When Ji Ping’an coughed, Dongchun assumed her throat was uncomfortable and quickly poured her a cup of tea. After she finished drinking, Dongchun opened a redwood box and picked out a candied loquat for her.

  Ji Ping’an asked, “You really don’t seem to like the Song family?”

  Dongchun pouted. “The Songs are a noble cn, prestigious and proud. I’m just a little maid—how could I dare be dissatisfied? It’s just… they really look down on people. They keep calling you ‘Little Cousin’ with their mouths, but their actions are too casual. According to proper etiquette, if one wants to approach a carriage, especially when a young dy is inside, they should dismount first. If there’s a servant present, they should inform them first. If no servant is avaible, they should gently knock on the window and speak. Even Uncle Mu earlier got off his horse, greeted the man properly, gave a tip, then asked his question. But that Second Young Master and Third Miss of the Song family—aren’t they supposed to be noble children of Bianjing? Are they not even as courteous as us merchants from Jinling? I’ve never been to Bianjing, but even I know—under the Emperor’s feet, the rules there can only be stricter than ours, not looser.”

  So that’s what this was about.

  Ji Ping’an’s head was starting to ache again.

  She wasn’t a person from this novel. She had skimmed the book and barely remembered the plot. The original Ji Ping’an was just a background NPC, and she herself had no ingrained awareness of the complex etiquette or how to dispy it naturally.

  Dongchun continued, “Just now when Second Young Master and Third Miss acted rudely, you didn’t react—just sat there calmly. They must think you’re not someone to be trifled with.”

  Ji Ping’an: “…”

  Great.

  She didn’t even have the instincts or reflexes to know what gestures or responses were expected in those moments.

  And this was just a first meeting. If she actually entered the Minister’s estate… who knows how many more missteps she’d make?

  In her mind, Ji Ping’an could already see the words crude, rude, ill-mannered, without propriety etched in bold across her forehead.

  “Dongchun,” Ji Ping’an said, taking Dongchun’s hand, “we’ve come a long way and know little about the Song family. Judging from Cousin Huaiyu and Cousin Zhiyin’s behavior, it probably won’t be a simple pce to stay. Father left behind a fortune when he passed—that’s both a blessing and a curse. Before we can figure out how the Song family truly feels about us, we must keep a low profile, be cautious, and protect ourselves.”

  Dongchun understood at once: “I’ll do whatever Miss says.”

  Ji Ping’an said, “Dongchun, remember this—your Miss has been sickly since childhood. She’s seen countless doctors, but none have cured her. She can’t be overworked or overly stressed, or else—one misstep, and it could be goodbye forever.”

  Dongchun’s eyes lit up like candles suddenly ignited: “Miss, you’re brilliant!”

  Ji Ping’an: “…” What idea has this girl run off with this time?

  The carriage continued at a steady pace toward Bianjing.

  Song Zhiyin was riding half a horse-length behind Song Huaiyu.

  She turned and looked again at the carriage following five paces behind, then couldn’t help but excim, “Second Brother, the paper on that carriage ntern looks like it’s made from the ‘ten-color paper’ of Yizhou in Sichuan. That paper is incredibly rare! I heard that the daughter of Minister Wu only got a single sheet st time, and it was just light blue. She treated it like a treasure, only used it for copying poems, made it st half a year, and even saved a few sheets for safekeeping.”

  Song Huaiyu, intrigued, also turned back to gnce at the seemingly ordinary ntern. It was still daylight, and the ntern wasn’t lit, hanging on a modest carriage with nothing striking about it.

  Noticing his expression, Song Zhiyin said, “It may look ordinary now, but once it’s lit at night, you’ll see how special the paper is—bright but not slippery, thin yet durable. And while I was talking to Little Cousin just now…”

  She pouted. “Little Cousin is a young dy, and you probably didn’t feel right peeking inside, but I got a good look. There are three luminous pearls, each the size of a baby’s fist, hanging from the roof inside the carriage. Probably for lighting at night. The floor is covered in a thick carpet, the sleeping couch has a thin silk quilt, and there’s a small redwood table with a cedon ewer on top—plum-green in color. Even the dish holding the candied fruit was made of Ge kiln porcein. If Ru kiln weren’t exclusive to the court, I bet Little Cousin would already be using that.”

