Chapter 42: The Rebirth of the Illegitimate Daughter, Part 2

This official surnamed Zhang came from a humble background; his father, once a poor scholar, entered officialdom by passing the examination. Young, not unattractive, and gifted, he soon found himself chosen as a son-in-law under the marriage lists of high-ranking officials. Thereafter, husband and wife lived harmoniously, never a hint of infidelity—until, two years later, a concubine-born daughter appeared, leaving everyone puzzled as to the circumstances.

Yet, such incidents were not uncommon. As long as the person wronged swallowed their grievances, others cared little, unless political rivals seized upon the matter as fodder for attack. At the time, however, Zhang was but a minor functionary, unworthy of attention, and his father-in-law expendable if need be—so none cared. Years passed, Zhang rose in rank, but by then it was too late for others to make trouble.

Other families, too, faced similar situations. Even the youngest successful candidates were in their late twenties, for those of humble birth lacked the resources and connections to study early, so entering officialdom at such an age was already fortunate. At that age, it was unthinkable not to have married; early marriage and childbearing were time-honored customs. But most dealt with prior family ties before seeking advancement—some erased past entanglements by ruthless means, others simply left their original wives at home to tend to parents, and so the problem resolved itself.

If not for the inexorable force of narrative, this Zhang would likely have taken the same course. Alas, forced into the role of cannon fodder by the story, he could only play out his fate as such.

Though she reflected on their misfortune, Mu Yin did not pity them. Her reasoning was that even the power of the plot could not conjure something from nothing; thus, only one explanation remained: Lord Zhang had indeed demoted his wife to concubine, leaving wife and daughter in the countryside. In that case, being chosen for misfortune was deserved.

As for whatever the heroine wished to accomplish, Mu Yin would not interfere, except that she must break up the heroine’s destined pair and, if possible, find her a better match. It would not be a loss for the heroine. Alas, were it not for the mission’s instructions stating that allowing the story to proceed unaltered would be detrimental to the world, she would not have involved herself in the business of breaking fictional couples.

With the heroine’s affairs clarified, Mu Yin turned next to the male lead. The current Emperor, aged forty-four, had thirteen sons and seventeen daughters; of these, nine sons and fourteen daughters still lived.

Sons were ranked by age from five years old. Aside from the eldest and second sons, who were enfeoffed as kings upon coming of age, none of the others held royal titles. The fifth prince was of unremarkable birth, his mother’s family a minor clan. In fact, to prevent consort families from meddling in politics, the imperial harem held almost no ladies from high official or noble lineages. The highest-ranked woman was the Empress, daughter of the Grand Preceptor.

In truth, the great aristocratic families had no wish to send their daughters into the palace for fortune’s sake. The world’s backdrop closely resembled the Wei and Jin dynasties she had read of in history, with noble clans rampant and the imperial family merely one among them.

Of the nine imperial princes, only the fourth was the Empress’s legitimate son; the rest were born to concubines. Among them, the Emperor favored most the eldest, Prince Chen, and the youngest, the ninth prince. The legitimate son, while not neglected, was not especially valued.

The heroine was now only ten years old. She would meet the male lead at twelve, when Prince Chen would be sixteen, so there was still time. However, as she was now confined to the inner quarters, taking action was troublesome. Though restrictions on women were not so severe in this era, she still could not act as she pleased, especially as a concubine’s daughter.

Mu Yin thought it might have been better if she had entered the body of a man—at least then, acting freely would be easier. It was her first time in ancient times, and though she tried to adapt, the constraints still chafed.

“Ah, when will I ever be free?” Mu Yin sighed, sprawled across the table.

“My lady, please do not say such things—should anyone hear, it would not be good,” her chief maid, Chunfen, gently admonished.

“There’s no one here, though,” Mu Yin replied carelessly, waving her hand.

“What if someone comes unexpectedly? And, my lady, your posture is most improper. Please sit up straight.” Having grown up with Mu Yin, Chunfen had learned all her lessons alongside her and absorbed the rules even more thoroughly—now, she sounded like a doting old nurse.

“Chunfen, if you keep nagging like this, you’ll never get married,” Mu Yin said with resignation, sitting up and looking at her.

“No need to trouble yourself over that, my lady,” Chunfen answered, as respectful as ever.

“Ah, Chunfen, tell me—if I said I wanted to go out for a walk, do you think the family would agree?” Mu Yin asked.

“My lady, you’re thinking too much. Though restrictions on women are not as harsh as in the previous dynasty, venturing out is still out of the question,” Chunfen replied, bluntly dashing her hopes. A stroll in town might be possible, but to travel freely as a man might to study—that was impossible.

“Why must I have been born a woman?” Mu Yin lamented anew.

“In your next life, perhaps you can aspire to be a man. This life, best let it go,” Chunfen answered with her usual sharp wit, but then changed tone to offer some consolation. “But now that my lady is twelve, it is time to start looking at potential matches. If you wish to see the world, that wish may be granted—at most, you may go on a spring outing.”

“That’s right, how could I forget?” Mu Yin realized. At this time, the boundaries between men and women were not yet so rigid; when sons and daughters reached a suitable age, families would take them out for spring excursions, where they might meet others and discuss possible matches. If both sides were pleased and their families compatible, there would be no objection.

In some respects, it was quite enlightened. Indeed, this was how the heroine was to meet the male lead. Perhaps she herself could meet the male lead in advance, and, like a mere extra in the novel, work her way into the main story?

On second thought, it was unnecessary. She was but a half-grown child, with no true desire for marriage. It was not that she felt the body was not her own—the original soul had already passed on, and the body was hers now. She was not sentimental about it. Having been reborn with her memories, she was not overly attached to the physical form. She had no expectation for the sweet romance depicted in novels. She had never experienced love herself, though she had seen couples torn apart after the end of the world; while some loves endured, such cases were rare.

Never having met anyone who stirred her heart, she had no expectation of romance.

A few days later, Mu Yin received word that she and two of her sisters would be allowed to go on a spring outing. The two were close to her in age; the older girls were mostly already engaged. There were only five unmarried girls left in the Liu family: the three of them, one eight, and one seven.

“Tenth Sister, Eleventh Sister, let’s go,” Mu Yin, the youngest of the three, called to her sisters.

“Yes,” they replied, and all three, attended by their maids, climbed into a rather luxurious carriage.

“Sisters, what do you think about the future?” To pass the time on the journey, Mu Yin began to ask her two companions.