Chapter One: Transcendence

“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 the total sacrifice of his time to relentless self-improvement.

He was born in a small rural village in the northeast, with a sister five years his junior. His parents were honest farmers who poured their hopes into his education, wanting him to escape the village and live a respectable life, not one dependent on the whims of the weather.

Living up to their dreams, Yang Yaozhong was admitted to one of the country’s top universities, majoring in surveying. His plan was to work hard, secure scholarships, and take on part-time jobs, so he would not burden his parents. He aspired to a master’s and even a doctorate, hoping to remain at the university as a professor, then bring his family to the city for a better life. Such were his goals and hopes.

But life seldom unfolds as planned. Even the surest course can be diverted by fate.

At twenty-two, Yang Yaozhong graduated and was accepted to his alma mater’s graduate program. But then a secret agency forcibly recruited him, luring him with the promise of high pay.

For three years, the organization subjected its chosen recruits to intensive training—everything from the humanities and medicine to astronomy, geography, martial arts, firearms, and multiple languages—all forced upon them in a relentless regimen. Some disappeared along the way; Yang Yaozhong remained.

At twenty-six, before his first mission, his handler told him that the organization’s aim was not just mission success, but his survival. Sacrificing agents was the greatest loss.

He completed mission after mission, and by twenty-eight, he was promoted to team captain. With the promotion came greater danger.

He had already brought his family to the city, where they lived in comfort, though he could only spare a few days a year with them. At twenty-eight, he yearned for a genuine romance, despite his many fleeting liaisons. He longed to travel with his loved ones, to be a devoted son and brother. Yet all those wishes were dashed during a single mission.

His task was to protect a visiting head of state. As the mission neared its end, a young boy approached with flowers. Yang Yaozhong noticed, with chilling clarity, the sinister smile on the boy’s face and the glint of a silver wire clamped between his teeth.

Instinctively, Yang Yaozhong snatched the boy and leaped into a nearby pond. An explosion followed; the water erupted in a crimson fountain.

Thus, Yang Yaozhong lived and died in the line of duty—a true reflection of the old saying: In the world of intrigue, few escape unscathed. This final wound, however, was swift, precise, and fatal, bringing his young life to an abrupt end.

His thoughts drifted back to this frail, unfamiliar body. He missed his parents and sister dearly, wondering how they would cope with news of his death. He found comfort in knowing they would be cared for, thanks to his savings and insurance. But still, he was gone—a son who had left no descendants and forced his parents to bury their child. Thank goodness his sister remained to care for them. He tried to console himself, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

Not long after the girl had run out, she returned with an elderly man in gray and a strikingly handsome, fair-skinned youth.

Seeing Yang Yaozhong’s tear-filled eyes, the old man quickly took a seat at his bedside, grasped his wrist, and stroked his white beard. After a moment, he smiled and said, “Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re fine, you’re fine. Don’t be afraid. You’re just too frail and caught a chill. I’ll prescribe something, and with some rest, you’ll recover.”

Yang Yaozhong, hearing this, managed a feeble roll of his eyes, though in his heart he rolled them a thousand times. With great effort, he croaked out, “Tha…thank you…” and then resumed his labored breathing.

The old man nodded. The handsome youth beside him only snorted softly, clearly disliking the man lying in the bed.

Yang Yaozhong heard this, glanced his way, and then, exhausted, closed his eyes and slipped back into a daze.

The old man glanced fondly at the youth and whispered, “Let’s go outside.” He turned to the little maid at the bedside and added, “Xiaohua, come with me. I’ll write the prescription, and you can brew the medicine for your young master.”

Xiaohua nodded. “Yes, Doctor Mu.”

Sleep came in fitful waves, and Yang Yaozhong drifted between hazy dreams and half-wakefulness. Thus, three days passed, with the little maid tending to him with great care. From her, he learned that the old man was the renowned physician Mu Chuchen, a close friend of the household’s master, who had asked him to look after Yang Yaozhong before leaving. When Yang Yaozhong asked the girl to open the window for some fresh air, she shook her head adamantly, refusing his request. He could only resign himself to his confinement.

Three days later, feeling some strength return, he could no longer bear to stay indoors. He asked the maid to help him into the courtyard. At first, she refused with stubborn persistence, nearly moving Yang Yaozhong to tears with her obstinacy. It was only when the handsome youth returned with Doctor Mu to check his pulse that she relented.

The youth said nothing to Yang Yaozhong, merely swept into the room, glanced at him coldly, and checked his pulse with slender, delicate fingers. After a moment, the youth announced to the maid, “Your young master is well. I’ll change his prescription; after three to five more days, he’ll be fully recovered.” Remembering something overheard before entering, the youth added, “The weather is fine today. On such days, you may take your young master out for some sun, as long as he doesn’t tire himself.” With that, the youth strode out.

The little maid looked at the bedridden Yang Yaozhong, who grinned at her. She smiled back and quickly followed the youth outside.

Soon, the girl returned, helped Yang Yaozhong dress, and carefully led him to a pavilion in the garden.

The weather was truly glorious, the sun warm and gentle.

Yang Yaozhong learned from the girl that today was the eighth day of the fifth month. He idly remarked, “So the Dragon Boat Festival has passed?” She looked at him in puzzlement. “Sir, what’s the Dragon Boat Festival?” Yang Yaozhong laughed it off. “Nothing.” He thought to himself, “I have much to learn about this place.”

