Chapter One: Rebirth in the Flames

Hot. So unbearably hot...

Shen Qianmo awoke with a suffocating jolt, feeling as though her entire body was being roasted alive, every breath a struggle. She forced her eyes open; all around her was a blazing red, thick with smoke—was she trapped in a sea of fire? She remembered being at a crime scene when an explosion occurred. Luck must have been on her side, as she hadn’t been killed by the blast.

But even if she had survived the explosion, if she stayed here any longer, she’d surely be burned or choked to death by the smoke. Summoning all her strength, she pushed herself up from the ground, only to realize her clothes were all wrong. Her shirt and jeans had been replaced by an elaborate long gown. She froze, scanning her surroundings. Despite the raging flames, she could tell this wasn’t the factory warehouse from the crime scene.

Where was she? Her mind reeled. There was no time to dwell on it, though—the fire was growing fiercer. She searched for a way out and finally crawled through a gap where the flames were less intense. Just as she neared the door, a piece of wood on the floor tripped her, and at that moment, a beam from the ceiling came crashing down, striking her head.

“Young miss!” a terrified voice called from outside the door. Through the haze, she saw a crowd gathered at the entrance, several people rushing toward her.

A wave of excruciating pain engulfed her, and she lost consciousness.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself staring up at a bed canopy, its beams ornately carved and painted. Turning her head, she saw furniture of an ancient and elegant style. She could hardly trust her own eyes—where was she?

“Young miss, you’re finally awake!” a delighted voice exclaimed. A young girl’s face appeared, bright with joy—oval-faced, large-eyed, and pretty.

“Green Bamboo.” The name flashed through Shen Qianmo’s mind. Then, like a tidal wave, memories surged forth.

Shen Qianmo—now Shen Qianmo—eldest legitimate daughter of the Duke of Shen’s household in the Da Sheng dynasty. Her mother died when she was three, her father’s concubine was promoted to wife, and from then on, she had been gradually neglected, living quietly and unnoticed until her eighteenth year.

Transmigrated? A chill ran through her heart. Could the explosion have brought her soul into the body of this girl who had also just perished in a fire? The name was different in character but identical in sound.

Shen Qianmo wasn’t sure whether to feel fortunate or miserable. The Da Sheng dynasty—clearly, she had ended up in a completely unfamiliar era. For a staunch atheist, it was a bit much to accept.

A matron in brown clothes entered, carrying a basin of water. Hearing Green Bamboo’s exclamation, she hurried over. Seeing that Shen Qianmo was awake, she too was overjoyed: “Young miss, you’re finally awake! You had this old servant worried half to death.”

“Nurse Xu.” The name flickered in her mind again. Green Bamboo, the personal maid who had served the previous Shen Qianmo since childhood; Nurse Xu, her late mother’s dowry nurse, who had stayed to care for her after her mother’s passing.

She realized her face was thickly bandaged. She croaked, “My face... was it burned?” Only then did she notice how hoarse her voice was.

At these words, Green Bamboo burst into tears, unable to speak through her sobs. Nurse Xu gripped her hand, tears streaming down her weathered cheeks, repeating, “Young miss, my poor young miss!”

Clearly, her injuries were not slight. Shen Qianmo, groggy and light-headed, slipped back into unconsciousness.

Over the next few days, she lingered between waking and sleeping. She was vaguely aware of Green Bamboo and Nurse Xu caring for her, and that doctors—or rather, as it should be called in this era, physicians—came daily to check her wounds and change her dressings. Yet she simply could not muster any energy, drifting in and out of sleep.

Several days later, her strength finally returned somewhat. She managed to sit up in bed and eat some thin porridge.

Propped against the bedhead, she looked into a bronze mirror and studied her reflection. Though the ancient mirror was not very clear, the face she saw was clearly not her own—delicate features, skin as fine as porcelain, long hair falling to her waist. If not for the burn scar on the lower left cheek, she would have been a classic beauty of ancient times.

For the first time since arriving, she truly accepted reality: she, Shen Qianmo, had indeed transmigrated. From now on, she would be Shen Qianmo, the eldest legitimate young lady of the Duke’s household.

Green Bamboo and Nurse Xu, seeing her staring blankly into the mirror, were overwhelmed with sorrow. To have such a beautiful face ruined! In the Da Sheng dynasty, a woman’s appearance was of utmost importance. With her looks destroyed, what was to become of her?

Nurse Xu fought back her tears to comfort her: “As long as you are alive, Miss, that’s what matters. The wound on your face can be healed in time. I truly believe it will recover.”

Green Bamboo nodded fervently in agreement.

Shen Qianmo knew they misunderstood her feelings; she was not particularly distraught over her ruined appearance. Her greatest concern now was the fact of her transmigration. If she could end up here, perhaps there was still a way back. But she did not explain this, only handed the mirror to them and said, “It’s fine. I really don’t mind. Didn’t the physician say today that the scar is not beyond healing?”

“If you think that way, Miss, then I can rest easy,” Nurse Xu said, wiping her tears, a hint of relief on her face.

Green Bamboo spoke with conviction, “Miss, you are blessed and protected by your mother’s spirit in heaven. I am sure you will heal soon and become as beautiful as before.”

Shen Qianmo smiled faintly and said to Green Bamboo, “I’m a little hungry. Could you bring me something to eat?”

Green Bamboo nodded eagerly and dashed off.

Nurse Xu poured a cup of water and carefully helped Shen Qianmo drink. Shen Qianmo looked at her and asked, “Is there something you wish to say?”

Nurse Xu nodded. “I thought to wait a few days until you were better, but this matter is too serious. I can’t stop thinking that something’s not right about the fire. Green Bamboo is a heavy sleeper, it’s true, but not so much that she wouldn’t wake up at all. And the fire broke out not a moment sooner or later than when I left the estate to visit my family. It seems too much of a coincidence.”

Shen Qianmo agreed with her assessment. With her years of experience as a forensic doctor, she could tell that the fire was no accident.

But Nurse Xu and Green Bamboo had no idea—the young lady they so earnestly protected had already perished in that fire. And she herself, in her own world, was likely considered a casualty of that explosion.

At this thought, Shen Qianmo felt a pang of sorrow, but she was not one to linger in grief. As a leading figure in forensic medicine, her trademark was calm and rationality. She frowned, then instructed Nurse Xu, “Have someone seal off the scene of the fire—that is, the room where it happened. No one is to enter or leave. Tomorrow, we’ll go and take a look.”

As she spoke, Green Bamboo returned with a bowl of steaming bird’s nest porridge. The rich aroma made Shen Qianmo realize how hungry she was, so she began eating in small, careful bites, heedless of the heat.

She had barely eaten a few mouthfuls when a commotion erupted outside.