Chapter 34: New Place

I woke to the dull throb of pain.

My head was pounding. My ankle screamed with every twitch. My limbs felt like they'd been wrung out, dried, and forgotten under the sun.

I blinked slowly.

Rough straw pricked my skin beneath a thin blanket. The scent of smoke, damp earth, and crushed herbs filled the air, mingling with the faint crackle of a fire.

Somewhere close, there was movement.

I turned my head—every muscle protested—and saw an old woman sitting beside me, her hands deftly working through a pile of drying herbs. Her fingers were gnarled but graceful, moving with quiet, practiced ease. She didn't look startled by my awakening. She looked like she'd been waiting.

"Where… where am I?" I croaked, my throat raw and dry.

"You're in Yunxiang Village," she said gently, without pausing in her work. "Daqi."

"Daqi?" I echoed, the word slamming into me like cold water.

Panic surged through me. Yufei.

She pushed me.

Memories snapped back in a flood—the roar of the river, the strike to my head, the moment everything went black. And now… I was in another kingdom. Far from the palace. From Ming Yu. From Wei Wuxian.

I forced myself upright, every movement stiff and sluggish. The room was small, the walls wooden and worn. A thatched roof overhead, a fire crackling low in the corner. Herbs hung from the rafters in neat bundles, their scent sharp and earthy. The only furniture: a wooden table, two chairs, and the straw bed I was sprawled on.

The woman finally looked up, her eyes kind but sharp. "What's your name, child?"

"Li Mei Lin," I rasped. "You can call me Mei Lin."

She nodded. "Well then, Miss Mei Lin. Judging by those silk sleeves and the embroidery on your hem, you're no village girl. How did someone like you end up in the river?"

I hesitated. How do you explain that you were pushed into a river by a jealous palace snake while possibly being the reincarnation of a goddess?

Before I could come up with a delicate version of the truth, the door creaked open.

A girl stepped in, looking around early 20s, her cheeks smudged with dirt, hair pulled back in a loose braid. Despite the grime and sweat, she was striking—sharp-eyed and confident, like someone used to commanding attention without asking for it.

The old woman straightened with a small smile. "This is my granddaughter, Yuling."

Yuling offered me a gentle smile, her presence as comforting as the herbal-scented air around us. "I'm glad you're awake," she said, her voice as soft as her grandmother's but with a quiet strength beneath it. "You gave us quite a scare."

"I… I don't even know how to thank you," I stammered, still trying to wrap my mind around where I was, how I got here, and what the hell Yufei's problem was.

Yuling shook her head with a smile. "No need for thanks," she said easily, her eyes warm and sincere. "We just did what anyone would do."

I cleared my throat. "How can I get back to the city?"

They exchanged a look—the kind of look that told me I wasn't going to like the answer.

Granny Gao sighed. "Yunxiang is tucked deep in the forest foothills. The nearest city, much less the Daqi Palace, is at least a three-day walk."

Yuling nodded. "And you're not in shape to travel that far right now. You need rest."

My heart dropped, heavy in my chest. Three days.

"Is there someone—anyone—who could send a message ahead?" I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

Yuling hesitated. "The merchant who brings supplies could deliver something, but… he only comes every two days. And he left this morning."

Of course he did.

I closed my eyes, the weight of it all sinking in. "Two days," I whispered. Every hour I spent out here was another hour no one knew I was missing. Another hour Yufei might twist the story.

Still, I needed to be smart. Jian Yi might be my best chance—he had power in Daqi, and he was sharp enough to handle this discreetly. But if the wrong person got hold of the wrong letter, it could backfire horribly.

I decided to play it safe.

"I'm from the Daqi Palace," I told them carefully. "I need to send a letter to Prince Jian Yi. It's urgent, but… private."

Granny Gao didn't pry. She simply nodded and assured me the message could be delivered once the merchant returned.

When I finally sat down to write the letter, I kept it short and vague—just enough to let Jian Yi know I was alive and to have him alert Ming Yu immediately. I left out everything else. The less said, the better.

Over the next day, I learned more about Yuling.

Her parents had passed away years ago, leaving her to live alone with Granny Gao. Every morning, she trekked into the woods to gather herbs, which she sorted and dried with meticulous care. The merchant who came every other day bought them in bundles, keeping her small household afloat.

She was also a hunter—an impressive one. She brought back rabbits and game birds like it was second nature. I watched her lift a full bucket of water with one hand like it weighed nothing. Her frame wasn't much bigger than mine, but she has solid muscle from a life of survival.

