to help themselves—see if they can find any fresh meat or eggs. Or find out whose stash it went into.”

Xiao Wan pondered this, and that afternoon wandered near the main kitchen again. By dinnertime, he heard another commotion from the kitchen.

Zhan Er saw his triumphant grin. “Little trickster, enjoying yourself now?”

These past two days, Ye Gui’s spirits had improved—no longer moping like before. Perhaps he’d come to accept his fate. And with Shen Qian’s varied meals, he’d visibly filled out a bit.

He wasn’t one for indulgence, and his refined palate often meant he ate little. But Shen Qian always whipped up dishes he’d never seen. Curious, he sampled more and more… until he’d eaten quite a lot.

And they were good.

Now, with two bowls tucked away, he strolled around to aid digestion. This body was weak—eating more still made him uneasy. He’d have to train himself slowly.

Fortunately, he had martial arts basics and knew how to exercise efficiently.

Hearing Zhan Er, he murmured, “It’s about time. Back then… we were so pathetic. How did we let life be like that?”

He’d heard rumors of Fuchang Bo’s extravagance. His absurdity was infamous—as a warning example to aristocratic wastrels. Even Beijing’s rakes felt better about themselves by comparison.

But Fuchang Bo held rank without real office, never touched court affairs, just locked himself away. Nobody bothered to target him—he was a harmless eccentric.

Who knew such misfortune would befall him—his soul cast out, stuck in his own brother’s body… He swore at Fuchang Bo internally, yet felt anger at the eldest young master for being so spineless.

Even with this hand, life shouldn’t have been so miserable. Why so weak? Even someone like Xiao Die had guts. Why couldn’t a proper Young Master?

He fumed.

Despising cowardice, he rallied Xiao Wan and Zhan Er: “Remember—if anyone makes life hell for you, make life hell for them right back.”

Xiao Wan and Zhan Er nodded furiously, eager to comply.

Shen Qian finally approached him to “report” on his health. Shen Qian offered a feeble excuse: his body still felt unwell; he wanted to lie down.

Ye Gui looked concerned. “What hurts? Is it from the fall into the water? Are you taking your medicine?”

Shen Qian felt guilty. He did take the meds every day—but not always on schedule… he’d just remember and have a maid brew a dose.

Then he reasoned: he wasn’t really unwell—he was just pretending! He was completely fine!

“I know! I’ll go rest now!” Shen Qian darted off. Ye Gui’s scolding went unfinished; he grumbled, then insisted, “Next time you brew bird’s nest or such tonics, make a portion for Xiao Die too.”

Zhan Er and Xiao Wan exchanged looks and hurriedly agreed.

Shen Qian dove back under the covers and tried to reach the system.

“And it’s not quite what we thought,” the system finally replied. “The soul in this body… isn’t Xiao Die’s.”

“I already guessed.” Shen Qian rubbed his forehead, inexplicably upset. “He must be some stray spirit, accidentally possessing this body… What happens to him once I return?”

“Does he reincarnate? Does he disperse?”

Silence was the system’s only answer.

“You don’t know either?” Shen Qian demanded.

A brief, awkward pause. “I have good news… and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Oh no. Another aggravation… give me the good news.”

“The good news: after three workdays of checks, there are no bugs.” The system explained, “Your soul swap wasn’t caused by a transmission glitch or system error. It was due to the world’s own workings.”

Shen Qian stared. “What does that mean?”

The system said, “You spent time in a cultivation world, right? Think of it as someone here used low-level sorcery, which inadvertently affected you. Most likely unintentional—and not aimed at you—but it caused the soul exchange.”

Before Shen Qian could react, the system added: “The bad news is, since it isn’t a system bug but part of this world’s rules, the system can’t reverse it. We can’t send you back.”

Shen Qian went blank.

“This is just an ordinary ancient world, right?? How can there be magic? What about your basic laws? Does this mean I’m stuck in Xiao Die’s body forever, retiring with this identity???”

“Ancient worlds do have magic. You’ve heard of spirit-writing and mediums. It’s just that the world’s spiritual energy is thin—far weaker than in cultivation realms. In the modern world, spiritual energy vanished, so people stopped believing it existed.” The system explained earnestly, “Don’t let your guard down—thin spiritual energy doesn’t mean zero. There are still masters out there.”

It thought a moment. “Also, you might retire in this body yet. Maybe someday whoever cast the spell will withdraw it, and you’ll revert.”

Seeing Shen Qian’s face darken, the system tried to comfort him: “Not all bad news, right? Weren’t you worried the spirit might vanish? Now he definitely won’t—for now—so there’s a silver lining.”

Shen Qian snapped, “I’m not worried about him! What silver lining is this???”

“It’s not the system’s fault,” the system hastily logged off under Shen Qian’s ire. “We can’t meddle in retirement worlds. From here on, it’s up to you. Go get ’em, Qian—believe in yourself!”

Shen Qian leapt up, slamming his pillow against the floorboards. “AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Who dared cast that spell near him?! Once I find you, I’m swapping your soul with a toad’s, you hear me!!!