Chapter 1: A Pig Cage Submerged in the River, Enemies Bound by Fate

**The Capital of Eastern Wu**

In the twenty-eighth year of the Tianshun reign, deep winter had set in, the weather bitterly cold. White snowflakes danced through the sky. The docks of the Nu River in the capital were packed tight, three layers deep on the inside, three on the out. On the high platform of the dock stood four guards clad in matching cyan uniforms. At their feet lay two pig cages woven from bamboo strips.

But the cages held no pigs—two living, breathing people. Even from a distance, their clothing marked them as a man and a woman. The man’s eyes were closed, his breath faint. His gray cotton jacket was crisscrossed with whip marks; white cotton stuffing, stained with blood, protruded from the torn fabric. Against the falling white snow, the crimson blood was terrifyingly vivid.

Beside him lay the woman. A waterfall of black hair spilled across the snow. Her eyes were shut tight, long lashes like fine combs resting on her lids. A palm-sized face, skin pale as snow, clad in a white undergarment, she lay rigid in the cage.

Snow fluttered down, settling on the white-clad woman from time to time. The white of the snow, the white of deathly stillness, coupled with her motionless body—she looked for all the world like a lifeless sculpture.

"I heard the Seventh Miss of the Dingding Marquis's household was caught in adultery and is to be drowned in a pig cage," a middle-aged man in a gray cotton jacket said, hands tucked in his sleeves, gossiping away.

A man in a blue cotton robe chimed in: "Right, right, I heard that too. But the Seventh Miss is truly pitiable—orphaned at birth, and now, at such a young age, she meets this calamity."

"In my opinion, she got what she deserved. Young or not, a slut who doesn't keep to the way of a wife," the gray-jacketed man added.

"Slut? Old Six, have you smelled her? You say—where exactly is this Seventh Miss slutty?" A newcomer with shifty eyes slapped the man’s shoulder, laughing lecherously.

Eyes glued to the cage on the platform, he swallowed hard and went on with a lascivious grin: "What a waste, a beauty like her. I’ve seen the Seventh Miss on the street—looks like a celestial maiden, skin fair and dewy. Such a pity to drown her. Would be grand to take her home as a wife."

"Bullshit. Yin Wu, just you, a dissipated plaything, dreaming of the Seventh Miss? Do you know her background?" A plump woman standing nearby pointed at the man and scolded: "The Seventh Miss is the legitimate daughter of the Dingding Marquis's household! With your sorry look, you want a wife? You'd die laughing." She finished with an exaggerated guffaw.

Yin Wu, the target of her words, saw the crowd turn to look. His face cycled through green and white; humiliated and enraged, he let out a muffled roar: "Dead sow, just watch me kill you."

The small commotion in the crowd did nothing to dampen the onlookers' enthusiasm for the spectacle and their gossip.

Until a command rang out from the high platform: "Dunk them."

Everyone held their breath and looked up. Two *plops* echoed as water exploded in the Nu River. A collective gasp rose from the crowd. In this freezing cold, even standing there in padded jackets made one shiver—let alone being thrown into water rimmed with ice.

Mu Qi felt a bone-piercing chill in her daze, a suffocating sensation that snapped her mind awake. Though her eyes stayed closed, the feel of water was unmistakable.

Mu Qi was baffled. She had only transmigrated three days ago, but from what she knew of the Dingding Marquis's estate, there was no lake with such a turbulent current. Survival instinct made her open her eyes instantly. A sharp sting forced them shut again in a flash. Brief as it was, she had gained crucial intel: water, a cage. Someone wanted her dead.

A wave of ruthlessness surged through her. Fifteen years as a mercenary—she had only ever been the one sending others to their deaths. A mere pig cage would not be her end.

The cage tossed in the current. Mu Qi knew if she didn't break free now, she’d be swept into the undercurrents before she suffocated. She clawed at the bamboo strips with bare hands. Sharp splinters gashed her palms, but she felt no pain, snapping the bamboo rods with brute force.

Fortunately, the bamboo was dry and, in winter, brittle, lacking its usual toughness. She could snap it easily. Yet even so, carving an exit from a woven cage was no easy feat—especially while holding her breath, eyes shut, submerged.

Two minutes passed. Just as her air ran out, the cage finally yielded a gap eight inches long. Small, but enough for a frail fifteen-year-old girl. She pushed her head through, twisted her shoulders out, and then her whole body followed.

As a mercenary, swimming was a basic skill drilled from day one. For an elite like Mu Qi, her swimming rivaled any national athlete. Ten meters to shore against a fierce current? Child's play.

