Exile

"Stop playing dead, get up!"

Drowsily, Shen Tang felt someone kick her.

Not only that, but the person was also cursing.

[Damn it, who kicked me?]

She curled up her legs in pain and weakly opened her eyes.

The world before her seemed to have had a thin veil of deception removed, transforming from a frosted texture to high-definition tempered glass.

[What happened?]

The almost explosive pain made her gasp, and she stared blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings.

[Weren't we drinking heavily with someone last night?]

It seemed like towards the end of the drinking session, her editor called to rush her for the manuscript. She had to hold back her drunkenness to pick up her paintbrush...

She couldn't recall anything more.

But she was certain it shouldn't be like this!

Shen Tang secretly pinched herself hard until the clear, stinging pain from that spot shattered her lingering hope.

Seeing her own unfamiliar hands, four words immediately popped into her mind--

She had transmigrated!

Along with the meaning of "transmigration."

[I just don't know if I drank myself to death or died from staying up late to rush the manuscript.]

The more she thought about it, the more her head hurt, as if a little person was constantly hammering inside her skull. The pain made Shen Tang stop abruptly.

"Hurry up and eat. You can hit the road after you're done."

As she was holding her head, trying to ease the throbbing pain, a tall figure blocked the sunlight above her.

The person wore straw sandals stained with dark brown mud. They casually tossed a palm-sized, charred, rough-surfaced flatbread towards her. The flatbread landed on the muddy ground outside her skirt. Without caring if Shen Tang would eat the muddy flatbread, they proceeded to hand one to the next person.

The next second, a hand darted out like lightning beside her.

It snatched the flatbread and retracted.

Shen Tang was a beat too slow and looked over suspiciously.

The one who snatched the flatbread was a disheveled woman, stuffing the bread into her mouth with both hands as if she were a starving ghost reincarnated.

Fearing Shen Tang would snatch it back, she didn't even brush off the mud on the flatbread, and soon devoured the entire small flatbread. Afterward, she even sucked on her fingers as if still unsatisfied.

Shen Tang: "..."

She didn't know how many days it had been since this person last cleaned herself. Her hair, which should have been dark and shiny, was greasy and matted. Upon closer inspection, the exposed part of her scalp was caked with a layer of yellowish, sticky grime. A faint, strange, fishy odor emanated from her—somewhat like the juice squeezed from a mixture of stale socks that had been left for three to five weeks and narcissus flowers. The only thing worth mentioning was her beautiful features, which even the dirt couldn't completely conceal.

Shen Tang, with her good temper, tried to reason with her, "Miss, that's my flatbread."

The woman, however, acted as if she were deaf, ignoring Shen Tang completely and smacking her lips, savoring the taste of the flatbread.

Shen Tang then noticed that the knuckles and other parts of the woman's hands that had sucked on the bread were several shades lighter than the rest. Her throat involuntarily convulsed.

She didn't have germophobia, but this visual shock at such close proximity caused an instinctive physiological discomfort.

Catching Shen Tang's change in expression from the corner of her eye, the woman worried this fool might go crazy and hit her, so she shifted her backside in the opposite direction.

Her movement, however, caused a tugging sensation on Shen Tang.

She looked down at the source of the tugging around her waist—it was an extremely thick hemp rope. This rope was like a leash, tying her body, the woman, and other disheveled women of various ages together.

She raised her head and looked around. As far as her eyes could see, there were only old, weak, women and children, all wearing coarse hemp prisoner uniforms, their faces etched with fatigue. Both men and women were present.

About a dozen young and strong individuals wore more uniform clothing. They had sabers at their waists, some standing guard, others watching the prisoners.

Their gazes occasionally lingered on the well-figured young female prisoners.

This, this—

Was a whole family who committed a crime and were being taken to the execution ground to have their household registrations canceled?

Or perhaps they were on their way to exile.

The difference was merely whether they would die sooner or later.