  “The only thing low-key in that whole carriage is probably Little Cousin herself. Since Uncle Ji just passed, she’s still in mourning—most likely too heartbroken to dress up. She only wore a single jade hairpin in her hair, not even a pair of earrings. But that jade was Lantian jade. A few years back, I tried to order a Lantian jade hairpin myself, waited in line for three months, and still didn’t get one.”

  Song Huaiyu gnced again at the seemingly pin carriage.

  Dusk was falling, and the golden rays of sunset cast a glow across the carriage, as though gilding it in light.

  His brows furrowed. “When the merchants thrive, but grain is cking, the people suffer. Excessive commerce weakens agriculture; the people grow poor while profits drain the nation. And that… spells danger for the state.”

  —

  Ever since transmigrating, Ji Ping’an had been stuck inside this carriage. Even though there was a cushion on the seat, her backside was completely numb.

  But the carriage was too cramped to stretch out, so she could only shift her weight and find a slightly better sitting position.

  Seeing that they were almost at Bianjing, Ji Ping’an lifted the curtain just a sliver and peeked outside.

  In her past life, she was just an ordinary intern doctor in Beijing. She’d wake up around six, cram herself into a subway for work, and come home after dark. That was on days she wasn’t on call—on duty days, she stayed up all night.

  She had chosen a university in Beijing and stayed there to work because she’d wanted to experience the glory and wealth of a big city.

  But reality turned out to be a cycle of dorm–hospital–canteen. A complete corporate cog.

  All that gmor and decadence she’d imagined? She never even got a glimpse of it.

  Now that she had transmigrated and the future was uncertain… well, at least let her enjoy a taste of this famed, dazzling city of Bianjing, right?

  The city gate was in view, less than two hundred meters away.

  Her heart thumped with excitement.

  Just then, Song Huaiyu rode over. “Miss Ji, there’s a funeral procession ahead. We’ll need to give way.”

  Ji Ping’an nodded. Dongchun rang the bell inside the carriage and told Musheng to steer aside.

  The carriage moved to the far edge of the road.

  Ji Ping’an had never seen an ancient funeral procession before, so curiosity overtook her. She peeked through a gap in the curtain.

  The funeral procession consisted of five people.

  One at the front beat a gong; one at the back scattered paper money.

  The three in the middle—two of them carried a stretcher. On it y a woman who looked to be in her forties. Her face was pale, lips bluish-bck, completely lifeless in appearance.

  A reed mat covered her body.

  Leading the way was a man in mourning clothes—likely her son—carrying a spirit tablet beled: Beloved Mother, Madam Zhang, Li Shi.

  “A reed mat?” Ji Ping’an murmured in confusion.

  Perched proudly on his horse, Song Huaiyu gnced down at her with a lowered gaze. “The poor can’t compare to the wealth of the Ji family. Even a pin coffin costs five taels of silver. A commoner in Bianjing works an entire year and can’t even save a full string of coins after expenses. Five taels—some families would need a lifetime to save that. When someone dies and there’s no money for a coffin, a reed mat and a few scraps of paper money are all they get before burial.”

  Ji Ping’an: “…”Was this supposed to be some backhanded jab at her for having too much money?

  The Ji family’s wealth was earned, not stolen. They didn’t rob or pilge.

  She, after all, had been written by the author as the male lead’s moneybag. And to ensure he could obtain it risk-free, the author made it clear that the Ji family’s businesses were all legal—silk, tea, cosmetics, clinics, and granaries. All legitimate.

  Cough, cough. Ji Ping’an lifted a delicate handkerchief and faked a couple of soft, sickly coughs. “Cousin Huaiyu, I just found the way that the reed mat was pced a bit odd. Why bring up coffins out of nowhere?”

  Song Huaiyu’s brow twitched. Convinced Ji Ping’an was just making excuses, he asked, “Oh? Then tell me—what’s so strange about the reed mat?”

