The Nation's Son-in-Law

“Ah!” A heart-wrenching scream burst forth.

With that agonized cry, Yang Yaozhong’s eyelids slowly fluttered open. However, the outcry seemed to have sapped every ounce of strength from his body; he was left gasping for breath, so weak that he could not even cough.

“Sir, sir, you’re awake?” A young girl pushed open the door and dashed to his bedside. Seeing him wide-eyed and struggling for air, she hurriedly used her small hands to soothe his chest. Only when his breathing steadied did she whirl around and rush back out.

Almost immediately, her clear voice rang out in the courtyard: “Sir is awake! Sir is awake!”

“Sir?” Yang Yaozhong’s mind was a muddled haze, yet that title circled endlessly in his thoughts. Taking in his surroundings, he saw that everything in the room was made of wood; the window was formed of narrow wooden slats, sealed with white paper. Beside the window stood a table, atop it an oil lamp and a tea tray holding a teapot and cups.

He recalled the girl’s attire: a simple blue wrap dress, her hair coiled into a bun secured with wooden hairpins—an ancient maidservant’s look.

“Transmigrated…? Did I really die? And now I’ve crossed into another world?” Yang Yaozhong felt no thrill at the thought; instead, a wry self-mockery welled up inside.

In his previous life, Yang Yaozhong had been a special agent, exhaustively trained at great expense by a secret organization. He had worked hard and, by the age of twenty-eight, earned a handsome salary, with the wealthy vying for his employment. Behind that honor, however, lay