Chapter 1: Don’t Be Afraid, Sister Will Take Care of You
April in Shengjing.
The sky was overcast with heavy clouds, and the air was misty. Despite the unpleasant weather, a crowd gathered at the city gates, bustling with energy as if waiting for something.
Among the commoners stood several carriages, likely belonging to noble families or high-ranking officials. They had come but preferred not to show their faces.
As the time dragged on, the crowd grew restless. People murmured in hushed tones, their whispers filling the air.
“Sigh… A once-great nobel, a dignified Prime minister, and this is how it ends,” someone in the crowd lamented.
“What use is being a great minister? With this emperor, even immortals can’t escape their fate…”
“Watch your tongue! Do you want to die?”
Suddenly, someone called out, “Minister Lin and Lord Lin are here!”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it silenced the crowd instantly.
Everyone turned toward the city gates. A crude prison cart came into view, its wheels creaking as it rolled forward.
Inside sat an elderly man in prison garb, his belt neatly tied despite his circumstances.
The old man, burdened by wooden stocks and with blood staining his back, sat upright in the cart. His demeanor was calm, without a trace of fear.
This air of dignity, unshaken by the world, commanded respect.
Behind him was another prison cart. The man inside, covered in blood, was barely recognizable. He lay motionless, his life hanging by a thread.
“Poor Lord Lin, the Deputy Minister of Justice, reduced to this for angering the emperor,” someone whispered.
“I heard he strongly advised the emperor to abolish torture. Not only did the emperor refuse, but he also punished him. They’re exiling him 3,000 li away…”
Note: 1 li (里) is about 0.5 km. Exile to such a distance was a severe punishment, cutting off individuals from family and resources.
The crowd sighed collectively.
But despite their pity, the lives of Shengjing’s great figures were beyond their concern. For most, it was just a spectacle to watch.
The two prison carts rolled slowly through the crowd, heading southwest out of Shengjing.
—
Meanwhile, in a corner by the city gate, someone was in a panic.
“Miss! Miss, wake up!” cried a maidservant named Ah-miao, her face flushed with worry as she shook a young woman leaning against the city wall.
The young woman’s name was Lin Yihuan. Her eyes were tightly shut, and a faint red mark could be seen on her philtrum, as if someone had pinched her.
(philtrum : the narrow area of skin between your top lip and the bottom of your nose that curves in slightly)
Still unconscious, she leaned weakly against the wall. Despite wearing coarse cloth garments, her delicate beauty brought an unexpected charm to the rough, weathered surface of the wall.
“Should we try hitting her?” a childlike voice piped up from behind Ah-miao.
Ah-miao, startled, turned around. “H-Hit the miss?”
“Mm…” The speaker was a six-year-old boy who stood nearby, frowning slightly as he directed Ah-miao like a little adult.
Seeing no other option, Ah-miao steeled herself. If the miss didn’t wake up now, she might never get to see her father and brother again!
With determination, Ah-miao slapped Yihuan’s left cheek.
“Smack!”
Yihuan’s head turned sharply to the side, a lock of her hair falling loose in disarray, making her look both tragic and ethereal.
Under their watchful gazes, she slowly opened her eyes.
—
Damn, that hurt.
A red handprint appeared on her pale cheek. Instinctively, she touched her face, looking dazedly at the two people before her.
Standing in front of her was the girl who had slapped her. She appeared to be around sixteen or seventeen, with twin buns atop her head. She wore the attire of an ancient maidservant and had a slightly plump yet endearingly naive demeanor. Her narrow eyes were filled with worry.
Next to her stood a young boy with long hair tied up like a traditional noble child.
Yihuan’s heart sank. Could it be? Had she time-traveled?
T/Note: The reference to long hair and traditional hairstyles indicates the setting is in a historical or fantasy-inspired period, contrasting sharply with Yihuan’s modern memories.
—
Before her time-travel, Yihuan had been a talented pastry chef. By her early twenties, she had secured a position at a Michelin five-star restaurant to learn dessert-making.