[Gurgle gurgle gurgle]

Her famished stomach began to rumble inappropriately, the sound so loud that others could hear it.

Shen Tang raised her hand to cover her slightly aching stomach. Hunger made her salivate continuously.

The more she swallowed, the more obvious the hunger became, to the point where it was impossible to ignore.

Shen Tang frowned, deciding to distract herself from the torment of hunger. Within her line of sight, a prisoner ate too quickly, and combined with the dry flatbread, he choked. He kept pounding his chest, trying to dislodge the flatbread stuck in his throat, his face gradually turning blue.

Everyone else seemed unfazed.

No one came forward to pat his back or offer him water.

He struggled, kicking his legs, trying to crawl towards the official-looking person. He stretched out his right hand with all his might to ask for help, but until he took his last breath, his right hand fell limply. The official showed no intention of saving him. After kicking him twice and realizing the man was truly dead, he muttered, "Bad luck!"

drew the dagger from her waist, bent down, and cut off the right side of the man's skin near his ear, casually tossing it into a dirty cloth bag.

Shen Tang: "..."

"Time to hit the road!"

"Hurry up!"

"Get up, don't make me whip you!"

The prisoners were fitted with heavy shackles again.

The women's shackles were smaller, weighing about thirty-five pounds, while the men's were more than a size larger, weighing at least fifty, if not eighty.

The dozen or so strong youths in uniform urged them on, kicking any prisoner who couldn't react fast enough. If kicking didn't work, they resorted to the whip, which was wielded with great force. One lash would leave a bloody gash as wide as a finger, a horrifying sight.

Shen Tang walked with her head bowed, trying to recall any memories of this body.

The result was unfortunate.

Not only did she not get the usual perks of a transmigration, lacking the original body's memories, but she had also been completely robbed – besides knowing her name was Shen Tang, that she had a pen name "You Li," made a living by drawing, and feared her editor chasing her for drafts, all other memories were a blur!!!

She stealthily glanced at the prisoners and the guards, sighing, "[What rotten luck, this is a hellish start, isn't it?]"

Truly, bad luck's mother had opened the door for bad luck, and bad luck had come home to roost!

Regardless of the starting situation, her life was the most important thing.

Should she choose to escape midway?

Or should she follow the group to their destination and look for an opportunity to escape later?

At present, neither option seemed optimistic.

They marched under the scorching sun, and several prisoners fainted along the way. Only when the evening sky was painted with sunset hues were they allowed to rest for the night.

The guards gathered to build a fire, taking dried meat from their packs to cook in a clay pot, adding a pinch of salt to make a pot of meat soup.

Shen Tang reacted quickly this time, managing to keep her bun.

She sat down on the ground, slowly chewing the hard, cold bun, softening it with saliva before swallowing. Her attention was focused on the guards who were talking in low voices. Although their idle chatter was fragmented, she could still piece together some information.

These prisoners were all from one family.

They were surnamed Gong, and not a single member, from the elders to the children, or even the servants and maids, had escaped capture.

They were divided into three groups and escorted to their destination in batches.

The men were sent to the frontier to serve as laborers, while the women were sent to the Xiaocheng brothel.

The group Shen Tang was in was the second batch, consisting mostly of the Gong family's female relatives and maids. Among them were the highest-ranking old madam, several young wives in their prime, beautiful concubines and mistresses, children of varying ages, and the rest were servants and maids.

She estimated that this body she now inhabited belonged to either a maid or a child.

She pinched her bone age, estimating it to be around eleven or twelve.

Men were branded on the face, and women were tattooed behind the ear.

If a prisoner died en route, their branded facial skin or ears would be cut off as proof of their demise.

She raised her hand to her ear and indeed felt a scabbed-over blood clot behind her left ear.

Shen Tang: "...Damn it!"

As a new book begins, I'm starting to ask for recommendation tickets again after a long time.

7.15, setting off again.