Song Luan lay on the bed, her eyes lifeless and unfocused. Even though an entire day had passed, her mind was still in a daze.

If she rewound time to a day earlier, she had spent the night binge-reading a novel titled The Minister of Power. The book had taken the internet by storm, blending the exhilarating elements of progression fantasy and rags-to-riches tropes. It dominated the charts across women’s fiction platforms.

At over two million words, Song Luan had been thoroughly engrossed, making her way through more than half of it before exhaustion won over. As her eyelids battled each other, she succumbed to sleep. When she woke up, however, she found herself the victim of the infamous transmigration trope. To make matters worse, she had become the wife of the male protagonist in the novel.

The original character she now inhabited didn’t feature much in the book, appearing only in a few chapters. Her fate, however, was grim—she was burned alive. The one who set the fire was none other than her husband, and the one who locked the door was her own son.

Thinking of this, Song Luan felt a wave of despair wash over her.

“Madam, it’s already the hour of Si.” a maid said cautiously, her head bowed as though terrified of Song Luan.

Song Luan let out a heavy sigh and cleared her throat before replying. “You can leave. I don’t need you to serve me.”

The two maids seemed as though they’d been pardoned from a death sentence as they quickly bowed and shuffled out of the room.

Song Luan understood why they feared her. After all, the original owner of this body truly deserved her tragic end. Her father was a favorite at the imperial court, a prominent fourth-rank official with the emperor’s favor. Though her mother was only a concubine, the original owner had been spoiled rotten since childhood. She had inherited all her mother’s worst traits—being harsh toward the servants, choosing friends based on their social standing, and, worse, using her beauty to humiliate the other concubine-born daughters in the household.

Still, there was no denying the original owner’s stunning appearance—fair skin, striking features, and a generous figure. Since coming of age, her every thought had been consumed by a desire to marry a powerful and influential man.

At the time, the male protagonist, Zhao Nanyu had just placed third in the imperial examination and entered the Hanlin Academy. When he visited the Song family, the original owner of this body was set up by her younger sister. The two were drugged and ended up in the same bed. To avoid tarnishing both families’ reputations, they had no choice but to arrange a marriage.

Zhao Nanyu, a concubine-born son in the Zhao family was neither favored by his grandmother nor his father. His life was difficult, lacking power and status, and he was often bullied by his brothers. The only thing remarkable about him was his handsome appearance—his refined features, jade-like temperament, and air of calm dignity made him a paragon of gentlemanly grace.

Before the marriage, the original owner had already been ridiculed by the sisters she had bullied in the past. Displeased with the marriage arrangement to begin with, she became even more resentful after the mockery.

After their wedding, her temper only worsened in the Zhao household. She frequently abused the servants and treated Zhao Nanyu with nothing but cold disdain. Not long after, she became pregnant. Yet, her obsession with wealth and power left no room in her heart for affection, not even for her child. Whenever Zhao Nanyu was absent and her mood soured, she would hurl insults at the boy, and in fits of rage, she even resorted to physical abuse.

The original owner was so brazen that she dressed provocatively to flirt with nobles and high-ranking officials. Zhao Nanyu, for his part, turned a blind eye to her behavior which only emboldened her further.

Thinking of all this, Song Luan’s brows furrowed tightly. The saying you reap what you sow was undeniably true.

She got out of bed, dressed, and moved to the outer room to wash up. Sitting before the bronze mirror, she felt momentarily dazed. The original owner’s appearance was identical to her own. Back when she was reading the novel, she had felt a sense of satisfaction when the original owner met her tragic end. Now, however, that same ending no longer seemed so amusing.

As for Zhao Nanyu, while he was currently an unremarkable figure—unfavored, without influence, and known for his understated and gentle demeanor—he was, in reality, a deeply calculating and ruthless character.