Of course, that referred to the mercenary Xiao Qi. Now her soul inhabited the body of the Dingding Marquis's daughter, Mu Qi. This body was inherently frail, and after the underwater struggle, she had barely made it to shore on sheer will. Now, she was utterly spent.

Mu Qi lay on the snowy bank, eyes closed, pondering why she was here. Her last memory stopped at morning—she had eaten breakfast and gone for a walk in the Li Courtyard. Though she knew nothing of the capital, she was certain this was not near the Marquis's estate.

As she rested, the crowd at the dock recovered from their shock and surged toward her. "Heavens! The Seventh Miss actually crawled out of the pig cage and swam back!" they cried, rushing her way.

The commotion was loud; Mu Qi had sensed it long ago. But she was deep in thought and ignored them. Her hand brushed the soft snow—confirming that in her memory, the weather had been overcast but definitely not snowing. And from her physical state, she judged she had been unconscious for a day and a night at most. Today was the second day—meaning she had fainted yesterday morning.

Suddenly, the figure of Mu Xiaoqing flashed through Mu Qi's mind. *Her. It had to be her. Yesterday, she was the only one who visited the Li Courtyard.* Though Mu Qi had been on guard against everyone in the manor since waking, she had only just transmigrated and wasn't adapted to everything—like this knockout incense. In the modern world, advanced toxins could kill invisibly; why resort to such low tricks?

*Mu Xiaoqing. Good. Very good. You stole my home, basked in my father's favor, and yet you're so vicious. Past debts—I'll settle them with you, one by one.*

"Is she dead?"

"Dogzi's wife, you're bold—why don't you go check?"

The onlookers had encircled Mu Qi, chattering away. A bold few stepped closer.

Before they could reach her, Mu Qi's eyes snapped open. She swept a glance at them—cold, lethal, brimming with killing intent. The look froze them in their tracks; legs trembling, they collapsed to their knees.

Mu Qi straightened, not sparing them a second glance. Her icy gaze swept the circle of onlookers. People shivered under that frigid stare, instinctively stepping back, clearing a path two zhang wide.

Heavy snow fell. White robes whiter than snow. Mu Qi walked toward the Dingding Marquis's estate in her soaked white undergarment. Wet hair clung to her body; the white fabric was glazed with ice, hugging her delicate, graceful curves.

Her hands were a bloody mess. Where she walked, drops of blood fell on the snow—glaring red, striking more fear into the onlookers. She looked less like the Marquis's eldest daughter and more like a white-clad asura from hell.

Cold. Bone-deep cold. Mu Qi was like a log without sensation, steps firm, bearing bewitching yet proud.

Drenched, yet not bedraggled. Ramrod straight spine, proud bones. A man in a distant carriage watched, a pang of pity rising in his heart. *Clearly just a little girl, yet she carries herself like a general who has slaughtered on the battlefield.* "Feng Ying, deliver a cloak," the man said, then broke into a violent cough, even as he unfastened his own cloak.

"Master, this..." Feng Ying took the cloak, face full of worry.

The man glared fiercely at Feng Ying, who vanished in a flash, treading on the crowd's shoulders and heads, appearing before Mu Qi in an instant. He thrust the cloak forward: "Here."

Feng Ying moved reluctantly. The Master never meddled in such trifles. The woman had some beauty, but not enough for the Master to disregard his health and give away his cloak.

Mu Qi radiated a chill colder than the weather. Despite the throng, no one dared approach. Suddenly blocked, she was annoyed—hand raised to strike—then saw the cloak offered.

A black sable cloak, fur glossy and even, clearly top-grade. Mu Qi knew her wet undergarment clung transparently; she did need coverage.

She extended her bleeding hand and took it without hesitation, draping it over herself. The cloak still held body heat, but that sliver of warmth could not thaw her frozen core.

Feng Ying had expected her to decline—this sable cloak was the Master's treasure, given to a strange woman; he had planned to snatch it back when she refused. But she took it as her due, leaving him dumbfounded.

Mu Qi stroked the sable fur, eyes lifting to the carriage not far off. Imposing yet pitch-black, curtains drawn tight, revealing nothing within. She stared straight at it, as if her gaze could pierce the heavy fabric and see the occupant.

After a moment, she called out clearly toward the carriage: "Many thanks, Young Master. Should you ever need this little woman's aid, just command." She did not give her name or lineage—she knew she was already a "celebrity" in the capital today.

Her words fell. A low male voice drifted from the carriage: "No need for thanks."