When I commented on it, half in awe and half in self-deprecation, she laughed.

"You get strong when you don't have anyone else to lift things for you."

I nodded, trying not to look completely useless as I attempted to peel a root and nearly sliced my thumb instead.

Compared to palace life—and my modern life before all this—my daily activities had mostly involved phone scrolling, bandages and heavier sarcasm. Lifting? Only when I moved suitcases.

Life here was different. Real. Raw. Everything required effort.

Determined not to be dead weight, I offered to help wherever I could. Unfortunately, "help" turned out to mean "slightly slow down every task Yuling tried to complete."

I struggled with carrying buckets, tripped twice trying to hang herbs, and nearly dropped a basket of eggs. It was humbling.

Okay—humbling was the polite word. Embarrassing was the honest one.

The small village of Yunxiang felt like a different world entirely.

Granny Gao and Yuling's home was a humble hut built of weathered wooden planks, its thatched roof sloping low like it was bowing to the mountain air. Inside, everything was simple, practical—no silk cushions or gold inlays, just a fire pit nestled in the center of the room, casting a gentle warmth that crackled against the silence.

Bundles of herbs hung from the rafters, infusing the space with the earthy scents of dried lavender, mugwort, and something vaguely bitter I still hadn't identified. The furniture was spare—just a table, a few stools, and the straw bed where I'd first opened my eyes.

Every morning, Yuling would rise before the sun and disappear into the dense forest, a basket slung over her shoulder and a short blade strapped to her hip. She returned before noon, her arms full of leaves, roots, and flowering stems—each plant sorted with sharp eyes and even sharper instinct.

In the afternoons, she moved like someone who didn't have time to waste. She spread herbs out to dry on woven mats, crushed seeds into powder with a stone mortar, and skinned rabbits with the kind of quiet precision that made it clear this wasn't hobby work.

It was survival.

One afternoon, I watched her make swift work of a hare she'd caught. Her hands moved cleanly, without hesitation.

"Where did you learn all this?" I asked, trying not to sound like a wide-eyed tourist.

She glanced up, her tone steady. "I learned it myself. It's been just Granny Gao and me for a while now. You learn fast when there's no one else to do it for you."

I swallowed hard. Her words weren't self-pitying—they were just… true.

Meanwhile, I was over here turning minor tasks into disasters.

When I tried helping with the herbs, I confused two that looked identical but apparently had very different purposes—one cured fevers, the other caused diarrhea. I volunteered to fetch water, but the buckets slipped halfway back and soaked my shoes instead of filling our storage pot.

Yuling never laughed.

"Don't worry," she said with an encouraging smile. "It takes time to learn these things."

Her kindness made it worse somehow. It was like failing in front of someone you respected—twice as humbling.

In the palace, I'd never had to carry anything heavier than a teapot. In the modern world, it wasn't much different. I knew how to download apps, organize spreadsheets, and order takeout with surgical precision—but I couldn't build a fire or lift a bucket without bruising my pride.

Still, my ankle had healed enough to walk, so when I asked to join her in the forest the next day, Yuling agreed.

The forest surrounding Yunxiang was lush and alive. Towering trees formed a canopy that filtered the sun into golden threads. Ferns blanketed the ground, and the path we followed twisted through mossy rocks and patches of wildflowers. Birds called out overhead. Somewhere deeper in the woods, water rushed over stone.

I was finally starting to understand why she came here every day—not just for the herbs, but for the silence, the breathing space.

We were crouched beside a patch of wild ginger when I felt her freeze beside me.

"Don't move," Yuling whispered.

The hair on my arms stood up.

I slowly turned my head—and there it was. A wild boar, just meters away. Massive and low to the ground, its coarse, muddy fur bristled with tension. Beady eyes locked on us with a mixture of suspicion and challenge. Its tusks caught a glint of sunlight as it snorted, pawing the earth.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Nope. Nope. Nope.

Yuling's hand slid toward her knife with the calm of someone who'd faced worse. She didn't breathe, didn't blink.

As I instinctively backed away, my foot landed squarely on a dry branch.

Crack.

The boar's ears twitched—and then it charged.

Before I could scream, Yuling moved.

In one fluid motion, she leapt into a backflip, landing lightly on her feet as her hand whipped forward. Her knife flew through the air in a perfect arc, embedding itself deep into the boar's shoulder.