Behind his warm smiles lurked a sharp blade. Step by step, he eliminated obstacles in his political ascent, even killing with a serene smile. Anyone who had ever humiliated or harmed him met a miserable end.

Zhao Nanyu was also exceptionally vindictive. Even a household servant who had mistreated him when he was five or six years old would not escape his retribution.

A male protagonist so vengeful and ruthless—one who could exact revenge without leaving a trace—was never going to let the original owner who had betrayed him and nearly cuckolded him, meet a good end.

Step by step, he climbed the political ladder, consolidating power until he controlled the court and reigned supreme in the Liang Kingdom.

The maidservant’s heads bowed while they began setting the table. By this hour, it was already time for lunch. Song Luan glanced at the dishes arranged before her: a few light vegetarian options, a glistening, translucent pork knuckle, and a bowl of West Lake beef soup. Just looking at the spread was enough to whet her appetite.

Swallowing her saliva, Song Luan began to feel her hunger grow.

She sat down, picked up her chopsticks, and sampled the spring bamboo shoots, one of her favorite dishes. The flavor was exquisite, and before she knew it, she had taken two more bites.

Standing by her side, a maidservant’s calves trembled slightly, betraying her nervousness. After an internal struggle, the maid finally stepped forward, summoning her courage to speak. “Madam, the young master has a frail constitution. He shouldn’t be left hungry for two meals.”

Song Luan froze. “What?!”

Seeing that her expression wasn’t as harsh as expected, the maid mustered the courage to continue. “Madam, have you forgotten? Yesterday morning, you punished the young master by forbidding him to eat for the entire day. He went hungry last night, and it wouldn’t do for him to miss another meal this morning.”

Afraid that Song Luan might refuse, the maid quickly invoked Zhao Nanyu’s name. “If the master returns home and hears about this, he’ll likely lose his temper.”

Zhao Nanyu was extremely fond of the child.

Song Luan was genuinely taken aback. She didn’t remember this at all! It had to have been something the original owner had done before she transmigrated. The original owner, it seemed, didn’t even spare a child—her own biological son, no less.

The child born to the original owner and Zhao Nanyu was named Zhao Zhiger, a four-year-old boy who spent most of his time in the front courtyard with his father. He only came to the rear courtyard when Zhao Nanyu was away from home.

Song Luan’s appetite vanished instantly. She set down her chopsticks and said. “Go and bring Zhiger here.”

The maid was both shocked and overjoyed, terrified that Song Luan might change her mind. “Yes, Madam, I’ll fetch him right away.”

Zhao Nanyu had been sent out of the capital on assignment over half a month ago and was expected to return in the next day or two. Just the thought of meeting the male protagonist soon made Song Luan’s heart tremble. She wondered if it was still possible to curry favor with him at this point—or at the very least, avoid offending him.

After all, this man was destined to rise to the pinnacle of power.

The maid quickly brought a little boy into the inner room. Though the chill of early spring still lingered, Zhiger’s clothing was notably thin—a red, round-collared robe and matching red boots. His skin was as pale as snow, his eyes deep and dark, holding a mysterious depth unusual for a child his age. Upon entering the room, he silently released the maid’s hand, refusing to let her hold it any longer.

With his head slightly lowered, Zhao Zhiger walked up to Song Luan with proper decorum, offering a polite bow. “Greetings, Mother.”

Zhao Zhiger’s features were an impeccable blend of his parents’, flawless and strikingly beautiful. Song Luan had never seen a child as stunning as him in her entire life. His youth added a touch of softness to his cheeks making him not only beautiful but also irresistibly adorable.

Yet, his frailty was apparent—his body seemed slimmer and weaker than that of other children his age, inspiring a protective urge to scoop him up and shower him with affection.

Song Luan wanted to reach out and embrace him but hesitated, worried that acting too abruptly might scare him. Instead, she mustered her most gentle smile and asked. “Are you hungry? Would you like to eat with me?”