  Ji Ping’an replied, “Usually, during funerals, it’s considered inappropriate to show the deceased’s face. That’s why it’s common to cover them fully with a reed mat. But in this case, the mat only covered the body, leaving the head exposed for all to see. Traditionally, corpses are kept for 3, 5, or 7 days before burial. So, that woman has likely been dead for at least three days. Yet it’s already spring, and the weather is warming. After three days, a normal corpse would show discoloration or blotches. But her face, aside from being a bit pale, shows no signs of livor mortis. That’s not normal… unless—”

  “…she’s still alive.”

  Song Huaiyu jerked the reins, kicking up dust with his horse’s hooves. As they neared the procession, he dismounted.

  “Who are you?”The man holding the spirit tablet looked panicked. “Why are you blocking our path?”

  Song Huaiyu asked, “Is your mother really dead?”

  The man’s eyes flickered. “Dead. She died days ago. Even the doctor said so.”

  “Then why, after three days, is there no livor mortis on her body?”

  “What’s it to you? This is our family’s business!”

  “Insolence!” Song Zhiyin rode over just then. “Open your dog eyes and look clearly—my second brother is an investigating officer under the Kaifeng Prefect! You still think it’s none of his business?”

  "An Investigating Officer?"

  The man immediately fell to his knees and kowtowed to the ground.

  Though the position of Investigating Officer was only of the seventh rank, it operated directly under the Kaifeng Prefect and held jurisdiction over w and order as well as criminal investigations in Bianjing.

  Song Huaiyu shot the man a cold gre, then strode toward the “corpse.”

  The two men who had been carrying the “body” had already fallen to their knees upon learning of his identity.

  Song Huaiyu pced two fingers on the woman’s forehead—cold as a corpse, but her skin was still soft, showing no signs of rigor mortis.

  He then moved his fingers beneath her nose—her breathing was faint, but definitely present.

  Spinning around, Song Huaiyu stared sharply at the woman’s son and barked, “You fool! Your mother is still breathing and not yet deceased, yet you tried to sneak her out of the city for burial. To bury your living mother alive is a capital crime!”

  “Your Excellency, I’ve been wronged!”

  Tears and snot streamed down the son’s face as he crawled to Song Huaiyu’s feet, sobbing, “Your Excellency, I truly didn’t mean it. My mother really did die!”

  Song Huaiyu said coldly, “I’ve just examined her—she’s still breathing. She is clearly alive. And yet you dare to speak such nonsense and curse your own mother?”

  The man wept harder. “Your Excellency, she really was dead! I called eight doctors to examine her. If you don’t believe me, you can send someone to ask—they all said they couldn’t find a pulse. Everyone said she had already passed.”

  “No pulse?” Song Huaiyu narrowed his eyes.

  He stepped back to the woman and checked her pulse himself—indeed, there was nothing.

  Now that was strange.

  How could a living person have no pulse?

  But if she were dead, how could her body not decay, and why would she still be breathing?

  “Second Brother,” Song Zhiyin reminded, “The city gates are about to close. Let’s finish the questioning inside.”

  Song Huaiyu agreed.

  Ji Ping’an, still sitting in the carriage, followed at the back of the group.

  Once inside the city, Song Zhiyin was about to escort Ji Ping’an back to the Song residence, but Ji Ping’an said, “Cousin, I’m really curious about this. May I stay and see how it ends?”

  “This…”

  Song Zhiyin hesitated. Truth be told, today’s events were bizarre, and she was incredibly curious too.

  “A girl shouldn’t be lingering around and getting in the way,” Song Huaiyu interjected.

  Song Zhiyin raised her chin defiantly. “Getting in the way? Second Brother, you’re looking down on us.”

  Song Huaiyu sighed, “Be good and go home. I’m busy here—I can’t look after you two.”

  “We don’t need you to look after us. We can take care of ourselves,” Song Zhiyin snapped. “You say we’re just here to make trouble, but it was Little Cousin who first noticed something was off with the body. If you think we’re useless, why didn’t you notice it yourself?”

  “…Suit yourself.”

  Tossing that curt reply, Song Huaiyu turned his attention back to interrogating the people from the funeral procession.