I stood there, mouth hanging open. Wait—she's a cultivator?!

The boar didn't stop. Injured but enraged, it stumbled forward, barreling straight toward me. I scrambled backward, heart pounding—until the ground disappeared beneath my feet.

Oh, come on!

I realized too late that I'd backed right off a cliff.

Gravity did its thing.

Yuling lunged and grabbed my wrist, but the force of the fall pulled her with me. We tumbled into the pool below with a splash that sent birds scattering from the trees.

Cold water engulfed me. Again?! Was I cursed to fall into rivers in every chapter of my life?

I broke the surface, sputtering and soaked. "Seriously?" I muttered, brushing water out of my eyes as I swam to shore.

Then I heard it—frantic splashing behind me.

I turned just in time to see Yuling struggling. Her arms flailed wildly, then disappeared beneath the surface.

My heart stopped. She couldn't swim.

I didn't hesitate. I dove back in, water closing over my head as I swam toward the spot she vanished. My hands found her arm and I hauled her up, dragging her back toward the shore with every ounce of strength I had.

By the time we reached land, she was limp and unresponsive, her lips slightly blue.

Panic clawed at my chest. No. No, no, no!

I rolled her onto her back and checked her pulse—nothing. My training kicked in. I leaned over her, tilted her head, and started chest compressions. "Come on, come on…"

I blew air into her lungs. Again. Again.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes and coughed violently and shoved me back, gasping for breath. I stumbled backward, soaked and shaking, but flooded with relief.

Then she sat up, wide-eyed and furious. "What—what are you doing?!"

"Saving your life!" I snapped, still panting. "You weren't breathing!"

"You… you kissed me!" she hissed, her face turning a deep crimson.

My jaw dropped. "Wait, what—no! That wasn't a kiss! That was—CPR! It's… it's a healing technique!"

Oh gods, she thinks I made a move on her. This is going great.

"I swear," I added quickly, trying to sound calm and definitely failing, "I didn't take advantage of you. I'm a healer from the palace. My methods are just… different. Modern. Medical. That wasn't—ugh."

Yuling looked mortified. Her face could've boiled tea.

I scratched the back of my head, dripping water everywhere. "Anyway… you okay?"

She coughed once more, then nodded stiffly. "I'm fine," she muttered. "I just… can't swim well."

I nodded. "Well, don't worry. Apparently, falling into water is my specialty. Saving people from it might be too."

Yuling glanced away. "Thank you… for saving me."

I gave her a sheepish grin. "Anytime."

I glanced sideways at Yuling as we walked, the soaked hem of my robe sticking to my ankles. "So… are you a cultivator?"

She froze mid-step.

Her face went pale. Then, without a word, she dropped to her knees on the mossy path.

"Please don't tell anyone," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Not even my grandmother knows. I've been practicing in secret. I only used it earlier because… well, it was either that or let us both get hurt by a boar."

I blinked, caught off guard by her sudden humility. Then I smiled, soft but steady. "Hey, it's okay. Your secret's safe with me."

Relief flickered across her features.

I hesitated for a beat, then asked, "Why haven't you trained officially? There's a whole system in Daqi for cultivating, right?"

Her expression darkened. "I tried. I went to the palace once… hoping to join a military post. But they didn't want me as a soldier." She scoffed, bitter. "They wanted me as a Concubine."

My stomach sank.

"So I ran," she continued quietly. "Fleeing the palace is a death sentence, so I kept moving until I ended up here and met Granny."

She looked at me, her gaze sharp. "But when I saw your robes... I knew right away. You're from Luyang. Daqi's formal wear looks nothing like that."

Busted.

My heart stuttered. Crap, crap, crap—she figured it out that fast?

I cleared my throat, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "I… I apologize for not saying it sooner. You're right. I'm Prince Wei's royal consort. I was pushed into the river and… well, ended up here."

Her eyes widened, and she immediately dropped to her knees again, bowing so fast I barely had time to stop her.

"Please," I said quickly, reaching for her arm. "Get up. I'm still Mei Lin. Don't treat me any differently."

She straightened, looking at me with something between reverence and awe.

"It must be fate," she murmured, her voice soft. "That brought you here."

I gave her a lopsided smile. "Fate… or Yufei. Either way, I'm glad you caught that boar."

She grinned back, the tension between us easing just a bit—though her eyes still held a shimmer of something new.