Zhao Zhiger seemed taken aback for a moment, his tightly pursed lips and furrowed brows suggesting deep contemplation. After a pause, he replied politely with a single word. “Yes.”

As a reclusive, single young woman in her previous life, Song Luan had no experience with children and wasn’t sure how to interact with them. However, she understood the importance of taking things slowly. Picking up her chopsticks, she placed a piece of crystal pork knuckle into Zhao Zhiger’s bowl and said with a cheerful tone. “This is delicious.”

She then looked at him with bright, expectant eyes.

Zhao Zhiger found her behavior strange, sensing that something about his mother was different today. He lowered his head and replied. “Thank you, Mother.”

Mother and son sat in silence, eating at the same table. After Song Luan had finished her meal, she glanced at Zhao Zhiger’s bowl, only to find the piece of pork knuckle she had given him still untouched.

Song Luan felt a bit deflated. It seemed their mother-son relationship was even worse than she had imagined.

After they finished eating, the servants swiftly cleared the table. Three-year-old Zhiger sat rigidly in his seat, his little face solemn and silent, not saying a single word.

Song Luan sighed inwardly, over and over. Suddenly, she extended her hand toward him, an action that startled Zhao Zhiger.

He leaned back abruptly, nearly falling to the ground, but Song Luan reacted quickly, catching him just in time.

She pulled him into her arms, gently patting his back with her delicate hands. “It’s okay, don’t be scared.”

Zhao Zhiger frowned, his expression serious. He had expected to dislike the faint fragrance on her, but to his surprise, he found it rather pleasant—warm, even—as if it could soothe his nerves.

When no response came from him, Song Luan raised her eyes to look him over carefully. That’s when she noticed bruises on his arm and a small scratch on his forehead. She could only assume these were the handiwork of the original owner.

She couldn’t comprehend it. How could anyone harm such an adorable child? And even starve him? The original owner must have had water—or worse, air bubbles—in her brain!

Opening her mouth, Song Luan was about to say something when a servant arrived to deliver a message. “Madam, the young master’s tutor has arrived. It’s time for his calligraphy lesson.”

Zhao Zhiger snapped out of his thoughts, subtly wriggling out of her embrace. “Mother, I’ll head to Uncle’s now.”

His tutor was none other than his youngest uncle.

Song Luan didn’t want to stop him and crouched down, unable to resist poking his cheek with her finger. “Go on, then!”

Zhao Zhiger’s fair cheeks flushed slightly before quickly returning to their usual pale hue. Without a word, he turned and exited the room.

Outside, the tutor had been waiting for some time. The young man picked Zhao Zhiger up, gently patting his head. His gaze toward Huai Shui Residence was cold as he asked. “Did your mother hit you today?”

Zhao Zhiger rested his head on his uncle’s shoulder and shook his head. “No, she didn’t.”

A hint of childlike innocence appeared on his face, and his voice was no longer as cold as it had been earlier, now soft and childish. “Uncle, I think she’s different today.”

She had smiled at him, served him food, and even hugged him.

The man snorted disdainfully. “She’s probably up to no good again.”

Zhao Zhiger’s expression dimmed at the remark. His gaze dropped, and his small hands tightened around his uncle’s neck. “I miss my father.”

“He’ll be back tonight.”

In the Zhao residence, it wasn’t just little Zhao Zhiger who missed his father, Zhao Nanyu.

Song Luan found herself thinking about this man as well. After finishing her meal, she had been lounging on a soft couch, resting leisurely when she suddenly shot upright like a startled fish. She muttered under her breath, “I’m doomed, doomed, doomed…”

A sudden realization had struck her: in the original story, the previous owner of her body hadn’t just been burned to death. Starting in the second year of their marriage, Zhao Nanyu had secretly begun poisoning her with a slow-acting toxin, planning to quietly end her life.

By her calculations, this body had already been exposed to the poison for three full years. Whether there was still time to save herself… she had no idea.

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