Lounging lazily on a chair in the pavilion, he let his eyes wander over the scenery. This was clearly a grand estate; the pavilion sat in the rear garden, accessible by a covered walkway paved with smooth stones, bordered by meticulously tended flowers and shrubs. Another pavilion stood in the middle of a pond, connected by a small bridge. Upon it, two gold-embossed characters read “Qinxin”—Heart’s Ease. Red lacquered columns bore a golden couplet: “A fresh breeze brushes the face away, the bright moon shines upon those who come.” The covered walkway and pavilions were adorned with lifelike carvings of flowers, birds, fish, and insects. The water below was clear, lotus and water grasses drifting with the current, rockeries dotting the scene, and colorful fish swimming between. By the pond, several willow trees danced in the breeze, their branches swaying like maidens in graceful motion. Around the pond, several buildings and towers could be glimpsed; Yang Yaozhong resided in one of them. Directly to the south, a grand two-story mansion overlooked the water, its flying eaves and ornate railings imposing even from behind.

Yang Yaozhong could not help but marvel. This was surely an era of pure handicraft, where a single estate could boast such exquisite architecture—so much finer and more soulful than the mass-produced works of later ages. The spirit of the artisan was alive here. A sense of returning to simplicity and tranquility welled up within him.

His gaze lingered on the rippling pond. The little maid, noticing his fixed stare, said in a small, hesitant voice, “Sir, are you angry with Miss and the Master?”

Yang Yaozhong snapped out of his reverie. “Hmm?”

The girl hurried to explain: “That day, you accidentally fell into the pond; it was Miss who saved you. Because you were so frail, they wanted to postpone the wedding. But urgent military news came from the border, and the Emperor ordered the Master to lead the army. With the Master departing, Miss—Miss is the military strategist, so she had to go too. The guests had already arrived, and the Master didn’t want to delay the chosen day. He asked Doctor Mu if you could proceed with the ceremony, and he said it was fine. So they helped you and Miss complete the wedding rituals, and then asked Doctor Mu to take care of you. Miss also instructed me to look after you.”

Yang Yaozhong looked at the girl, barely fifteen, her cheeks flushed with anxiety over the household affairs.

He recalled that his first day in this world had indeed begun with a struggle in the pond. This body was just too weak; after a few splashes, he cramped up, swallowed water, and blacked out. In his muddled memory, a woman had rescued him. He vaguely remembered people gathered around, discussing something; then he was changed into fresh clothes and, with a veiled bride, made to complete the wedding rites.

“Sir… sir…?” The girl’s gentle voice called him back. He smiled faintly. “No, I’m not angry.” He looked at her, noting how she relaxed at his reply. “You’re Xiaohua, aren’t you?” She nodded vigorously. “Mm-hmm.”

Yang Yaozhong continued, “The Master is a marshal, and Miss is a remarkable strategist!”

Pride blossomed on Xiaohua’s face. “The Master is the only general the nomads truly fear! And—and Miss isn’t just a strategist! She’s the only woman who can attend court and serve as Prime Minister!”

Yang Yaozhong laughed to himself. “A female Prime Minister… I’ve married a female Prime Minister!”

Xiaohua caught his words and, flustered, corrected him, “Sir… you… you are a son-in-law who has married into the family. You can’t say you’ve married her, not exactly.” Though softly spoken, she was quite stern.

Yang Yaozhong’s smile froze. The phrase “married in… married in…” echoed through his mind, his expression becoming blank and inscrutable.

Yet Yang Yaozhong was resilient; he could adapt quickly to any environment. In his past life, he had played many roles and faced all manner of adversity. Adaptability was one of his core skills.

After a while, he calmed himself. Since he’d been transplanted into the past as a live-in son-in-law, he had no choice but to accept it. So what if he’d married into the family? With a powerful father-in-law and a brilliant wife, why not enjoy the leisurely life of a pampered spouse?

At that, he realized he didn’t even know his current name, his appearance, or the dynasty in which he found himself. All in good time. For now, best to see what he looked like. He straightened up and leaned over the pond to peer at his reflection.

Alarmed, the girl tried to stop him, her voice trembling on the verge of tears: “Sir, sir, what are you doing?” Perhaps because his previous near-drowning had left her frightened, she was as jumpy as a startled bird.

When Yang Yaozhong finally saw his reflection, he found himself quite handsome—certainly with the right looks to be a kept man. Just far too thin and pale. Sighing, he let the girl—who had all but dragged him upright again, nearly in tears—know, “It’s nothing, I just wanted to see if there were fish in the pond.”

She hesitated, then seeing his earnestness, replied, “Fish? Of course! There are many kinds, and they’re all very pretty.” She pointed them out. “Look, sir, so many fish.”

Yang Yaozhong followed her finger and, as if casually, asked, “Xiaohua, how old are you?”

She hesitated, glancing at him, then whispered, “I’m fifteen this year.”

He nodded. “How long have you served Miss?”

She turned her gaze to the pond. “I’ve been with Miss for seven years.”

Still watching the fish, Yang Yaozhong said, “Xiaohua, after I nearly drowned, I seem to have forgotten some things. Could you tell me about the past?”

His tone was calm, but she startled, glancing at him before blurting out, “Sir, I’d better fetch Doctor Mu!” She turned to go.

He quickly grabbed her sleeve, smiling, “No need, I’m fine. Maybe I’ll remember in a few days. I just want to know a little now—keep me company, talk to me, perhaps it’ll help me recover.”

She looked at his gentle, pale face and nodded slightly. “What would you like to know, sir?”

Seeing her agreement, he motioned for her to sit beside him. Leaning back, eyes half-closed, he said, “Just tell me about me and Miss.”

She hesitated, frowning, uncertain.

Sensing her unease, he added, “Nothing private, just general things.”

She considered, then reassured herself, “Miss doesn’t have any secrets…”