She apprenticed under a top-tier pastry chef, serving state banquets and celebrity clientele. But after two years, she quit without hesitation.
Working for others could never compare to owning her own shop.
After months of preparation, she was ready to open her dessert shop. On the eve of its grand opening, too excited to sleep, she passed the time by reading an online novel. Who knew when she fell asleep?
And then—she woke up to a slap.
—
Yihuan stared wide-eyed at Ah-miao. Suddenly, memories of this body’s previous life flooded her mind. Oh, this was her maid, loyal and strong as an ox.
No wonder she slapped so hard!
“Miss, you’re finally awake!” Ah-miao exclaimed with relief, though she looked slightly regretful. “Does your face hurt?”
Yihuan pressed her cheek. “What do you think?”
“Sister, forget about your face for now! Let’s hurry to see Father and Brother before they leave!” the boy reminded urgently.
He was Lin Yiran, Yihuan’s younger brother, the youngest son of Minister Lin. Handsome and intelligent, his delicate features made him look particularly clever.
Grabbing Yihuan’s hand, he pulled her toward the city gate.
The word “sister” made Yihuan’s head buzz. She now fully inherited the original body’s memories.
Her father and brother were demoted and exiled, and she and her younger brother were reduced to commoners. From now on, they would have to fend for themselves in a chaotic and uncertain world.
As they ran, Yihuan heard an ethereal voice: “Since you’re here, make the best of it. Have fun.”
Yihuan muttered internally: Have fun, my ass.
But she quickly accepted reality and asked, “Where are they now?”
No one answered.
The crowd ahead was still dense, blocking their view of the prison carts.
Yihuan stood on tiptoes and managed to glimpse the two carts moving slowly into the distance.
“Big Sister! I want to see them too!” Yiran cried, his voice trembling.
Hearing this, Yihuan bent down and picked him up with great effort.
Clinging to her neck, Yiran finally saw their father and brother disappearing into the distance. But he was still a six-year-old child. His lips quivered, and he burst into tears.
Ah-miao, squeezed by the crowd behind them, became anxious as she called out, “Miss, be careful!”
The three of them struggled to remain standing amidst the bustling, shoving crowd. Their precarious footing seemed to symbolize their uncertain and perilous future.
Only when Minister Lin and Lord Lin’s prison carts disappeared from sight and the onlookers began to disperse did they finally manage to regroup.
Yihuan looked at her younger brother, his face streaked with tears, and felt a pang of sorrow.
Ah-miao also appeared heavy-hearted. She said, “Miss… now that the minister’s residence has been seized, we have no home to return to. What is your plan?”
Yihuan froze for a moment before replying, “I’ll need to think about it.”
At that moment, Yiran tugged on her sleeve and said, “Sister… I’m hungry.”
He knew, however, that they were penniless. They didn’t know when or where their next meal would come from. His sister must have fainted earlier because of hunger.
Yihuan seemed to understand his worries. She reached out to pat the little bun-shaped hairstyle atop his head and said softly, “Don’t worry, Sister will take care of you.”
Ah-miao, however, was concerned.
The miss had always been a noble lady, skilled in qin, qi, shu, hua—playing the lute, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Her talent on the pipa was particularly outstanding, earning her the title of a national virtuoso.
But she had never done manual labor, not even touched spring water with her fingers. Now, with no protection from the minister’s household, how could she possibly support the young master?
A sudden thought crossed Ah-miao’s mind. Hesitantly, she turned to Yihuan and said, “Miss! You’re not thinking of selling… selling…”
Yihuan frowned in confusion. “Selling what, Selling yourself?”
Translator’s Note:- Hello, Dear Readers, I am back with another new novel, which consists of lots of food and poor to rich genre, i.e. Starting from scratch and achieving prosperity through culinary talent. I will be including lots of food pictures and videos, just like my other novels. I hope you all will love it. Please let me know your views through comments.
Thank you<3
