That morning, Sheng Mingyi was sent up the mountain to dig for wild vegetables. He heard someone calling “her” Liùyā, and someone else calling her Féng Liùyā. That girl, over in Taohua Village, seemed to go by Féng Liùyā.
After digging up the vegetables, Liùyā went to wash the whole family’s laundry. While scrubbing clothes by the water, he caught a glimpse of Liùyā’s face in the ripples—and it was unmistakably that same girl from Haitang Court. Only much younger, around five or six years old.
Sheng Mingyi felt like he was trapped in some kind of fantasy. What on earth had this girl been through to make her personality change so completely?
At noon, he managed to cook a half-decent pot of rice. Those who hadn’t worked got their share of lunch, but he received none. In the afternoon, he still had to go gather firewood… And by evening, the food he was given remained the paltriest portion of all.
Sheng Mingyi’s restlessness slowly curdled into dread.
He wanted to escape. He wanted to wake up. He didn’t want to live this life anymore. He kept hoping that once “Féng Liùyā” fell asleep, he would be able to go back—
But every time he opened his eyes, he was still trapped in this body, and dawn had yet to break outside. He’d hoist his bamboo basket onto his back, step through the dew, and go out to cut pigweed—
Another day, another repetition of yesterday’s misery.
He rose earliest, slept latest, did the most work, yet ate the worst of anyone. Even the two pigs in the sty lived better than he did!
Over and over, Sheng Mingyi tried to force himself awake—and failed every single time. His fear deepened with each passing day.
The second day. The third. The fourth. The fifth…
Sheng Mingyi went from terror to utter breakdown.
All his life, because of his frail health, he’d thought himself more unfortunate than others. But now, for the first time, he truly understood what misfortune meant. What real suffering felt like.
He was terrified that he might be trapped inside this body forever—
By the ninth day, Sheng Mingyi could no longer tell whether he was “Liùyā” or the young master of the Sheng family… It was as if he had fully merged with this body…
That night, the little girl wept in the firewood shed—and Sheng Mingyi wept with her.
“Young Master… please wake up…
“Young Master, what’s wrong?”
Sheng Mingyi heard a familiar voice. It pulled him back from somewhere far, far away.
He remembered now—this was Yannian’s voice. Yannian was his personal attendant.
He was the legitimate third young master of the Sheng family!
Sheng Mingyi’s eyes flew open, and the first thing he saw was a fair, clean-shaven face. He reached out and pinched Yannian’s cheek—soft, warm, solid.
He let his gaze wander around the room: familiar walls, familiar furnishings. He even caught the faint scent of plum-blossom incense he always used…
He was finally back—
For an instant, Sheng Mingyi wanted to burst out laughing. He had crawled out of hell at last.
But somehow, he felt more like crying. And then he realized he was already crying—the corners of his eyes were damp.
“Young Master, did you have a nightmare? Why are you crying…”
Yannian asked with concern, helping Sheng Mingyi sit up.
“I… how long was I asleep?” His voice came out rough and hoarse.
“Young Master, what happened to your voice? Did you catch a chill?” Yannian exclaimed in alarm, quickly sending a little maid to fetch the house physician. He then went to the tea table, poured a cup of warm honey water, and brought it to Sheng Mingyi’s lips.
Sheng Mingyi drained it in one go, then took another cup. Only then did he feel a sliver of warmth return to his body. He also ached all over—as if he’d truly been doing heavy farm work for days on end…
And his stomach was gnawingly empty.
“How long was I asleep?” he asked again.
“Young Master, you slept nearly six hours—a rare long stretch for you…”
Sheng Mingyi pressed his lips together and said nothing.
Yannian said he’d slept through one night, but in his dream, he’d endured a full nine days—nine days of hardship, nine days of misery—
“I’d like some vegetable porridge…” The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Yannian’s face lit up with a grin, showing a row of white teeth, and he bustled off to arrange breakfast.
That meal, Sheng Mingyi finished an entire bowl of vegetable porridge, ate two steamed buns, and a fried egg. He wanted to have some wontons too, but Yannian stopped him—
“Young Master, your appetite is usually small. Today you’ve already eaten twice your normal amount. If you have more, your stomach might feel uncomfortable…”
Only then did Sheng Mingyi notice that his stomach was indeed quite bloated. He finally put down his chopsticks.
