The scorching heat spread across her cheeks.
Li Cha felt her body heavy, as if weighed down by something.
She struggled to open her eyes, her vision blurry, catching only a glimpse of a simple bed canopy and an unfamiliar ceiling.
A sharp, piercing pain shot through her, making her gasp.
This wasn't the hospital ceiling she knew.
Nor was it the ruins of the explosion site before the accident.
*"You wretched girl, still pretending to be dead?"* A shrill voice suddenly pierced the air.
Li Cha's body trembled instinctively.
A lavishly dressed figure appeared by the bed, the heavy scent of powder assaulting her senses.
It was Madam Zhao, her legal mother.
The realization struck her abruptly.
Fragments of memories—not her own—flooded into her mind like a tidal wave.
The original owner of this body, Li Cha, the illegitimate daughter of the Minister of Rites' household.
Weak, timid, and endlessly bullied.
Just moments ago, she had been publicly slapped and punished with kneeling for "offending" a visiting noblewoman from the Marquis' estate.
*"Madam, Miss Cha… she might truly be badly hurt,"* a timid voice spoke up from the side.
It was Cui'er.
The original host's only maidservant, equally meek and bullied.
Madam Zhao's gaze was icy, laced with mockery.
*"Badly hurt? I think she's just itching for a beating."*
*"Thinking she can seduce nobility with that bit of looks—does she even know her place?"*
*"Don't think kneeling for a while will let her off the hook."*
Madam Zhao raised her voice, her tone growing harsher.
*"Go on, drag her up!"*
*"Throw her into the woodshed. Not a single drop of water unless I say so!"*
At the mention of the woodshed, Li Cha's mind flashed with the original host's memories—starvation, cold, despair.
The physical pain intertwined with the terror in those memories, choking her breath.
*"Madam, the woodshed is too cold, the young mistress—"* Cui'er tried to plead.
*"Silence!"* Madam Zhao snapped.
*"You lowly wench, do you want to join her there?"*
Cui'er immediately shut her mouth in fear.
Li Cha stared at Madam Zhao's twisted face and the gloating servants around her.
There was no law here.
No media.
Only raw oppression and rigid hierarchy.
She, a modern journalist—someone who had spent her life exposing injustice with her pen and camera—was now at the very bottom of this world.
A powerless illegitimate daughter, at the mercy of others.
*"Drag her away!"* Madam Zhao ordered impatiently.
Two stout maidservants stepped forward, grabbing Li Cha's arms.
Their grip was brutal, nearly crushing her bones.
Li Cha groaned in pain.
Too weak to resist, she was yanked off the bed and hauled away.
As she was dragged out, more of the original host's memories surfaced.
Minister Li, her father—a hypocrite who cared only for his political career.
Her elder sister, Li Rong—gentle on the surface, venomous beneath.
The other concubines and half-sisters—some self-preserving, others eager to kick her while she was down.
This household was nothing but a gilded cage.
The original host had lived here with no dignity, no freedom—not even the right to survive.
The cold floor of the woodshed pressed against her cheek.
Dampness seeped into her bones.
The maidservants threw her down with a *thud*, then left, slamming the door shut behind them.
Darkness and cold swallowed her whole.
Li Cha curled up on the ground, pain and despair weighing on her like never before.
She was a journalist.
She had seen society's darkness—but she had never *felt* it like this.
She remembered her own death—risking her life to expose a corruption scandal, only to die in an accident.
Resentment.
Fury.
Fear of this unfamiliar world.
But soon, her instincts as a reporter kicked in.
Complaining was useless.
Fear solved nothing.
She had to survive.
And the only way to survive was to change her circumstances.
The original host had suffered because she was weak.
Obedient.
She couldn't follow the same path.
She had a modern mind.
A journalist's sharp observation and analytical skills.
That was her only weapon.
Against someone like Madam Zhao, brute force was suicide.
Pleading would only make things worse.
She needed to find their weaknesses—
And strike back.
Hard.
The musty stench of the woodshed filled her nose.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Li Cha began systematically sorting through the original host's memories.
The household's power structure:
Madam Zhao controlled the inner household.
Minister Li blindly trusted her.
Li Rong, as the legitimate daughter, stood above all.
The original host was merely the daughter of a low-ranking concubine, long dead—with no one to rely on.
The interpersonal dynamics:
Who was loyal to Madam Zhao?
Who stayed neutral?
Who could be used?
The scattered fragments in the original host's mind—those seemingly insignificant observations—now formed a clear web of connections in her analytical mind.
She recalled Madam Zhao's actions:
Her oppression of other concubines and illegitimate daughters.
Her iron grip on household affairs.
And certain… *hidden* matters.
To the original host, these might have just been daily life.
But to her, they were clues.
She remembered Madam Zhao's doting on Li Rong—and Li Rong's arrogance.
Mother and daughter were the two biggest mountains in this household, crushing the original host underfoot.
And now, they were her most direct enemies.
Outside, the night wind howled.
Li Cha shivered from the cold—but inside, a fire burned.
She wouldn't live like the original host.
She would fight back.
In this ancient world, she would carve out her own survival.
Her own freedom.
Her own dignity.
She was a journalist.
And she would expose this world's hypocrisy and corruption—just as she had always done.
With great effort, she pushed herself up, leaning against the icy wall.
Her eyes gleamed in the darkness.
From now on, she was Li Cha.
But she would no longer be the bullied illegitimate daughter.
She would make those who had wronged her—
*Pay.*
Step by step.
Right now, she needed more information.
Reliable allies.
And a way to make her voice heard.
The cold of the woodshed couldn't extinguish the fire in her heart.
She took a deep breath.
The air reeked of mold—
But for the first time, she felt *alive.*