The reception hall of the Hu family estate was modest to the point of embarrassment. The carpets were worn, the furniture sparse, and even the porcelain vessels bore visible cracks.
Seated in the main chair was Xian Zong, Baron of the Hu family. A man in his fifties, yet he looked ten years older. His eyes were unfocused, his back slightly bent.
"Ling, my daughter… I'm glad to see that you've recovered," he said, his voice almost devoid of warmth.
"Thank you, Father. Heaven has granted me a second life."
Two women entered the hall. The first was in her forties, dressed in relatively fine silk, her hair neatly arranged, her narrow eyes sharp as a serpent's. Madam Wang, the stepmother.
The second… was Xian Mei.
Her skin was pale as porcelain, her eyes large, her lips soft and rosy. Truly beautiful. Yet when she looked at Xian Ling, Xian Ling caught a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth—a flash of disappointment in her eyes.
"Younger Sister! You've recovered! Thank heavens." Xian Mei stepped forward gracefully and took Xian Ling's hand. "I was so worried about you."
Her hand was cold.
"Thank you for your concern, Elder Sister. But I wonder… do you remember exactly how I fell? My memory is still rather hazy."
Xian Mei's hand stiffened slightly. "You were trying to catch a butterfly… you got too close to the edge… I tried to grab you, but you fell so quickly."
"A butterfly… in the eleventh month?" Xian Ling said calmly. "The weather is far too cold for butterflies, isn't it?"
A brief silence followed.
"Perhaps it was a sparrow," Madam Wang interjected quickly. "The important thing is that you're safe now, Ling. But you must be more careful in the future. Incidents like this… can easily stir up improper rumors."
The warning was clear: stay silent, or your reputation will be ruined.
After the uncomfortable meeting, Xian Ling returned to her modest room. It was small and sparsely furnished—a simple bed, a wardrobe, a narrow desk. Even the windows did not close properly, allowing the cold to seep in.
"Yuan Yuan, what is our financial situation exactly?"
The maid looked at her in surprise. "Miss… you never used to concern yourself with such matters…"
"I do now."
Xian Ling learned the bitter truth:
The Hu family had held the title of baron for four generations, yet their annual income did not exceed five hundred taels of silver—barely the salary of a minor official.
Most of that income came from a small rice-producing estate.
Madam Wang controlled the household finances, spending lavishly on herself and her daughter while neglecting Xian Ling.
Creditors were knocking on the door with increasing frequency.
"And what about the family's reputation?"
Yuan Yuan hesitated. "At present… after the incident… some people say the young miss is… mentally unstable. That she may try to take her own life again."
An attack on two fronts: finances and reputation.
That night, as Xian Ling lay on her cold bed, she began to plan. Her knowledge as a lawyer in the modern world was nearly useless here. But her mindset—her ability to analyze, her understanding of human motives—these could become her weapons.
She sifted through the original Xian Ling's memories. Her education had been shallow: basic reading and writing, a little poetry, etiquette. No history, no politics, no economics. She had been nothing more than a doll waiting for a suitable marriage to improve the family's standing.
But the new Xian Ling would not be a doll.