The house physician, who had been waiting outside, came in to take his pulse and said he hadn’t caught a cold—his body was simply more fatigued than usual. When Yannian mentioned the nightmare, the physician prescribed a calming herbal formula.
Sheng Mingyi nodded and said nothing more. The dream had been absurd; he didn’t want to talk about it. And the physician’s skills were mediocre at best—there was no point in elaborating.
After the physician left, he told Yannian to summon Qiuju.
Yannian looked a bit puzzled but went to call her anyway.
Before long, a young woman walked in.
Qiuju had glossy black hair, combed sleek and smooth, with a silver hairpin tucked into it. She wore a peach-red padded jacket that made her complexion look vibrant. Her eyes were bright and dewy, as if she were full of anticipation.
Sheng Mingyi lounged lazily on the soft daybed. The room was warm and toasty, with a large basin of silver-thread charcoal burning steadily.
He fixed his gaze on Qiuju’s face. Her features were a far cry from those of Féng Sìyā—the girl who had constantly bullied “Liùyā” in his dream.
So he remained silent for a long while, watching Qiuju’s complexion shift from rosy to pale, before finally speaking.
“What was your name before? Where did you live? How many people in your family?”
Qiuju froze, then a flicker of fear passed through her eyes.
The fact that she and Dongkui were the daughters of Taoniang had long been exposed. The madam and the young master hadn’t made things difficult for them before—could the young master be planning to punish them now?
She dropped to her knees in panic. “Replying to Young Master: this servant was formerly called Féng Sìyā. I lived in Taohua Village, and my family had twelve members.”
“How many in the younger generation?”
“Six… six people…”
“Their names.”
Qiuju’s face paled another shade. “My eldest cousin is called Féng Dàbǎo, the second is Féng Èrbǎo. The third sister is Féng Sānyā, later renamed Xiàzhì, and now she’s… she’s at Prince Qi’s residence… I am Féng Sìyā. The fifth is Féng Wǔyā, now called Dongkui, serving the Fifth Young Master… And Féng Liùyā… is the current Seventh Miss…”
Qiuju’s voice was already trembling.
“Young Master, it was all my mother’s fault—she swapped the Seventh Miss and caused her to suffer greatly— But the rest of us had no knowledge of my mother’s actions. I beg you to spare our lives—”
With that, Qiuju began kowtowing.
Sheng Mingyi ordered Qiuju to recount the daily life of the former “Féng Liùyā.”
Qiuju stammered and pieced her words together carefully—but she wasn’t being honest. In her version, the farming family worked year-round, everyone pitched in, so “Féng Liùyā” also did plenty of chores. She conveniently omitted the fact that “Féng Liùyā” wasn’t allowed to eat at the table and slept in the firewood shed.
Sheng Mingyi’s expression remained unchanged. He merely uttered two flat words.
“Slap her.”
Yannian stepped forward immediately, raised his hand, and brought it down on Qiuju’s cheek with a sharp smack—the sound ringing through the room. Then he backhanded her across the other cheek.
And then the slaps kept coming, one after another…
Qiuju didn’t dare dodge. In that moment, she regretted trying to be clever. But if she hadn’t glossed over the truth, she feared the young master would learn how the Feng family had mistreated the Seventh Miss—and what if he decided to beat her to death?
The more she thought about it, the more she resented Taoniang! It was all Taoniang’s fault!
At this point, Qiuju didn’t even want to call her “Mother” anymore.
A full ten slaps landed. Qiuju’s face instantly swelled up, and a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth.
Yannian, who knew Sheng Mingyi’s temperament best, warned her: “Don’t try any tricks. Just tell the young master exactly what he asks for—truthfully.”
Qiuju dared not deceive him again. She recounted everything as it had truly been.
The “Féng Liùyā” in Qiuju’s account matched the one in Sheng Mingyi’s dream.
Sheng Mingyi felt a sudden complexity in his heart.
When the girl first returned, he had thought she was simply born unlucky. But after enduring those nine days in his dream—working without rest, suffering without respite—he began to wonder.
If the one who suffers is simply born lowly, then what did his own suffering mean? Did it prove that he, too, was born lowly and deserved to be tormented?
And what if, back then, it had been he who was swapped away at birth?
